October, November Life Musings.

October, November Life Musings.

It’s been a hell of a long time, so let’s see how I can pick back up. Because I’m not really into disappointment, the following will contain, as is customary, complete un-relevance to any one topic:

-It’s starting to change seasons here in the Midwest and since it’s already cold and dark before supper time, my motivation has taken on the same characteristics as the sun. Non-existent, short lived, and lacking in warmth.

Eat your heart out Emma (Glee fans, you know Emma).

This one turned out and I want to make 100 more. Here's the tutorial if you'd like to give it a shot---and here's my version below.

Completely obsessed with this shirt ever since I saw this episode: (I did die.) The bow tie reminds me of Chanel. Maybe it is.

And this, the entire ensemble:
Believe it ladies-Kmart. Say what?

And recreating this entire catalog: I mean really, why is this necklace $178??

What else?

Oh, I whipped this up the other day--there was a Liberty of London wallet at Target that I didn't buy when it was available and now I could seriously kick myself. This is not feeding the want...but

Oh, and here are our pumpkins from Halloween. Everyone was just "over" carving pumpkins ("over" being said in the sassiest teenage voice), so big Mister and I just did it anyway. I think little mister was regretting his decision to be too cool since he asked me if I needed help about 10 times and didn't leave the table the whole time.

These are also a testament to our marriage and personal styles. His is on the right--always has to pick a huge pumpkin, and elaborately carve some art. I, on the other hand, love a white pumpkin and something both easy and recognizeable to carve. A semi-twisted traditionalist and a perfectionist.

Huh?

Again, random as ever. I'm off to take a class in jewelry making-with Miss Persnickety. Another great combo (sarcasm, here)--- she loves good quality metal, real pearls, and chunks of gems that I won't even begin to try to spell. Then there's me,the ghetto girl, who loves anything plastic, gaudy, rusted, or rhinestoned.

She'll probably want to kill me or at least educate me in the quality of sterling silver (again) by the end of the class...I'll share.

Tata fir now.

Me

Cages or Wings?

I finished! A few months ago, I ordered this kit, from this talented lady.

Each day, (or each week), I would sit down and do one square. Much like this project that I spoke of here (which Amy also taught), the stitching makes your inner self still. I can literally feel my heart rate slow when I'm doing something creative

I altered mine a bit to make up for a few of my mistakes. (I.E. I lost 2 of the 3 beads for the nest, my birds look semi-dodo-ish) and to add a little bit of me into the design. The phrase (I'm still mastering the backstitching of letters, any tips?) the kit suggested was "Home Sweet Home".

I chose, "Cages or wings?" Little miss sang this song last year in show choir, and I'd choke up every time. ......"Cage or wings, which do you prefer? Ask the birds." It's from the musical Tick, Tick, Boom and they really hit in that special place somewhere between my head and my stomach. Needless to say, I'd like to set my default choice to wings.

My favorite square is the little house...reminds me of home. And our first little house on the hill. The daisy chain embroidery stitch (the green nest, and the white flowers were made with this) are really easy to do and they add a texture that backstitching could never, never do.

I foresee the daisy embroidered on a few sweaters. Am I turning 80??? I want to make more using something special for each square.

Anyone have any free time they aren't using they'd like to borrow to me?

Born in A Barn and Other Random Thoughts

Everytime we buy a lottery ticket, we have the same discussion. Much like the rest of the gambling world, we play "Just what would you do?"

I want to live in a barn. An old, stone and leaf covered place. Acreage with huge trees and sun that rises to peek into my kitchen windows. A dusty old place with pockmarked floors and a fireplace where the mantle starts at my forehead.

A place for a studio high in the rafters. A home that smells like apple pie and clean linen sheets.

So, now that working for the sole purpose of making money is over-what then?

-Sewing classes. To make replicas of these:

-Time for creating

Just the beginning of the Big list. And sorry to say, no winning numbers this week.

A Rebekaha inspired by Julie the Great

After reading about Julie Nutting and being beyond inspired (check her gallery here), I've been wanting (dying to, actually) try my hand at paper couture.

Here's my version....

The Marilyn

1. 8-12-2007 b, 2. oh simple thing, 3. 54 / 365, 4. marilyn monroe, 5. XI , 6. marilyn monroe, 7. Untitled, 8. Lips Like Sugar, 9. thinking in moderation, 10. Yummy.

Lately, I've had this obsession with piercing my lip. Am I too old to do this? I think as long as you can do somthing with confidence, age doesn't matter.

I thought that, still do to a certain extent, but I've also seen lately some serious fashion no-no's from confident women trying to pull off too short skirts, and too tight shirts. Belly baring should be reserved for toddlers only. If you bend over and can feel a breeze-don't do it. Confidence or not, it looks plain dumb.

Sometimes I just want to bust out of my shell---die my hair blue, pierce my lip, stand up and tell the rudey tooties that they're just plain mean, tell the dude bragging about his 6+ figure income that I'm so unimpressed, say to the complainer to just please leave me alone that I don't care.

Will that then make me look just plain dumb? Will it make me sound rude? Will someone think less of me?

What am I so scared of? Does everyone have this longing to change it up?

A Few Weeks in Review

There are days when I can think of nothing else than getting home to make something. The past few weeks have been filled with those kinds of days.


I saved about 20 tin trays from being garbage knowing that they could be something. Memo boards.

Remember the Parisian sugar spoons and my resin addiction? Yes, Magnets for the memo board.


I also hoard fabric scraps in the event that I may need them some day.

How about a bouquet of embellished pens?

The Stash received a plethora of t-shirts in June and July. Plain white t-shirts.

Not anymore-tried my hand at replicating JCrew t's from these plain tees.

And the Pièce de résistance (or pieces)--Heather's le petite chandelier workshop. I can't stop making these. So easy-zero soldering and they look fabulous on the patio.

I have an entire list of things on the docket..just never enough hours in the day. (..she says with a long sigh.)

The Story

Big Mister and I a few years ago...

I've heard (or second-hand anyway) that there are those who wonder what my story is. We all have a story, way more interesting than mine, but I would suspect that most of us can hide the evidence of life events a little better.

It's been 15 years today since I've experienced what I'll refer to as Chapter 4 in my life. Seems like an appropriate day to answer the question for those people who are too chicken-y to ask. (Here's a growth moment for you if you are chicken-y, just ask. Really. It's ok.)

Go get a cup of coffee, this might be a long one.

Chapters 1 through 3 of my life were relatively crisis free. As you can see from these photos, there is (visually, anyway) nothing out of the ordinary.

1976-I was 2.



My 1st communion-1983. (One of 2 first communions I would have. Jeez.)



1993 Little Miss's first Christmas

Chapter 4 begins on a sunny day in July, on a crowded lake, in a little town in southern Minnesota.

On this particular day, I bargained. I believe my words were, "If you try kneeboarding, I'll try water-skiing."

Shit. Now really, I have a hard time walking and chewing gum at the same time. To think that I could possibly be successful at balancing on two 6" pieces of board, let alone two pieces of 6" board in motion, makes me crack up to this day.

Right, give it a shot. See what happens. You have to keep your end of the deal, klutzy girl.

I climbed (I use the term loosely) into the water on the side of the boat. Deathly afraid of water, dark smelly lake water, and the possibility of any fish even grazing my feet; I clung to the side of the boat. Did I really have to do this?

Someone threw me a ski. Still hanging onto the boat, I wrestled with the damn thing to get it on my foot. The laws of gravity, buoyancy, and balance, plus an utter lack of grace and experience make it extremely difficult to put a waterski on with one hand.

"Um, hun, you need to let go of the side of the boat and use both hands to get your skis on."

Yeah, yeah. I let go of the boat and dropped into the water.

At the same time as I grabbed the ski, I saw a yellow rope out of the corner of my eye.

Now I'm under the water, what the hell? I felt a pop and thought to myself, "Oh, oh. Think my arm is broken."

I popped back up on the other side of the boat. {Darn, I don't have to try this anymore.} I went to pull myself back up into the boat fully prepared to tell those ladies that all bets were off, I was done. Forget the bargain.

{Note: I hate horror movies. The blood, the gore-I am purposely withholding the details of what next occurred.}

I will, however, attest to the power of adrenaline. My fiance (whom I will share a 15th wedding anniversary with in October) picked me up out of that boat. As he grabbed me, my bikini bottom caught on the hook at the front of the boat where you might wind a rope. This man has me cradled in his arms, while I am tethered to this boat by a pair of nylon panties, and pulls me free. He then proceeds to sprint with me up a large hill (I would guess the incline to be 70 degrees) and deposits me gently on the grass to an awaiting EMT.

{This man and I are about the same height and I am not built like an anorexic super model. Adrenaline. Human super power juice.}

I was transported by ambulance to a local medical center 20 miles away. I, then,was lucky enough, to receive my first helicopter ride to another facility farther away.

I remember having a few thoughts in those hours:

-my fingernails were so long. (I used to bite so when I resisted the urge and actually had pretty nails I was conscious of their length. I polished them wishing that someday I would have pretty hands like my sister.)

-whoever is crouching over my face needs to take a shower. they were volunteers, but still...

-I'm so cold.

-Do you really have to cut this swimsuit off? I just bought it.

I woke up the next day, with my left arm bandaged so much that it resembled a club. Seriously, I could have played Bam Bam in the next Flinstones movie PLUS I would've saved them the cost of a prop. Over the next 5 days (or was it 7?) the phone rang alot, flowers arrived, and the buildings on the hospital's sundeck literally swayed when I looked at them.

(morphine, a different type of super power juice.)

My first memory of home was big mister and I (little miss was 2ish and present but without a clue as to where her mommy has been or why the hell can't her mommy pick her up anymore) sitting in the living room. Lots of silence and then a realization, and then...tears. Lots of them. From both of us.

Apparently, the tow rope from another boat got tangled with the tow rope of our boat. My left hand got in between the two. Simple physics. Something has to give. Apparently, nylon tow rope is much stronger than bone under stress. (I can see a commercial in there somewhere-ala Mighty Puddy.) It' s like tying a string around a piece of licorice. Pull the string as tight as you can and eventually the licorice will break.

At 21, my radial ulna had been severed beyond repair. I was given an additional hat to wear. This one was labeled, "Upper Extremity Amputee". Add it to the collection boys, lets get on with it.

After 15 years , I forget. I forget that I can check the "disabled" box. I forget that to others, it may appear as if I could use a hand. (ugh. sorry for that one.) I forget that I have an obvious souvenir of a trauma that may evoke curiosity from those around me.

There are 2 things I cannot do; pull my hair into a decent ponytail and play piano with both clefs in harmony. This could be because I have short hair and could never really play the piano well, or I could chalk it up to Chapter 4.

There are more than 2 things I do know for sure;
-there is a reason for everything even if it's purpose has not been revealed to you

-there is such a thing as unconditional love

-Olga is a terrible name for an occupational therapist

-wearing a prosthesis is hot

-humor and sarcasm are essential to my survival

-attitude really is everything

-you can change a diaper, get dressed, paint your fingernails, ties your shoes, type, sew, blog, and ride a bike only using one hand

-I can still feel all 5 of my fingers that are no longer there

-sometimes you have to lose to gain

-your life can change in one little instant

That's it, the nutshell...not so amazing. Just getting up every morning, trying to make the most of it.

Random. Very Random.

A few weeks ago my anal, organiz-y (she takes after my father) sister came to visit. In lieu of going to a movie, she offered (begged me, in fact) to help organize the studio. The studio had 12 square inches of floor showing, the rest had become a dumping ground for leftover Urban Market goods and projects just gone bad. I do not take after my father.

We organized and this shelf now holds every little supply I could ever need. I love to look at it.

Since I was taking pictures of the studio, thought I'd share this little find. Aren't they cute?

My inspiration board was off limits to my sissy. This is as close I can get to showing you what my brain looks like on the inside. I just work better with clutter. Where's Waldo books were made for people like us.

This weekend, I took a moment for myself. After reading this, I knew I had to take a roadtrip. The blue petticoat was seriously calling my name. The Atelier is one place I could get lost in. The best part, besides the lovely owner, is that she packages everything with love.

See?

My blue petticoat-tissue papered and wrapped in a satin bow. I can hardly stand it-reminds me of Cinderella.

Some vintage beads in a glassine bag again with the ribbon treatment. I don't even want to open the bag.

A hand stamped spoon, packed in a cream nest of tissue paper with...you guessed it, a bow. Cream and black, another color combination that I can never pass up.

These little spoons are directly from Paris--are you kidding? They are so cute. Like the size of my ring finger cute. I don't know if they're baby spoons or sugar spoons, but wrapped in a pink bow...I hardly care.

I didn't take a picture of the card, (you can see it in the above photo) but it struck something in me.

It says....

"Once she had her first taste of cotton candy, she was never quite the same."

It all makes sense now.

Where are you?

I'm here. I am. Just immersed in my little corner of the world. The laundry may go undone but there is ALWAYS time to make something.

A few weeks ago, I took a jewelry class at a bead store in the area. There has never been a single iota of desire in me to create jewelry. That is, until I learned about resin.

Just a few samples we made in class. Now nothing is safe from being frozen in the crystal liquid.

If I could put little miss and mister in resin, I would. See the cupcake "non pareils"- I want to eat it.

They have these 2" bottlecaps at the bead store. I love the size and the possibilities are endless, don't you think?

Since resin crafting is a considerable time commitment, I also look for quickie projects to relax. Some people drink after a long day, some veg out in front of the tv-I glitter wooden beads.

The tutorial for this is here--along with lots of freebie graphics. Cathe is a crafting fairy.

Sometimes just looking at something can make you happy. Case in point, these little pieces of plastic send me to a very happy place.

Vintage stacking flowers..Get yours here. Or here.

Get to your happy place. now.