A Most Excellent Neighbour

 

Our most excellent neighbour, Louise, is multi-talented, a genuine learner, and all-round lovely person to have next-door. We knew we first liked her because she talks to the kids like they're people, which is always a good sign.

Secondly, she sometimes comes bearing crafty awesomeness. A couple of years ago she showed Safiya and I how to silk-screen, and she is Safiya's loom benefactor. Since Safiya's interest in weaving has coincided with Louise taking a weaving class (such gorgeous scarves she's made already!), we invited her over for tea, cookies, and show-and-tell. It was pretty neat. That up there is a table loom, and that below there is a little guy very interested in how heddles work.

A very enjoyable afternoon was spent with Louise patiently answering questions and guiding small hands with levers. There was much lifting of heddle-things (I forget the name!) but not much weaving because of a wayward part, but it was enough for understanding the process.

There was also something else very very cool:

Chain-mail! Our collective geek hearts did a little dance at this sight! Also, woodcarving!

I also happen to know that she's a book-binder extraordinaire, amongst other things. Like I said, a crafty gal, and an inspiration. The weaving was worked on and the whittling knife was pulled out for some work on a set of arrows after she left, so thank-you Louise! Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness and time and kindness and the contagious curiosity sharing :)

Detangling

"I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights." - Maya Angelou

I think detangling yarn falls in with Christmas lights. With the sudden surge in demand for yarn around here, the forlorn yarn box needed attending to.

 

It's a bin of tangled yarn, failed projects, half-finished socks (who am I kidding: quarter-finished socks), things started still on needles stuck into other things and holding fast. Metal needles and merino dreams.

I hadn't realised that, like all worth-while detangling, unknotting yarn takes a long time to do. Oh my, does it take time. Mr. S. tells that when he was little, it was one of his favourite things to do for Nana. (I've mentioned before he's weird, right? Just the right kind of weird for me, anyway.) Having done a few skeins now, I think I understand. It's pure hand shaking torture if you're in a hurry, but really a delightful puzzle if you put some time aside and just let it go.

 

So satisfying. Just like any detangling.

*This post is to kind of commemorate some of my loved one's recent detanglements of their own. To remember the hard work and patience required and the sheer joy and relief when it was done. To remember the worth of it every day, and that the sweetest, best part is looking at the days ahead and the possibilities of the "now what"? 

Vegan Gluten-Free Sausage Patty Deliciousness

Safiya is visiting her beloved Granny for the week and that is a picture of the very last bit of a super-delicious-breakfast-sandwich-like thing that I ate for dinner. Why, you may ask, are these two facts related?

Safiya doesn't eat sandwiches. Which means that Mr. S. and I just may eat sandwiches every day for dinner this week (Zinadine just eats components of sandwiches anyway, so we're good). That is the remnants of a scrambled tofu, avocado, and breakfast sausage goodness sandwich...contented sigh.

I've been searching high and low for a gluten-free sausage-ish recipe that doesn't require mutant ingredients and multiple involved steps like foil-wrapped steaming during a full moon but only on a Sunday. And so, because of my "let's actually try things instead of just making lists", I gave this recipe a whirl.

Holy fast-food-craving-satisfying-mouth-smacking fantasticness, Batman!

And they're fast to make and inexpensive and not weird (I used smoked paprika instead of liquid smoke, which I feel maybe is a bit weird). It's the first time I've ever cooked with TVP, and I'm o.k. with that. Now excuse me while I go finish that last bite.


p.s. This post is dedicated to Katharine, who thinks that maybe our lives are more than food and kids. Highly dubious...

Weaving Love

 "He got off the bench and went in to see Mother.
     Her hands were flying and her right foot was tapping the treadle of the loom. Back and forth the shuttle flew from her right hand to her left and back again, between the even threads of warp, and swiftly the threads of warp criss-crossed each other, catching fast the thread that the shuttle left behind it.
     Thud! said the treadle. Clackety-clack! said the shuttle. Thump! said the hand-bar, and back flew the shuttle.
     Mother's workroom was large and bright, and warm from the heating-stove's chimney. Mother's little rocking-chair was by one window, and beside it a basket of carpet-rags, torn for sewing. In a corner stood the idle spinning wheel. All along one wall were shelves full of hanks of red and brown and blue and yellow yarn, which Mother had dyed last summer...
  ...So everything was snug and comfortable in the house, and Almanzo went downstairs and took two more doughnuts from the doughnut jar, and then he played outdoors again with his sled."
                                                                    - from Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder

Out of all the Little House books, that description has stayed with me since childhood because it was so full of warmth and security and plenitude (and a doughnut jar!). Now that I've gone searching for it again to share with you, I realise that there's something else beside the mystery and competency of Almanzo's Mother weaving that resonates with me: he calls it her workroom. And that is the proper and good name for it, a respectful term that hopefully will slip into my language as well. I have a little studio in the basement for which I am grateful, but someday, someday, I will have a space full of warmth and sunshine to work in.

A good friend of mine has just carved out a space of her own at her house. It's because she's fallen in love (please go read it - it's lovely and she's a great story-teller). Isn't it thrilling, and a bit contagious, when someone you hold dear falls head over heels like that?

Safiya's caught the bug as well. It started small, with a little cardboard loom that a friend showed her how to make (the resulting pink headbands and bracelets were to die for), and then one day we came back from out of town to find a loom magically on our doorstep.

It wasn't an orphan looking for a home (although it was welcomed to our family with the same kind of open arms), but a gift from a fairy-godmother-neighbour that is crafty and talented herself (more on her later) and knew of Safiya's burgeoning weaving desires.

 And so it goes. The love spreads and awakens things that you thought you had forgotten. There are plans and hope and excitement and a little bit of frustration and trepidation, because that is all part of it when you are in love.

Happy Second Day of Spring!

This is how our day started. With the smell of mashed potato pancakes and the sound of beads. I kept the Mighty Machines off (which is a feat in and of itself), put the box of beads in front of the patio door (on top of another box full of yarn) and that was how we ate breakfast. Well, Safiya was more civilised and ate at the kitchen table next to us, but close enough.

I didn't know that this box-of-stuff-that-kids-play-in is called a "sensory table", which has led to all sorts of cool google searches and discoveries. We have plans to expand in the playroom. Or rather, Safiya has plans :) So that I could have a quick shower, I threw Safiya some duct tape and toilet paper rolls and when I got out they were still at it:

Which is fantastic. I have to do a whole other post on having kids with a six year age gap. It's interesting and sometimes, well, perplexing, knowing whether to leave something or push it when it comes to how they relate to each other. They relate to each other particularly fine when it comes to cookies:

She makes, he eats. I found decapitated bunnies all over the house later, because really, why finish a cookie when you can just get your next bite from a new and exciting fresh one? Safiya is intent on bringing a whole bunch of baked goods to my Mom's for Easter, so we're freezing these ahead. The shapes make me smile, and I'm glad we found them. I'm just discovering that cookies in fun shapes taste better. It's true.

So beads, cookies, some phone calls, a hurried lunch, and then off to my dentist appointment. Zinadine fell asleep on the subway, so I had to carry him (snow + 40-odd-lbs of sleeping boy = realisation of age) and half-way across the cross-walk on a busy street he woke up suddenly and said  "My boot!" We went back to retrieve said boot, and finally made it to the dentist.

Boots and snow. Because after the morning sunshine this is what our second day of spring looked like:

I like the hopeful picture left by one of Safiya's friends. So, boots, snow, dentist (I love going to the dentist because I can't possibly be doing anything else at the time, although my dentist likes to regale people with the story of the time I was getting my teeth cleaned, breastfeeding an unhappy Zinadine, and helping Safiya spell something, all. at the. same. time! :) The dental hygienist was quite happy to have Safiya around to chat with.

Mr. S. met us there after work, we trekked back home as even more snow came blowing down, split up to do banking and pick up Ethiopian food (Mr. S. and Safiya), and start to clean the house (me and Zinadine. well, just me, really). And then the day petered out with dinner, dishes, discussion, bath, and people getting delirious with non-sleep (all of us). And now it's late and everyone's asleep except me, so off I go...

I don't often do a "day-in-the-life-of" but today seemed just like the right day, so there you go. Happy Second Day of Spring!

Falling Down the Rabbit Hole (and Late for the Party)

Pinterest.

I resisted for as long as I could. How could I, a fairly reasonable and responsible person, wade knowingly into dangerous waters? Not even to rescue someone.

Perhaps just for the sheer pleasure of it. Now I have to take back all the snark ("Pinterest? Yeah, I took a look, but how many pictures of dogs, ways to do your hair, and inspirational quotes do you really need in one day?") and humbly say that actually, I'm finding it pretty useful. (Anyway, I was just being snarky 'cause I figured it would be bad for me - as in a black hole of time-suck. When insecure, cover up with snark; it's a great plan.)

I blame my garden. Or lack thereof. Being a complete newbie and wanting to plant a whole bunch this spring and not really knowing what the plants I wanted look like. Well, Pinterest knows. Or rather, all you people over there do, and it's so nice and visual.

Our computer broke a while ago (we've just replaced it) and so went all my bookmarks. It made me realise two things. One: broken computers are a lovely respite from it all. For two weeks I didn't miss it in the least. Two: I didn't need any of my bookmarks. Isn't that slightly crazy? I was stunned. I would have sworn up and down that it was all so important. So, maybe I should live it instead of just saving it for later. When's later?

So, in the spirit of the old dog and her new tricks, I'm actually trying to do/make something every day from the things I've pinned. What the point otherwise? (See what I did there....the point....as in the point of the pin? ha!...I need more sleep.)

p.s. all the pics above are from my boards...still a little rusty at getting things connected over here. but there's a link on the side there if you want to take a gander...

It was bound to happen.

Zinadine and I were reading a calm, lovely, baby animal book that ended with a little person-baby going to sleep, and as I nuzzled that milkweed-down hair of his and said, "Just like my baby. Just like you're my baby", he suddenly straightened up and looked me directly in the eye, and said simply...

"no. i'm  big."

and that was that.

Because he is big. With his fuzzy hair, impish grin and wee legs he jumps big, laughs big, talks big, and loves big.

And all of the sudden things are going so fast, even though they always were. And I wish I remembered more, wish I paid attention more, slowed down more. I feel like the something that's slipping isn't going away, but sliding, changing, moving somewhere else, somewhere over there.

And over there has ripped jeans not from falling in the playground, competent hands, amazing homemade-cupcake-making-ability, time needed on her own to recharge, time in the morning spent getting ready, a pressing need for independence, neatly folded clothes, messy playroom, hours spent reading, painting, questions and hopes and anxieties.

They are so good - they are the good, you know?

A Blessing for the Impatient: Sewn Wool Socks

A long time ago I tried to knit socks. It was an enthusiastic beginning - the class was thoroughly enjoyable, and I learned a new skill. And then pfththhthth...

Those who knit habitually fill me with awe. It remains a little like magic to me.

So what to do about socks, then? Lovely, hand-knit wool socks are frankly out of our price range, and yet there is nothing better. And I would love a pair that go up to my knees, or ones that I can fold over the tops of my rainboots. Ooooo, Ahhhhh....

And then I found someone who had done sewn socks! And they looked, well, normal!

So before solstice, Safiya and I spent a day wrangling the pattern, as it really needs a custom fit to not look schleppy. We wanted snappy, not schleppy. We used an old work sock for a basic pattern (the link above has links to a couple of places for tutorials/patterns). I put my foot through a couple of test runs because the lightly felted merino I was using wasn't in balance with the snug fit I was attempting. So I loosened the fit, switched to a different felt with a little less give, and TA-DA!


Mr. S.'s Solstice present.

Snappy.

I'll be making more of those.....

The Dolmade Effect

I have a new lens for my camera. Don't you love the effect?


You may have noticed it in my previous post, as well. Unfortunately that lovely haze wears off. Actually, fortunately that lovely haze is wearing off, because it's the oily dressing from the dolmades that I stuffed into my bag before we went to the art gallery, thinking "I'm sure that will stay level."

Food and electronics don't mix.

Actually, they shouldn't let me have electronics, but there you are. Enjoy while it lasts!

The Gap

It's been nine months since my last couple of posts. And before that little bit last April, there was a gap of almost a year.

I've figured it out. You see, I read other people's blogs and they have babies and there are pictures of them (the babies) sleeping on their (the parent's) lap and the person is knitting. And they say things like "I just can't help it - I have to do something creative every day." They live creative lives.

I don't ask myself how. That I know: there is no such thing as super-mom, -dad, -whoever. You trade what you want for what you can do. Baby got new hand-knit socks, but I'm not even going to think about posting a picture of the giant dust bunnies under the bed who will stealthily come out at night and eat said socks. Right? (Everyone nod in recognition :)


However, I have asked myself why. As in, why don't I? Apart from hectic last-minute hours of sewing presents, I've barely stepped foot in the studio. Granted, half the time the past year-and-a-half it was full of crap from our floor renovation, but it's not like I went down into the depths to retrieve my sewing because, you know, I needed to make something. Apparently I don't. And this made me feel less of a crafter, less....genuine.

I've gotten over it :)

And that's 'cause I've figured it out. Mr. S.'s Nana (who sadly passed away almost a year ago) said of me, before Safiya was born, that I was going to be a mother "like a hen to baby chicks". I had no idea what she meant. I was hoping it was a compliment, but I could tell by her tone that it wasn't, not exactly. It's taken me a while, but I get it now.


Have you ever tried to take a chick away from a hen? Hens are vicious. And it's true, I'm that kind of protective and watchful over my children. But you know what else? That's all hens do. They eat and they take care of their chicks. And that's me. All my energy, creative or otherwise, goes into my baby. And that's just the way it is.


Until one day the desire comes back. That restless feeling starts. Fabric bins are sorted for no other reason than to feel the fabric and see the wonderful colours.

The last time that happened was the beginning of this space five years ago: Valentine's Day, 2007. Safiya was two-and-a-half years old.

Zinadine's almost two. So if you see the odd sight of a hen clucking down the road, needle in hand (wing?), a cloud of fabric scraps trailing after her, don't worry, it's just me, flying the coop :)

It Takes a Life (or, My Brother is an Artist)

(please note: I have yet to research how to do watermarks. if you love any of these images, contact my brother Jesse at leppjessearnold@gmail.com for permission to use them)

There are a couple of people I know who are artists. Not on the side, not having pretensions to art, not as an aspiration to a lifestyle, not as a job. It is who they are, living and breathing.

My brother Jesse is one of them.

Jesse writing out the info for his works before the opening

Growing up, he always doodled, always sketched, but has come to painting only just recently, and it's where he's found his voice.

He started to paint a year and a half ago, and has no training other than practice, passion, an excellent eye for composition and colour, and the little local "working with oils" course I gave him as a Christmas present last year. When I dream about being rich (idly, unfortunately :) among other things, I dream about being able to give him a studio and supplies, and shoving him in there with the imperative to "go, paint". He brings beauty to the world.

from the opening at the OPIRGBrock Infoshop

He has a wonderful sense of place. There are some artists who create idea art and whose art can only exist in public places. I once saw, at the Art Gallery of Ontario, a large installation (a word I'm getting a little tired of, honestly) of cheesies under boulders. Pieces like that are most definitely art - I love the public opportunity for interaction that these provide. It provoked much discussion amongst the people I was with, it was a statement of the human impact on environment and how we interact with our surroundings, and I still think about it.

But it wouldn't fit in my living room and I didn't want to take it home with me.

pieces I would like to take home with me

We all have vertical spaces in our homes and we like to put things on them to look at. Some of them are prints, some are photos, some you can see the brushstrokes - the fingerprints of the person who did them. Mr. S. and I have things on our walls, from friends and strangers, that still take my breath away or make me smile every time I walk down the hall or sit in our living room, even though they've been up there for years. And that's the power of good art - art that speaks to you.

"The Dreamers"

That's what Jesse is good at. His work is humane. It is grounded in what he sees around him and how he sees it. When I asked him about a particular piece and why he did it that way, he said very simply "because that's what it looks like there". Here's the painting:

"Approaching Dusk" Rodman Hall, St. Catharines, Ontario

I love it.

There is a show of his work in a small community centre in St. Catharines, Ontario for the month of May. It's at the OPIRG Brock Infoshop, 10 Summer Street, St. Catharines, Ontario. They are open Monday to Thursday from 10am - 4pm.

"God's Love," a hailstorm, Stewart Road farm in Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario

Thank you Milica, Kasia, and Lisa for helping organise and set up, and Safiya for being cute

The opening was last night. It was exciting and I'm excited for him, for this first opportunity for his work to be in one place, to be accessible. He is generous and has a sense of humour about the whole thing - two of the paintings actually were gifts to two friends, but they wanted to give them back to him to be hung with the others. So Jesse let them each set the prices on those two pieces (which of course they set really high 'cause they don't want anyone else to buy them :)

"Logged"
this painting is for sale, at a price set by Jesse, not covetous friends :)

If you're in the area, please drop by, take a look, and sign his book. Or, if you're interested in any of his work, please feel free to contact him:

Jesse Lepp
leppjessearnold@gmail.com
inkwichsupplement.blogspot.com

My brother, the artist.

Takin' it to Town...

Zinadine has a grunty-growly thing that he does when he wants something, and wants it badly. I don't remember Safiya doing the same, so maybe it's a boy thing, and maybe it's just him :)

I was putting groceries away when he spied the plum. Never seen one before. Shouldn't have know that it was edible, but boy did that boy want it. Now, we're a lot more relaxed about food with this one than we ever were with Safiya, but still...should I peel it? Is it even ripe?


Whatever. The boy did not care. Grrrrr. Want it. Grabby grabby. So of course, I gave it to him, if only to see what he would do with it. And he took. it. to. town. Skin, didn't matter. Juicy, didn't matter. He yelled at me when I took it away to take the pit out. It was a both-hands-stuff-in-mouth kind of experience.

I love watching him, experiencing the privilege of watching another kid grow. I love watching him watch his sister, his open-mouth-face-lit-up laugh when she does something that he thinks is awesome. I love that he pauses nursing late in the afternoon and casually signs "Dad", as if, "I was just thinking about him...." I love that he dances to his favourite songs (Queen's "Under Pressure" and Regina Spektor's "On the Radio") as if he's just discovered dancing. I love may many things about him and about having two kids.


It's been almost a year since my last post. Truth be told, besides the greatness that is having the boy and our little family, it's been a hard year. And my camera died in the middle of it, so the record of Zinadine's first year is going to be a little spottier than Safiya's. Call it second-child syndrome.

There have been more than a few times when I thought "I should write that down". I guess I wasn't ready. Well, time to think of a new banner, time to share some pics, time to use my words again.

Hello there.