Once in a Blue Moon...

The last full moon of the year, well the decade actually.

Good night, 2009.

Christmas Lights ...

Check!

 

Lights are up, and I think the neighborhood raccoons think they're coming to a nightly rave (glow sticks not included).

Early Mornings, Thunderstorms, and Pumpkin Butter

I love early Fall mornings that look like 3 p.m. at 8 a.m., with rain pounding into every surface it can find, and a rumbling thunderstorm growling away at anyone who will listen. Looking out into the storm, I suddenly found myself inspired, and jumped into action. First thing's first, let's build a fire (by build, of course I mean turn up the thermostat until the gas kicks on, and a fire appears behind a pane of glass). After all that hard work, I dusted off my hands, and got down to business in the kitchen.

Did I Mention I Love Fall?

Well, I do!

Now I've got to figure out what to do with eleventy billion pumpkin seeds!


*in case you were wondering, I accidentally burnt them...*

See What I Mean?

Maybe my kitchen knife is a tad smaller than Excalibur, but for a moment I thought when I pulled it from the giant zucchini that I would be hailed the King (or Queen, rather) of someplace excellent!

That's not exactly what happened ... ok, it's not at all close to what happened next. Unless being elbow deep in shredded zucchini is somehow close to being royalty. Yeah, I couldn't find any parallels either. I may not have access to the crown jewels, but I've got a freezer full of zucchini pulp in case I'm ever in the mood to do whatever one does with this much zucchini!

I Can Dig It, He Can Dig It, She Can Dig It, They Can Dig It, You Can Dig It...

Oh, let's dig it! Can you dig it, baby?

Well it turns out I can! Who knew? It's only been

approximately 20 years since I've been anywhere near a clam dig, and with good reason I think. First of all, I don't eat them, in fact, I avoid them with a certain level of fervor. And secondly, but perhaps more importantly, I was never a fan of freezing to death on a windy, rainy beach being Dad's designated shovel holder while he digs his limit, and then continues to "dig" mine (since we all know that would be breaking the rules ... but apparently for children if an adult brings the clam up, and the child picks it up from the loose sand that counts as the child's clam ... only Dad would ask the "Fish Hawks" as he calls them for the actual rules). However, I figured it was time to roll up my sleeves and see if there were any skills or tricks hiding up there, or just cobwebs, and I thought this would be the perfect weekend with dad to do it!

Last Week I Dreamt ...

That I caught a fish. This was no ordinary fish, I could tell by the first hit that it was different. I set the hook, and like dropping a coin into a slot, the ride began. I was pulled this way, and that as the fish changed directions trying to make me give in. Little did it know, this battle of will would not be won so easily, but I knew I was in over my head. I dug my heels into those muddy Wishkah banks, and took turns pulling, and reeling watching what I knew would rival Jaws in size, thrashing around in the fast current until I found myself on my back giving it one last pull with all the effort I had left, and at the very same moment the fish jumped. It landed in my hand ... it was a goldfish.

I have to hand it to her, she was a fabulous little fish with fancy long fins, and she was wearing lipstick. I remember unhooking her by clipping the barb off my hook because I couldn't bear to pull it back through, and I let her go. With a wink she jumped out of my hand, and back into the water.

I don't know what any of this means.

What I DO know is that two of these guys are mine

Fall is Definitely Here!

You know those chilly summer mornings where dew is on the grass glittering like a field of diamonds, and you know it's not going to last because the already revved up sun is trying its hardest to pull itself above the trees to dry everything up? There isn't nearly enough time to run for the camera, and maybe that's why it's so spectacular. You just have to enjoy it right then, you can't save it. And then there is that one morning, out of the blue, where the morning chill bites you all the way to the bone, and you know something has changed.

It's here.

*Cue the Fireworks*

The Celebration? A Blogiversary, of course! (And this lil guy's 1st birthday!)

I can't believe it's been a year already, but then I can. I feel so far away from where I was at that time, but I think that's proof that my plan (or what little of one I had) worked. I felt so bombarded by negativity, everywhere I turned there was more for the taking, as if the universe had somehow turned into ye olde high school lunch lady (hair net and all) ... you know the one who always gave out way too big of servings of drippy macaroni (a great reason to start brown bagging again). I started taking a look around, and realized I wasn't exactly helping the situation either. If what we're putting out there, really is what's coming back to us, then shouldn't we be more responsible for our actions, thoughts, expressions, vibrations, and whatever else were emitting? I admit, I wasn't doing my best (or for you life coaches out there, I wasn't showing up at 100%). This isn't my first time around the blog-block, but I'd realized that I'd started falling into the too familiar online trap of just complaining about things, or publishing rants about things that don't even matter. While getting things off your chest, and blowing off steam can be a good thing, it doesn't mean that every little gripe needs to be public, and what's the point in passing the negativity around? Does misery love company SO much that it disguises itself as a funny, or clever post so we think nothing whatsoever of publishing it? Or do we spend so much time convincing ourselves that this is a normal way to communicate, commiserate, and connect? Really? We have to connect over mutually hated topics, or things that we both discover are completely beneath us? It seemed the more questions I came up with like that, the more I saw the things around me conforming to this model, and the more I had to ask them of myself as well.

What's the Story Morning Glory?

What a gloomy, dark morning! Though I admit, it's a nice break from the heat wave ... I never thought I'd be so happy for rain. Last night I listened to the thunder, and the rain beating itself against every surface it could find until I fell asleep again. That is until the next thunder clap, of course.

The morning looked like it was trying to recover from a pretty raucous night (who hasn't been there?), the sun trying to illuminate through layers and layers of thick, angry looking, and tired clouds, creating one of those moody mornings where the colors are so intensely rich they're usually only found in dreams. I noticed it was time to collect the seed pods off my Morning Glory. Yes, they've had a short season, but when you're in an apartment you're kind of at the mercy of the location, and work it out as best you can. Whether I plant them again sometime, I don't know, but at least I collected the seeds instead of letting them reseed themselves right into the building's flower beds ... that would go over big, I'm sure!

Good Morning!

I may be the only person on Earth who wakes up with a hot cup of decaf ... (true!) ever since slaying
the caffeine dragon about two years ago, and in doing so, once the detox ran its course, I realized I never really drank coffee for its stimulating effects. I love the taste of it, and the more I pay attention to the things I do, I've come to see I'm a creature of all things comfort. Good food, good drink, music, textures, lighting ... what can I say? I like to be cozy.

I Needed to Breathe Today.

Time Out, I'm convinced, was created by a grown up who just needed to go to a quiet place and think for a moment about life, how things develop, his or herself, and those around us. Then some parent saw this person doing it, and decided to make their children do it when, in fact, the adult is the one in need of the breather.

I took my moment.

Wrapped in a friendly blanket, hot, apple cider steaming up from my reindeer cup in hand. I curled myself up in the chair that I stained, and built, next to the seeds I dropped into pots some months earlier who've sent up their ever ambitious sprouts who continue to reach for the sky on this misty morning so palpable you could see and feel the moisture in the air as if walking through your very own cloud. Watching lazy leaves cut trails through my cloud on their way to the cool grass below while the whole world slept ... I was a million miles away.

Part of me was, anyway. The rest of me couldn't have been more here. My senses felt more alive than they have in weeks. I felt a part of everything around me, for a brief moment I was seamless with everything in existence ... or, you know, the stuff in my immediate environment, at least.

As I sat, and observed I thought about all the things we do to one another to disrupt this sense of connectedness we all share. We do this in many ways, but the one that seems to discourage me the most is how we choose to communicate with each other ... not necessarily the words we use, but how about the words we don't use?

If time is relative, and not something we're constantly chasing, or running out of, losing, or gaining, then how is it so many of us don't have enough of it to devote to actively communicating to those around us? What is keeping us from meaningful exchanges if this "time" business is an illusion? Are we really that self-centered? Do we just not care? Are our egos intoxicated by the idea of making other people feel as though we see them as somehow less important than ourselves?

In this moment on my patio I found myself thinking about a class I was in my last semester at college. It was all about communicating, public speaking, how powerful our words are, and lack thereof, how to use them effectively, how to work closely with other people, and how to create a respectful environment, among other things. It was more than just a "do a silly speech about how to make jam on toast until you no longer fear speaking in front of peers" kind of class. It broke down who you thought you were, and showed us that in essence we are all the same; our fears were shared, we all had things to overcome. They may have been different, but we all had them even if at different saturation levels. It taught us that communicating is more than just chicken scratch on paper, or noise we're just spitting out at other people. There's a reason why we do it, in fact probably several at any given moment. But the underlying reason every time would arguably be that the person trying to express something thinks it is important to do so. When we ignore it, or listen to just the parts we like, or respond to just the things we're interested in, what are these actions saying about us as individuals? I am more important than you.

It's not a very attractive way to present ourselves to the world, not in the superficial sense, but more that it's not an effective way to attract people into your life, or keep them there for that matter. It's no wonder that the very people who live in this way are often disgusted by the fact that they are not listened to or given what they feel is appropriate face time. If like, does indeed, attract like then it is no surprise that people who neither wish to treat others in this manner, nor wish for themselves to be treated as such, don't stick around. I know I find myself retreating when it's apparent . It would make sense then to heed the call of those before us who grace us with their notions that being the change you wish to see, will indefinitely bring about change, before we're all just a bunch of squawking noisemakers with nothing of any value whatsoever to say.

Which wouldn't matter anyway, because none of us would be listening...

And with that, I finished the last swig of cider, and padded my slipper-ed feet back inside.

When One Cat Opens a Door

Another jumps out the window. Is that the saying? Well if it's not, that's what happened anyway. The day I wrote about my stray, my sister's indoor cat escaped, and hid by the mailboxes until the mailman found her. Poor baby, was pretty traumatized, and ragged, but our other sister got the call and went to bust her out of The Clink.

So instead of coming up with wildly creative content to discuss here over the weekend, and start off August in a blogging frenzy, we were scattered, searching for our little Smokey, hanging posters, and tromping through flower beds, and shrubs ... but it was all worth it, just to get her back.

Stray Cat Strut...

... incidentally, he does walk right by with his tail in the air, which of course made me think of the song and, in turn, sing it to him while he lolled in catnip.

I know I'm about two mammals, a marsupial, and three reptiles away from being a regular zoo, but this little guy needed some help. Found in the industrial part of town, on a trail behind freight terminals back where you could film an opening scene for an episode of Law and Order, on the hottest day of the year, this little, nameless dude had nowhere to go. So for two days in a row, I've been a foster mommy, and we'll see how it goes. Poor baby is terrified of loud noises, and being left in a room alone, but his scraped up nose is on the mend, and he no longer smells like garbage, and finally eats at a pace where it appears he may believe the food is not actually going anywhere.

Big Sister, on the other hand, is adjusting better than i imagined, though she's not taking any lip, and when new guy hisses at her she's quick to put him in his place. I'm hoping this is just a small kink to be straightened out, if not for long-term, at least until this little guy calms down enough to place with a new mommy. Until then he'll be recouping here ... Passages of the animal kingdom, apparently.

Too Hot to Blog

Brunch, on the other hand, is always a good idea!

She's my favorite raccoon this year, well her and her boyfriend Arne (full name: Arne Gonnafeedme). Arne digs in all of my flower pots, and stands up against the glass door looking for me, or I should say, until I look at him, and this little mama is known for falling asleep on my patio after a little midnight snack. But as I understand it, pregnancy is exhausting no matter who you are. Her babies are here now though, and she's been one busy girl. Some days are advanced foraging lessons, while others are reserved for tree climbing 101.

It's been such an unexpected pleasure to meet this little gang of bandits this week!

Re-Introducing...

The Etsy banner (er, since the last one had a glaring typo ... nothing screams pro like a spelling error! Haha):

Soon to be up and fully operational!

(It's a little small, but you get the idea)

The Stonecutter

There was once a stonecutter, who was dissatisfied with himself and with his position in life.

One day, he passed a wealthy merchant's house, and through the open gateway, saw many fine possessions and important visitors. "How powerful that merchant must be!" thought the stonecutter. He became very envious, and wished that he could be like the merchant. Then he would no longer have to live the life of a mere stonecutter.

To his great surprise, he suddenly became the merchant, enjoying more luxuries and power than he had ever dreamed of, envied and detested by those less wealthy than himself. But soon a high official passed by, carried in a sedan chair, accompanied by attendants, and escorted by soldiers beating gongs. Everyone, no matter how wealthy, had to bow low before the procession. "How powerful that official is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a high official!"

Then he became the high official, carried everywhere in his embroidered sedan chair, feared and hated by the people all around, who had to bow down before him as he passed. It was a hot summer day, and the official felt very uncomfortable in the sticky sedan chair. He looked up at the sun. It shone proudly in the sky, unaffected by his presence. "How powerful the sun is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the sun!"

Then he became the sun, shining fiercely down on everyone, scorching the fields, cursed by the farmers and laborers. But a huge black cloud moved between him and the earth, so that his light could no longer shine on everything below. "How powerful that storm cloud is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a cloud!"

Then he became the cloud, flooding the fields and villages; shouted at by everyone. But soon he found that he was being pushed away by some great force, and realized that it was the wind. "How powerful it is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the wind!"

Then he became the wind, blowing tiles off the roofs of houses, uprooting trees, hated and feared by all below him. But after a while, he ran up against something that would not move, no matter how forcefully he blew against it - a huge, towering stone. "How powerful that stone is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a stone!"

Then he became the stone, more powerful than anything else on earth. But as he stood there, he heard the sound of a hammer pounding a chisel into the solid rock, and felt himself being changed. "What could be more powerful than I, the stone? he thought. He looked down and saw far below him the figure of a stonecutter.

Chinese / Japanese Fable

Author Unknown

Come Sea. Comme Ça.

That's exactly how I felt last Thursday after a scorching hot day that kept dragging out like the Kate & Leo version of Titanic (did it really need to be so long?), and then something changed. A breeze came through my window carrying with it that certain bite only sea air can bring to revive you on days like that. It also brought that familiar smell of the beach ... you know the one that smells like sea plants, and the inside of a clam shell, and as I followed the breeze backward to its origin I was met with the moody, clouds that looked like they'd been colored with octopus ink from Oregon that we were promised earlier in the day. Even though I don't think we actually got the lightning we were warned about, there's that undeniable energy in the air that always comes with clouds that puffy, and that dark, and that's when I thought to myself: Come sea. Just like that.

The Verdict is in:

GUILTY on 12 counts of being delicious!

After much anticipation, they're finally here, but not without mishaps ... though it really wouldn't be baking with me if there weren't any (like the time I mixed up baking soda, and powder for the lemon squares, but that doesn't really count because my way turned out better anyway). You might be wondering why the tops look particularly shiny, well that's what happens when you can't get the frosting right, and have to scrape it off 3 times (and that's before I started drinking). So the tops are not only frosted, but "glazed" as well. I realized something went very wrong when the frosting I loaded into the super shooter came running out when I turned it business side down. Back to the mixer with it! Way too many portions of confectioner's sugar later, and my frosting was none the thicker ... more of it, just not thicker. Realizing it was much too late to call my mother and desperately whimper "Help," I grabbed for the flour...

It Triggers a Whole New Era

Of Ease, Convenience, and Versatility in the Kitchen: What is this miracle gadget you ask? Why, none other than the Wear-Ever Super Shooter, of course!

Let's hope it holds up to the boasts on its "box" (and I use that term as loosely as possible), because anything that will revolutionize my kitchen experience (whether it's from the 1970s or not) is definitely welcome in my world. But the boasting doesn't stop on the front of the box, according to the sides I can make "picture perfect cookies, eye-catching appetizers, garnished entrees, and filled pasta". While the other side advertises "beautiful candy mints, easy filled desserts, delicious deviled eggs, and interesting salads (if that's what you wanna call the last one, but I'd call it a picture of Romaine lettuce with tomato wedges standing in cliques around the plate with orange goo in the middle of each tomato huddle, perhaps that's why I'm not in the advertising business).

Now, I know you're asking yourself, "Where on Earth did she find this radical Appliancesaurus Rex?" I'll tell you. This delicious relic came courtesy of my mother on her winter trip to see her grandbaby, and this is the first time I've pulled it out of the box since ... ok, that's a lie. I looked at it once to verify that the trigger was, indeed, 1970s green. And to my delight, it is, although it's much more lime rather than scary Brady Bunch green in person. But don't think that you can't actually get these anymore! As I was googling (I love the digital age!) for the missing user's manual (I know it all seems pretty straight forward, but there are some parts here that I can't for the life of me remember how to put where) I found this VERY model on sale for nearly $60. Who knew my mom was so cutting edge with kitchen gadgetry in a previous lifetime?

Anyway, I'm feeling like pretty hot stuff with my new muffin tin and this guy who I hope will help me in frosting my cupcakes I've been whining about making for ages now. Even if I don't get the hang of this thing, they can't turn out worse than if I smear it on with a knife (frosting things is definitely the gene I'm missing from my mother).

Wish me luck!

April Showers Bring May Flowers (or so they say)

I've given May a fair shake at this "May flowers" racket (being the last weekend of the month and all), and just who brought the May flowers this year, hmmm? We can thank our local store with in house garden center, or rather the stuffy green house the store got them from.

I started things from seed packets this year, I over-wintered my geraniums from last summer, I even took cuttings, and in the end I had to cheat anyway. Good thing I'm not trying to champion a great moral lesson here. Does the end justify the means? I dare say in this case, YES!

My Post of Many Colors

Much like Dolly's coat, my color deck is, uhm, slightly ghetto, but if you don't have the pressing need for a professional Pantone color swatch book, then this is the route for anyone who finds themselves eyeball deep in paint projects, especially if there's a certain brand you prefer.

However, I don't think I can take full credit for the idea of going to your local hardware store and swiping one of each paint sample, bringing them home, punching holes into the corners, and slipping them onto a ring. I swear I heard it on one of those do-it-yourself shows that you have on in the background while you're doing the dishes or something. Anyway, I found myself with the idea once again lately and thought I should give it a whirl. I hate having to head to the hardware store every time I want to brainstorm a color selection, and I really get annoyed when I'm trying to explain something and I don't have something visual with me to get the point across. I have a laundry list of other reasons, but the first two really were all I needed to get me motivated to put on my pink, newsy cap, and bug-eye sunglasses and make my way to Lowe's with my large purse.

I Told Myself I Wouldn't ...

... start a new knitting project for a while, but such is the life of a pie-crust promise (thanks Ms. Poppins!) - easily made / easily broken. So here I am on a moody, rainy day several rows deep in the basic of basic knitting patterns (brought to us by Her Highness), but I'm still a novice, and I've never worked from a pattern before and could use the practice at figuring out the lingo.

So far so good. I've only had to start over twice, but in my defense I couldn't decide if I wanted to go the full 32 stitches or shrink it to 30 stitches across. I know, I know ... two whole stitches, does it really matter? And the answer? I started over twice, fill in the blanks! Haha.
;-)

Bonne Idee Is Almost Here ... Hide The Eggs!!!

Before I start, can I just say ... what exactly about snow on the 31st says "out like a lamb" hmm? Perhaps March can enlighten us on that when it's convenient for her. And I'd just like to let her know that having my flowers frozen wasn't exactly convenient for ME.

So what does a bonne idee and Easter have to do with each other? Not much in my house, other than it sounds like "bunny day". Though I HAVE had a few ...

You may be asking why that child's purse has bunny ears ... I'm asking why ALL purses don't have bunny ears? Ok, I'm not, but I love getting to live out my guilty pleasures on my one year old niece. I love being a girl, and she does too! I have yet been able to sneak lip gloss onto my lips around her without hearing the faint smacking of little lips that think they need some too, never mind all the pleasure that follows when she figures out it tastes like coconut (or, yes sometimes even bubblegum ... what can I say?). Well now she can have her own, and give Mommy back the "stolen" lipsticks she can never seem to find when she's getting ready. What else are aunties for? (Remind me to change my number when light shades of baby pink are smeared into carpets, and furniture.)
Anyway, my other bonne idee was finally getting a pic up of these wound around my version of these which happens to be these (well a random cross section since i got a little carried away where volume is concerned):

And the final bonne idee was getting this little guy knitted up, if you remember his conception. Well I think he's turned out quite handsome, myself...

...but he is a little small for me, so I'm sure we'll be passing him along to a certain niece as well. It feels good though, to get loose ends tied up, or knitted up, whatever the case may be.
Speaking of knitting, I've got piles of projects to photograph, and I've finally learned the 1x1 rib! Which I believe was Saddam Hussein's favorite rib knit ... yes, he was a knitter. Just when you thought you had nothing in common with an evil dictator!


'Til next time xoxo!

I Rock Rough and Stuff with My Suffolk Puffs

We can thank Lady of Rage and her obscure early 90s song Afro Puffs for my title today, oh and a little place called Suffolk, and its patchwork technique used by its peasants a long, long time ago ... and this is pretty much where the history lesson ends.

There are some theories as to how the name came about ... I'm thinking, where's the secret? They're puffy, and apparently popular in Suffolk (once upon a time) enough for them to absorb the name. They made a come back in the 1930s and 1940s thanks to a little something we call a depression, and the convenience of these stylish little puffs being created out of rather small pieces, and scraps of fabric. We may be seeing them make another come back if the economy keeps it up (Dow up a hundred points? Heh, we'll see). Ok, enough mini-rant. Anyway, somewhere along the way they picked up the name Yo-yo ... which I found confusing the first time I heard it, I guess I'm too literal. I mean, sure they're round like the two outside pieces of a yo-yo, but lots of things are round, and there's no middle thingy, and where's the string?

As you can see I only got so far with my research on the origins of Suffolk Puffs. Really, I should be satisfied, but I somehow want more. But that's not important, what is important is the fact that I need about 974 more puffs for the future quilt I plan to make (at the rate I'm going, I may have that done by the time I'm 60. Perhaps that's a slight exaggeration, ok, I'll only be 59 by the time I'm finished). I'm kind of excited about this undertaking, even though I'm approaching it with the vigor of a garden slug, I like the idea of taking something traditional but doing it in unexpected materials, or more lively colors to get a different result. I hate to say it, but I find a lot of crafts, or projects extremely doubty, and tired looking, and completely uninspired. So that's why I've decided to rock some Suffolk Puffs ... my way!

She's Here, She's Here, She's Finally Here!!!

Spring that is. I just hope she's really ready to come out and play, and give poor PMSing March a break. Her nerves must be shot by now, with what her mood swings have been doing to my internal clock, surely my little bi-polar bear of a month needs a rest! Snowing one minute, 50* the next, a Pacific Northwest version of a monsoon the moment after that ... girl, I need a break, and frankly you do too.

So here's the deal. I'll stop talking about you behind your back, if you just promise to tone it down a little with the weather. I'm not asking you to move mountains here, just pick a season already. Truce?

I'm sorry, I don't have an olive branch, will these do?

Heather Bailey™ Bitty Booties™ Pattern: Here

*Edit: I don't exactly know which part of the truce thunder, hail, and sunshine is, but I do admire your sense of humor.