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!