Rain Rain comments: 99

Rain, rain. In the early mornings, before it is light, we all lay in the big bed with the windows wide open and the heated mattress pad turned on. The rain falls on the leaves, a constant tip-tapping. The breeze is cold and wet but we are warm. Amelia rests her cheek on my belly. I stroke her back and her tiny fingernails stroke my arm. I dare not move lest she move. I want her to stay. There are pillows and pets in every space. We talk about buying a little cabin in the woods near the mountain, so she can grow up with trees and pine needles and wood smoke and the sounds of the mountain creek, with snow in the winter and ski poles and snowshoes, with campfires in summer, sleepovers in the panelled loft, wildflowers in a jar on the windowsill next to her bed, sunlight filtered through the endless trees, sand on the floor where she puts her bare feet. I want that for her, for us. I pull out the computer in the dark and check the real-estate listings. The screen glows with moss-covered Forest Service cabins. This one has a porch. This one has a river-rock fireplace. This one is awful. They ruined it. This one would be perfect. Dream. She sleeps and breathes. My hands on her small body, feeling her breathe in the dark before rain-dawn.

We can't complain about the weather, when so much of the country is suffering, but it is cold and again cold, and sopping wet. It feels like green winter. Andy says that people have big gardens here because it makes you appreciate the rain; the gardens are happy, and that makes you happy. But for the cold. Everything is drenched and glistening, heavy with flowers. The peonies slump in the yard. The grass is half-drowned. The pavement is dark and shiny. I check the beet seeds daily. Chioggia and Bull's Blood. Nothing yet. It's Friday, the end of a long week. I imagine myself crawling under the duvet cover at the end of the day and watching my TiVo-ed episodes of Nigella Forever Summer. As soon as I turn on my side, I'll be asleep. If I have time tomorrow, I'll make some frothy dresses for Amelia. Clothes like summer flowers, to wear when it gets warm.

Bowl Food comments: 108

Thank you for all of the bowl food suggestions! This thing is going really well for me. A few people suggested the book Bowl Food: Comfort Food for People on the Move and I was going to go get it (really good subtitle), when I realized I already had it, and about twenty of the page corners were already turned down. Can't even remember when or where I got it. This book is cool. It's small, so I can take it to the store. It's not chatty; it's just recipes. With a Thai influence, for the most part? It's got a pretty color picture for every single dish. And it's all the things I like in one place: soups, salads, pastas, rices, and curries. I'm excited. So far I've made the chicken with Thai basil, chiles, and cashews and the shrimp, tomato, and saffron (my mother-in-law gave me a little tin of saffron for my birthday — isn't that a great present?!?) pasta. Both were very good, and really pretty involved, I must say. But that's probably what made them so good. Really filling, so a bowl is actually more than you need. It's Peanut Butter Puffins for breakfast, then I pick a recipe in the morning. Amelia and I walk up to get groceries somewhere after breakfast (we have a few options for that, so it's kind of fun), and then I do whatever prep I can do ahead of time while she naps during the day. She hangs out with me in the kitchen while I cook. She is SO good about this. I eat very early while she's still happy. Bedtime is between six and seven. I've been trying to come back downstairs and hang out after I put her to bed, but usually I just . . . pretty much watch episodes of Psych and fall asleep!

The weather here over the weekend was cray-cray. It was about 85 degrees and windy as all get out. Naturally, I was completely miserable. Trees were whipping around and throwing down sticks and leaves and immature plums all over the yard. Leaves blew in every open door, covering the kitchen and the studio. I think I swept four times. But it was too hot to keep things closed. Bees found their ways into the house and buzzed angrily against the few windows that don't open (why do they do that? when there's an open window just a few feet away?). The light flickered madly as the leaves thrashed back and forth in the bright sunlight. We replanted all of our containers that didn't make it through the winter. But it was just too hot and kind of crazy outside to really enjoy it. I find hot wind utterly unnerving. Monday morning Andy woke up and said, "Is it supposed to be nice again today?" And I said, "If by 'nice' you mean COMPLETELY HORRIBLE then yeah, it's supposed to be nice." Curmudgeonly me!!!

Babies in sleeveless onesies, though. OMG. Utterly, utterly sweet. My sweet, sweet girl. She's drooling so much I keep checking for a tooth, but no. Not yet!

***Shoot — I forgot to add that for those who have asked, the baby food book I am using is this one, given to me by my friend Ann. I like it a lot — it's nice and simple and straightforward. Making baby food is so much fun. Watching her eat it is completely amazing. I'm sure that sounds silly or something, but it's true. It's one of the best things in the whole wide world. The whole time she's eating I'm just sitting there thinking AW YEAH!

Power Sewing Session comments: 104

We're all fighting colds here. :( Waaaaah! Oh well. I got some power sewing done over the weekend! It was a blast. I haven't sewn much at all lately. The lovely Amanda linked to this baby bib tutorial and I made some in a hurry. I'm not sure how many to make. I did eight. They're really fun and fast. I also made Amelia three more pairs of big bubble pants. I love these so much. I think she could use a pair every day, honestly. It's a good project for 1/2 yard of fabric. I made the legs a bit fuller, as well. My girl's got some chunky thighs! Is there anything cuter?

She's sleeping right now. Greta's coming over in a bit. We're making progress on the next batch of Maggie kits. I'm still thinking mid-May, and I hope that's not too ambitious? We'll see. I'm almost done with my patterns. Greta's still cutting dress fabric. Martha's still winding yarn. Tiny buttons are here, though one color is backordered (naturally). Yarn, too, was backordered (blah). Oh well.

I made this chicken with peanut sauce over the weekend and oh my stars, it was so good. I felt quite proud. Almost as proud as I felt the other day when I was making a Boboli pizza and squirting pizza sauce out of the little plastic baggie thing that comes with the crust and thought, "Wow, look at me! Making a pizza that wasn't even frozen first!!!" Puff puff. I was so pleased. Then I remembered that I used to make actual pizza dough, from things like yeast and flour. And sauce from actual tomatoes! That's funny! I burst out laughing. While I ate my Boboli I pledged to make a greater effort to cook more. I really miss it, actually. I'm making baby food for Mimi, but I am possibly the most pathetic regular meal planner in the world. When I am busy or tired, cooking — fancy, yummy, fun-type cooking, not just survival cooking — is the first thing to go in my day, always. And when I'm busy or tired, I seriously could not even care less what I eat. This chicken was so good, though. I am inspired. I want to do better at cooking for Andy and me. I feel like I say this all the time!

Do you know how to make a little rose hair clip? I'll take some photos next time I make one and show you how. I've bought a few (you can get a poufy one like Amelia's here, and similar rose ones here and here and here and here — there are a lot on Etsy that are adorable) and have been making a lot. I like making them because you can do them in so many different colors (and they get lost all over the house, so we need them in every room). They're really fun and really easy.

An Excerpt comments: 126

 I couldn't sleep last night. Irony! Because I'm super tired! Damn you, Irony. Who invented you, anyway.

Anyway, around 3 a.m. I finished the book I've been reading for a couple of weeks: Bilgewater by Jane Gardam (suggested by Lily [thank you Lily!]). (I also got to read in the bathtub on Sunday afternoon, which was seeeeeriously awesome — thank you for that, honey.) Sort of a coming-of-age novel, published in 1976, it was slow and weird but readable and random, and wonderful for that — kind of like a Shakespeare comedy, I thought, actually? — and just perfect for what I felt like reading right now. Marigold Daisy Green lives with her father, the housemaster of a boys' school in Yorkshire. Here's how Thursdays are there:

    Thursdays were always the evenings when these conversations with Paula took place and had done so "from long since" as our Mrs. Things say, because Thursdays were the evenings when father received visitors.
    He had done this since before the way, even before he was married, and the visitors had always been the same: one or two, never more than three Old Masters. Uncle Pen and Puffy Coleman were inevitables and the third was often an amalgam of cobwebs and dust called Old Price. Every term-time Thursday at about seven-thirty these people came roaming around like elderly, homing snails. They unwind garments in the hall when it is not cold, drop walking sticks — Uncle HB has a shooting stick — into the hall-stand and trail dismally into the study. Paula [the house matron, and Marigold's frequent companion] takes them ccoffee and glasses and father slowly unlocks the shelf-cupboard in the bottom of his desk and brings out a bottle of wine which he never opens until well after they have all arrived and would probably never open at all if he were not kept very firmly at it by Uncle HB who often brings a personal hip-flask, too, though I don't think father has ever noticed. . . . If Old Price drank more than two sips he'd go up in a little wisp of smoke. . . .
    Sometimes, when I was little I was allowed to sit with them for a bit — well, not so much allowed. I just did. They did not seem to notice and I learned much. When I was four or five I would sit for ages under the desk playing with a heap of old shoes . . .
    As I grew older I became too large to fit under the desk and . . . I abandoned the Thursday receptions for Paula's sick bay readings and learned there much more interesting, universal, and philosophic things.
    I have read novels now full of intelligent conversations. In novels there is often a set-piece thrown in called The University or College Conversation. This can take place between students or long afterwards, in the evenings of the students' days. there are a great many pauses in it and as the pipesmoke rises and the firelight flickers on the rows of mellow old volumes, wisdom and gentle nostalgia hang in the air. The nature of God, the reality of solid objects, the non-existence of Time are touched upon, tossed gently to and fro. Not so with father's lot. Up with Paula, the floor above — and Paula has had no education at all — we talk on and on about:
    sin
    death
    love
    harmony
    ethics
particularly ethics, e.g. when Posy Robinson comes in all tearful for his mama and we have only two eggs and two rashers and two spoons of cocoa, our four feet on the fender and a lovely play coming on the wireless after the news.
    But downstairs! Here is a sample of the chat on one of the Learned Thursdays:
    "Cold night."
    "Rather better."
    "Pretty cold. Got your coal yet?"
    "No. Got your oil?"
    "No!"
    "Time this House had oil. No more expensive."
    "Smells."
    "Not at all. No shovelling, what's more."
    "Your house has a Man."
    "Man! Idle oik. If we got oil we could get rid of him."
    "Get rid of Gunning? Get rid of Gunning?"
    "'Bout time. Been here since the zeppelins."
    Uneasy pause while it is considered whether Old Price has been here since the zeppelins.
    "I once saw the zeppelins," says Puffy Coleman kindly. "I was just a boy. There was a burst of flame out over the sea — off Scarborough — and then we saw a lot of little flames dropping into the water. . . . That was a terrible war.'
    "Terrible."
    "What was terrible?"
    "That war."
    "Which war?"
    "Well — the Last War. The — zeppelin war."
    "I can remember," says a very feeble voice in hte corner if it is a warm evening — he comes on chosen evenings. Old Price, like Masefield's blackbird — "I can remember the zeps. All the boys ran out along the cliff tops cheering. In their pyjamas."
    "Ah, " says Puffy Coleman, lowering his teeth.
    "Ah, says Uncle Pen HB. then, "It wasn't that war."
    "Yes it was. What d'you think it was? The Napoleonic War?"
    "Scarborough was bombarded in the Napoleonic War," whispers Old Price.
    "Now then Price, you weren't in the Napoleonic War," says Pen.
    "No. No. I only said — uff, uff, uff — "
    Father gazes at the uplifted wine. The Primavera watches through her wicked eyes.
    "D'you think Price was in the Napoleonic War, William?"
    "What's that?"
    "Uff, uff, uff — "
    "Ha, ha, ha, ha," says father, bewildered, looking round sweetly, kindly at one and all, not at all sure, for he is a good bit younger than the others, what might or might not be so.
    They reflect.
    Oh it's wild stuff.

Ha! I thought that last line was funny. I like how she writes. Mimi and I went right down to Powell's and bought all of her other books that they had. Then I finished this one and I really liked it (luckily, since I did that backwards a bit). Hopefully I'll like the others, too. And now I have to go because it took me about five hours to type this thing (but it was actually kind of fun to type — I like typing) and I'm starving!!!

*These are not our chickens, and this is a local community garden, not mine. Just photos from our walks.

**And yes, it does sort of remind me of I Capture the Castle. And also The Country Life by Rachel Cusk.

comments: 171

My best friend lives in Boston. We've been friends for over twenty-five years. We text or talk almost every day. We happened to be texting on Tuesday, just at the moment that local news was breaking on her end. Martha, three-thousand miles away. I had been out walking around the neighborhood with Amelia. We walk very slowly, up and down the sleepy, quiet blocks, ambling to and fro. I pick blossoms from trees, a sprig of rosemary, a froth of blooming lilac that somehow fell into the grass for her to sniff. This is an English daisy. This is a daff-o-dil. This is violet, like your kitty you never met, like your great-grandma's favorite flower, and oh how she would have loved you! The sun dips and bobs in and out of white clouds. The April wind is still chilly. Amelia stares placidly out at the world as it rolls by. These are the houses and gardens and bakeries and shops and driveways and trees and sidewalks that will become — that are already starting to become — her little corner of the world. Our streets. Will be there a memory, locked away, of the scent of apple blossoms there? Of how we linger every time in front of the big sepia-colored wooden house I've always liked while I study their tulips? Of the smell of the spicy tea that I drink as we walk? Of the canopy of ancient dogwood trees, arching above her in pink arcade just as we approach our own driveway, and turn? Will she know her trees the way I knew my own, the way I feel I would still know them, the way I did know them even two summers ago when I visited Forest Avenue, alone, for a whole afternoon. I walked, tearful for my own reasons, up then down the other side of my street; two oaks towered over my house, planted much too close to the front stairs, still there, familiar as nothing else I've known. The king and queen of my former kingdom. Protective lion, lioness.

My neighbor brings me hot chocolate and a coffee-cake slice every couple of mornings or so, while Amelia naps. Every time, it feels like the most perfect, decadent, luxurious gift. I think about this small kindness, the millions of generous, civilized kindnesses that make up most of all of our days, and then the rare but terrible rendings that rip the weave of them so viciously, and with such terrible permanence. The spectre ebbs and fades but is always present. As a child, I grew up with a father who, upon entering any public venue, scanned the place for exits, identified each one, and briefed us on the disaster plan should this performance of Timbuktu or the Ice Capades be fireballed. I will just say that it was a very hard way to grow up. But it comes from this: You would do anything, anything to try to protect your child.

My heart and thoughts and prayers are with the people of Boston this week. With those lost, and those injured, and those helping, and those witnessing. I wish that Martha and I lived closer, were neighbors, wish that together we were walking our little girls under the blossoming branches, teaching them (Martha used to be a landscape architect) the names of flowers. Teaching them to be kind and gentle people. Teaching them to be brave, generous, building, healing people. People who make things, and don't destroy them. People who reject cynicism, and instead create, and repair, and provide medicine. People who practice peace, acceptance, optimism, faith, joy, and, always. Always: Love.

Sweetest Flowers comments: 168

Honestly. The sweetest ever.

***The facial oils and perfumes that I love are from my dear Amy Karol. I made the knitted bunners a couple of years ago from a pattern by Barbara Prime.

Spring Mish-Mash comments: 102

Oh, it's been a busy week here. I don't know where the time goes. Amelia is a busy lady these days! Not too interested in napping today. I personally would like nothing better than for someone to zip me into a polar-fleece sleepsack, turn out the lights, and beg me to sleep for two hours in the middle of the day. But. The weather has been cold and cloudy and I am secretly glad — I so much want to finish my indoor chores before the nice weather comes for good. Once it comes, we'll be busy in a different way. An outside, woods-and-water, flower-field way. Out of the house. That's my plan.

I made broken up lasagna noodles with chicken and mushroom ragu from this recipe last night and it was very good. I added a big blob of whole-milk ricotta cheese to mine and I really recommend that. Andy is not down with ricotta. For me, I would say it's in my top-five favorite foods. Along with tapioca pudding, avocados, asparagus, and . . . maybe . . . fish tacos. Or sour-cream apple pie. It has to be whole-milk ricotta, though. The part-skim stuff tastes, to me, like a completely different kind of cheese.

I'm working on the bunny shirt and pants pattern, and the knitting patterns. The yarn is Brown Sheep Nature Spun sport weight, and it's what I am using to design all of the bunny knits (and, eventually, bunny crochets). I've ordered yarn balls so that we can carry this yarn in my web shop. If you got in on the first round of kits, this is the yarn that was in the kit (and it will be in the second round). It's my new favorite yarn. I looked at a lot of different yarns before deciding what to use. I like this one because it's 100% wool, comes in a really nice palette (though I have to say they could use a few more pinks/peaches, in my opinion), has a slight halo, but knits up to have a very matte sort of look to it, which is exactly what I wanted. Rustic. I don't like shiny yarns. After blocking, it's actually really soft but still holds its shape very well. I think we'll have about fifteen colors in the shop. My plan is to make everything available — kits, patterns, yarn, new size #18 needles (which I use for threading the elastic around the neck of the peasant dress) — all at the same time. Not sure yet exactly when that will be but I will keep you posted. Our dress fabric still hasn't come in yet. Greta's pulling floss right now and is about halfway done, and Martha's winding yarn. If these kits don't sell, I'll be making Amelia and myself entire wardrobes made entirely of five Liberty prints and sport-weight-wool. Which I think I could get on board with, but still. Don't leave me.

Isn't that little animal ABCs poster so adorable? Andy's mom got it for me for my birthday from this Etsy shop. Her friend also Brenda made that darling pink hooded sweater that Amelia is wearing. It finally fits her perfectly and . . . oh my dear me . . . how adorable are babies in hoodies????? (***The pattern is here [though she modified it to include the garter button band] and the yarn is Plymouth Encore. Thank you Brenda!!!)

Which also reminds me: The Maggie knits are a dress, a raglan, sweater, and the garter hoodie. Bunny in a hoodie. Now I'm typing with one hand or I would link to the photos I've posted in the past months of the prototypes. As it is I feel fairly accomplished today just spelling prototypes out (now twice, and added parentheses! and spelled parentheses!) with one finger. Some days that feels like miracle enough!

***Have you ever seen a dog look at anyone with more deliberate skepticism than this, by the way? She's like, "Yah, yer nuts." I know. (She's teaching it to the baby.)

***Forgot to say, I'll also have those tiny buttons that are on the little shirt in the shop. I think we're getting ten different colors of those, too.

Spring Things comments: 142

They say there is snow covering 50% of the country right now. Eeeesh. Here in northwest Oregon, I think we're having classic spring weather: one day warm, one day sunny, one day sunny and cold, one day cloudy and warm, one day hail, one day a golden sunset that warms you right through your skin. Amelia and I have been out walking every day. The neighborhood looks so very pretty right now. All of the plums and pear trees are in bloom. The daffodils are out, and many camellias. Grape hyacinths. Magnolias just starting to bud. Today it was chilly and rainy and so we went to the mall. It's warm, it's dry, it has flat surfaces, lots of food and things to drink, big doors (and occasionally people will even hold them for you — you can tell which ones have ever had to maneuver a stroller through a door and which ones haven't), elevators, and cute clothes. On a cloudy March day, what's not to love. Amelia enjoys going anywhere. Everywhere. I love being out with her.

We have ordered all of the supplies we need for the next round of Maggie kits, and the felt has already come in. Greta is back in the studio folding felt as I write. We are making twice as many kits this time, but will only have five dress/yarn options available — four new fabrics, as well as the original Betsy (and by the way, the names of the fabric and yarn that I used? Those are the names the manufacturers [Liberty and Brown Sheep, respectively] gave them, so if you're in love with something you can definitely Google it to find more somewhere). I think the new dress-fabric options are gorgeous. I can't remember the names offhand, but I will take a photo of the samples so you can see the prints. So, Greta is working steadily to put the kits together, but we aren't rushing these. Rushing just doesn't work for me these days. We are going to do them at a more reasonable pace that works for all of us here. So, I'm not sure exactly when they'll be done but it might be about a month. Unfortunately, no, there is no waiting list, and I don't take pre-orders. But I will keep you posted here on our progress and let you know when the new kits will be available!

I have gotten a lot of emails from people who have already finished Maggies, either from the kit or the pattern, and they are seriously ADORABLE. So, so sweet! (My in-box these days is just utter chaos. I'm kind of coming to terms with the idea that I will just never get to it all, which feels weird, but it is the reality, so I really do apologize.) But I have started a Pinterest board for Maggie photos. If you post a photo of your Maggie to your own Pinterest boards, you can send me the Pin and I'll repin it to this board. Or you can send me the link to images on your own blog and I'll pin it for you. Or you can send me the photo and the photo credit/blog info and I'll upload it directly to the board. If you send me a photo but you DON'T want me to Pin it, just tell me, and I won't (of course). But I do love seeing them because they each have their own personalities, and a little gallery would look so cute!

I'm also still working on alternate patterns, and I'll keep you posted on those, too. I'm just trying to do everything at my own pace, so that's kind of a slow pace right now.

(Did you see my Steiff teddy bear on the window seat? I got him when I was a baby. I love him. He's very gorgeous. A true gentleman.)

I made the scarf (and her little navy sweater), but I bought the handwarmers from Sandra Juto last year, and I love them and wear them almost every day.

My mom has a dragonfly tattoo on her wrist. 'Cause she's cool like that.

How I love hanging out with Mimi in her big-girl room. In the afternoons, when the sun starts setting through those windows, sitting on the big bed, with our pets nearby (always nearby), reading stories to this beautiful baby girl . . . well . . . you know . . . nowhere else on earth. Nowhere else in the whole wide world do I ever want to be. My happy place.

Little Leaves and Petals comments: 182

Mimi (that's what we call her at home) is five months old. Five big, beautiful, blessed, extraordinary, wonderful months. Oh how I love this girl, her smiles and her moods, her dimples and chubby hands and chunky thighs, her open-mouthed kisses and her hands on my face, trying to get my nose into her mouth. Her voice and her calls. Her sighs and little snores and her loud hollers and her chuckles when something's funny. Her floppy hair and her big, deep eyes and her big, warm cheeks. Her breath on my chest, her hand flung out, her hand tangled in my hair. I love her wonder, and her pleasure, and her heavy head on my chest as we sit in the window seat and find the sky. Always the sky. Dearest, dearest, dearest, dearest girl. My dream of dreams.

Six-to-twelve-month clothes! We need 'em. I bought a bunch of sewing patterns, both new and vintage, over the weekend. Very excited. The vintage patterns from the '70s make me crazy nostalgic. In looking through them on Etsy and eBay I see so many things that my mother made for me. I bought some of them to make for Amelia someday. Vintage patterns generally don't have several sizes included; they have one size. Maybe when she's six I'll make her the prairie maxi-dress and bonnet in pink calico, just like mine.

There are a lot of really nice designers making very pretty patterns out there right now! This weekend I got patterns from Oliver + S, Sis Boom, Sew Sweet, Lily Bird Studio, and Brownie Goose. And there are a ton more designers on Etsy. It's really fun just looking through everything that's out there. Who else should I check out?

*I made her blouse out of Liberty "Boxford" Tana Lawn and this pattern from Citronille, and her hat is here :)

Little Plum comments: 156

When our plum tree blooms, there's no mistaking: Spring! It's here. We cleaned up the yard. We went for walks past other peoples' yards. We got frozen yogurt. We bought daffodils. We scheduled the window-washer dude. He'll also de-mossify the roof. We turned off the heat during the day and forgot to turn it back on at night. We talked about weather to anyone and everyone. We went to the plant nursery. We closed the windows when it turned out it was actually still pretty cold. We heard birds. We saw birds. We bought ravioli. We bought milkshakes. We planned hikes. We got books. We walked some more. We thought about veggie starts (like, what goes in now?) We sat on the front stairs and sang songs about flowers and babies with honeygold hair and big blue eyes. We looked up into the tree. We waved to our friends across the street. And we watched the plum-petaled, spring-soaked world go by.