Paper, Plastic, or Neither!

Warning: far too many pictures for only one project ahead :-) Canvas bags are great, but oh-so-bulky. So, needing something I could tuck into my purse for impromptu grocery shopping...

Two thrifted scarves from the stash and a pattern (which was evened out after this photo) made from a plastic grocery bag later....



The original had round holes for handles, but, as this project has taught me, my skills with flimsy silky material are sketchy at best, so I just made slits reinforced with lots of bar-tacks at the ends. I did do the fancy bottom thing at the bottom, after a sewing-table-plastic-bag-dissection (not pretty - how am I going to put it back together?)


Yay! I may make more of these (after adding a way to keep it folded up in my purse) and give bunches of them as belated holiday gifts :-)

Everything is...

Family walks at this time of year are joyous; swinging arms, crunching snow, and making up songs. However, once in a while I love solitary winter walks...


This makes me smile every time I walk by:


And tucked in the corner...


Full of promise, waiting, witnessing the winter...

Craft stuff soon, I promise :-)

Excitement and an Offering

There is nothing equal to the bursting-at-the-seams excitement of a child. Safiya had been out with Mr. S. while I went to get the tree, and when they came home, I could see immediately that she had been told of its imminent arrival. After she had meticulously vacuumed up all of the errant pine needles on the floor (this child loves vacuuming), out came the ornaments. For each and every one, she picked it up, held it aloft like the holy grail (but with more enthusiasm than reverence) and shouted: "What's in this one, Mama?!!" Every single one. No other comments, just an entire afternoon punctuated by "What's in this one, Mama?!" and some other childish murmerings.


And, from the appearance of the tree, you can tell that a three-year-old lives here:


Later, I was surprised to find this by the back patio doors:


What is that? Well, at our house, there's the myth of the party-hat. Once, Safiya left a paper party-hat outside. It was subsequently ruined in the rain, and, well, (shhhh) it got recycled. Except that she asked where it went, and being the sensible parents we are, we told her...that the raccoons that live around here must have taken it for their party. So now she believes that part of raccoon behaviour is to appropriate little girls' party hats.

So, when Mr. S. and Safiya were making hats that afternoon, she insisted he make one for the raccoons. And leave it outside for them. And thus is born a new Solstice tradition: an offering for the raccoons. :-)

Waiting for the Bus

Taken by Safiya:



Interesting to see what catches a three-year-old's eye...

Let's Start All Over Again (Part the Second)

This is what last weekend brought us, much to our glee. I love the muffled sounds, the crunching of snow under the feet, the assertiveness of a good blizzard; the kind that makes people grumble cheerfully about "the weather we're havin'!"


It's started to melt just a little today, but the huge drifts are still there, making the obtaining of the tree even more satisfying.


Yesterday was the first day of the return of the Solstice spirit around these parts (see the previous post). It was spent anticipating today. Today, with a clean house and a super-clean and re-organised craft room, I started to make a few things, and it felt good. We decorated the tree, I did some sewing, there were crafts, and I stayed up late to wrap the few gifts for our precious girl.


The above picture is the table at breakfast this morning. More Safiya craft than food....


And this is Safiya's table, which has been moved from the playroom into the kitchen so that she can play in the light that comes in through the patio doors. Her pinecones, collected in a bowl in the living room, are the only decorations we have in the house other than the tree, and it is enough; just perfect. We aren't "doing" much to celebrate this year, and it feels oddly more celebratory than previous years of fussing and worrying over gifts and decorations and such.

Tomorrow we'll have our Solstice morning, and then I'll indulge in some more sewing. And I have all night to dream...

Let's Start All Over Again (Part the First)

The Moon Through Our Window

People often say not to fix things that aren't broken. Well, that may be true, but sometimes you have to smash something; tear it asunder, in order to fix it. And this enables you to experience the meditative quality of picking up the pieces. And sometimes you don't even put it back together again. Sometimes you collect it only to throw the whole thing out, bury it, burn it, what have you, straighten your shoulders and start anew. (Fully aware that you've probably missed a few pieces and if you're not careful they'll end up sticking you in the foot, but still...)


You may have noticed that I haven't been around lately. My heart hasn't been in it. The craft room noticed as well, and so did Mr. S. and Safiya, I think. And so did the goddesses of house and home and hearth. As of two days ago, besides our little wreath I had neither baked nor cleaned nor wrapped nor prepared in any way for Solstice or Christmas. Not a thing. Until I found a voice of mine, an angry one, that had been shelved, and finally put it to good use.


This blog, this space of mine, is a little craft, a little political, a little mothering, a little figuring things out, a little this and a little that. As I get older I'm learning the difference between personal and private. That being said, I'm writing here to commemorate the day that my anger finally rose up to confront someone that I should have long, long ago. The day that I learned how purifying the expression of anger can be, how it can distill all the convolutions of a problem into its essence, simplifying it and sifting it like flour until you can look in the bowl and divine yourself by how the dust falls.


Tonight it the longest night of the year, and I am so glad to be able to welcome and enjoy it. And to welcome tomorrow, the beginning of the return of the sun.


Peace, strength, and health to you and yours on this longest of nights.

Festive Zen, Dragged Over a Day or Two

Amongst piles of scraps, mountain high, divided by colours, we claimed our territory: "Pink, it has to be pink!" And so, just sitting and talking, scissors in hand, in-between learning to tie and finding the perfect scraps, we sl-ow-ly assembled what was declared to be "The best wreath ever":


Our little gesture of festivity is inspired by this wreath, found via whip-up. And as I look at the original now, I realise why Safiya kept insisting that it have a blue bow...well, tomorrow that will have to be changed :-)

And there's that long-ish piece sticking out on the right-hand-side....arg!....I have to go and fix that....right now

A Confession

Dear Goddesses of Craft:

I lied today. I said "I hate handsewing" and "I hate knitting". This is not true, and for such transgressions I am truly sorry.

In truth, I said these things out of love. When you love to do something, picking it up in the knowledge that you soon must put it down again can be painful. And so I lashed out against something that I love.

Don't worry, I'll make it up to you.

Wearing Our Green On Our (Second-Hand) Sleeves

The video above is timely, considering the season about to fall upon us (THUD). It was first posted on Celsias a couple of days ago, and now No Impact Man has a post on it as well. I'm posting it here because the more (even if it's just a little) the merrier! Annie Leonard is a waste activist, and the video is engaging and clear. It seems that more "ordinary people" aren't waiting for politicians to set policy and well, just getting the word out or making their own. Including this guy's video on global warming: "How It All Ends" (this is the revised one, in response to feedback from the first, more succinct version).

And then there's the Riot for Austerity. It's an invitation to, over a year, reduce your consumption by 90% and keep it there. That's right, 90%. There are pressing reasons why this figure was chosen, and I'll let the link speak for itself, but I will say that it's an inspired idea. Our household hasn't officially joined, but we're being sucked in bit by bit :-)

There are sooooo many well-spoken people discussing the statistics, the checks and balances, the politics, of global warming, the coming fresh-water shortage, peak oil, greenwashing, and etc. These are important foods for thought, mostly because all those words are (hopefully) catalysts for growth of action. But we are an average family. So here's my average family rant on going green (wait, gotta find the soapbox - oh crap, Safiya's using it as a house for the Mama toy dog....)

(Deep breath...)

I am not part of this new religion, and a religion it does seem, sometimes. I am not better than you because my honey is wildcrafted and yours comes in the plastic bear. You are not going to heaven with your recycled totebag in, er, tow...

And that's the point, isn't it? First, we are in this together. Second, we cannot buy our way out of what is coming.

I do not believe the government will fix things for us (there, I've said it, but please don't stop protesting!) There is a long list of reasons why I think this, but maybe for another post. I do believe that people are very good at getting together to help each other out in a crisis (look at the Big Summer Blackout of 200? here in Toronto - no pandemonium, just people helping each other out - it was coool! I wish we could celebrate it every year!) I don't believe technology is going to save us (we don't have the time). Also, my limited understanding and observation has lead me to the idea that it's better not to hedge my bets on everyone getting on the ACTION bandwagon anytime soon. So here's my radical statement:

I do not make "environmental" changes to stop global warming.

When I took a health psychology class, one of the studies that struck me involved health in the elderly and the idea of anticipation. As far as I recall, there were three groups (randomly assigned): elderly who were not assigned regular visits by volunteers, elderly who were assigned random visits by volunteers, and elderly who were assigned regular (same time, same day) visits by volunteers. The surprising result was that the second group did worse, health-wise than the first group (the third group did the best, obviously). It seems that it was the expectation, the looking forward to the visits, that were of more benefit than the actual visiting!

And so, I make changes in order to practise what is likely to be coming down the road soon. To take care of my family. So that the visits of beans-and-grains, of low-water-levels, of less-of-everything are familiar friends who stop by regularly, not spectres to be feared. The major ones are done: we buy second-hand, have signed up for environmentally friendly electricity, make a lot of our own stuff, are vegetarians, don't have a car, and Mr. S. bikes to work or takes transit (and we picked our house to enable this). There's much more to do, to practise (the garden this year was a bust :-), but it really is a riot!

Funnily enough, I don't even notice much of a difference (and this from a formerly decent shop-a-holic).

Once you stop buying things, you can stop reading labels and trying to weigh products according to their enviro-moral worth. Once you start eating local and in season as much as you can, you can once again stop fretting over labels. Once there's no expectation of being entertained all the time, you start to actually have fun.

And just in case you think I'm all doom-and-gloom (Hi Mom :-), here's some links about why this really works, and what fun we can look forward to:

Sharon's post on Post-Peak Hedonism.
The benefits of living this way from Colin.

And by the way, we have the plastic bear. It just gets refilled, is all.

It's On the Jar!

I came across this recently as I was tidying the recipe box:


Seriously. The above recipe, scribed in my adolescent script, is a relic from the past; it is one of the two favourite casseroles that our family grew up with. That and "Potato Chip Casserole". I kid you not :-)

These days our cupboards look mostly like this:


Butter and cheese are lovely (I'll pass on the "cream of" soups!), but not to a lactose-intolerant vegetarian (how unfair is that?). Why all the writing on the jars? First, it must be noted that that kind of...ahem....meticulousness...is from the pre-Safiya era. But it has served us well. For example:

"How do you make amaranth again?" "It's on the jar!"
"Am I really getting enough calcium?" "It's on the jar!"
"Marnie, are you sure you're getting enough protein?" "It's on the jar!"

It's yummy eating, and although I can't find locally grown quinoa or amaranth yet, for the most part the whole grain, beans, veggies, and fruit thing (and vegan baked goods!) is 100-mile diet friendly. And, incidentally, wallet-friendly as well.

Of course, sometimes the jar is a little vague: ratio water to oats: 3 to 1 or 4 to 1, cook 10 to 40 minutes. You know, more or less...

Four Hour Round Up

The low-light setting of my camera is great except that you've either got to have a tripod or a really steady hand. Hmmmm, as the above picture proves, must cut back on....what? I don't drink coffee, so maybe chocolate? No, that can't possibly be it :-)

If this works it will be quite possibly the easiest way to clothe a child, ever. Felt sweater, cut off sleeves and neckline, cut out armholes. Ta-da! I added slits at the bottom sides for a little bit more ease of movement because it wasn't quite a-line, but since the shape is based on a little dress she already has, it'll probably fit. Yay for felt tunics!

Some other things finished in the four hours of lovely craft time this afternoon:

New legwarmers for Safiya! And, from Cynthia Treen's Last Minute Fabric Gifts:

A hat pour moi. "Why hello, Robin Hood" said Mr. S. upon my surfacing from the basement. Hmmmm, I thought so myself a little, but I was also trying to persuade myself that at a certain angle it could be jaunty-and-just-a-little-glam-in-a-30's-kind-of-way. That is, until Mr. S. burst my bubble. Well, it's off to rob the rich and give to the poor I go!

On Finding A Better Turn of a Phrase

Woke up, it was a Chelsea morning
And the first thing that I knew
There was milk and toast and honey
And a bowl of oranges, too
And the sun poured in like butterscotch
And stuck to all my senses


Oh, won't you stay
We'll put on the day
And we'll talk in present tenses...

Sometimes it's right there in front of you. I'd lost sight of the fact that the words you use will determine your path for the day. And so, a better use for the words from the title in my previous post...thanks to my favourite song. (which I wish I could find streaming somewhere for you, but the poetry is lovely anyway...)

Present Tense

Here always has been a little blurry to me. I'm a tad forgetful (ahem). Your name will slip through my mind like silken cobwebs, and unless I'm engrossed in a book or sewing or something that keeps my focus, I'm easily distracted and endlessly multitasking, sometimes spectacularly inefficiently.


The future, however, is bright and distinct. I can see it. No, not fortell it, just...see it. It's what helps me visualise a project, it's why I can see the potential in an apartment or house (something at which Mr. S. is completely hopeless, as he will willingly attest to), why I'm good in a pinch, and it's where I spend a lot of time in my head. Which is fine when you're alone. I used to sit and just watch trees and birds for hours when I was young. (I even wondered if I could make a living doing that...sadly, I think not.) At a personal (or personable, I guess) level, though, it doesn't work quite as well. There are benefits, but it's the downfalls that I'm feeling more acutely lately.

I don't think I want to be the kind of mother that isn't present. Someone who always has one of her feet (thinking-like) in the future....what needs to be done, planning, anticipating, lists, playing scenarios, worrying, constructing futures....can't be the greatest companion for a child. A child's life is NOW. I don't want to look into her eyes and be looking past her. Some people have a gift for being now, but it always has been a struggle for me. To quiet my brain. To breathe, mentally.

To stop.

Nice to Know (Bread Curtesy of Mr. S.)

To put the following in context, in her three years Safiya has always fallen asleep at night with me. And that's just the Way It Has Been. Today (conversation had whilst busy playing):

"So, what if Granny came and stayed all day...and didn't go home...and then Mama and Babo went out on a date and then..........you went to sleep with Granny?"

"Uh-huh"

"So, you would be o.k. if Granny put you to sleep and then Mama and Babo came home after you had gone to sleep?"

"Uh-huh..."

(long pause)

"...but I still like Mama and Babo."

Tag You're It

I've been tagged by the lovely Jen. So here goes (funny, I'm usually the chain-breaker...see, it's just that Jen's so nice :-)

The Rules:

1. Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.

Done.

2. Share 5 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.

Random or weird. Maybe random and weird? You see, nobody thinks they're weird, but the nice thing is we all are, so let's celebrate a little weirdness, eh? And randomness...

1. If I make a mistake when I type (a spelling error, for example), I backspace all the way back to where the mistake was made, erasing everything in my path, and start over again. I don't know if that's weird or just a little obsessive-compulsive, but there you are...

2. Both polar-fleece and cotton balls are like nails on chalkboard for me. Serious goosebumps and icky-shivers. If you ever want to get me to confess something, just stick my hand in a jar of cotton balls...

3. I haven't brushed my hair for a couple of years. What? It's clean, just not brushed! My Mom needed a comb once at our place and the only thing I could find (to her utter bewilderment and slight horror) was Safiya's baby comb. Don't come to our house if you've got knots in your hair. Well, you can come over, we just won't be able to help you...

4. When I was little, I used to hide places and read. Everybody did, right? I lived on a farm...where I was supposed to work. So I took my books and I hid - in the empty giant wooden bins that were used to ship peaches to the canners. In trees. In the family car, lying down, with the window cracked for air just a little so that it wouldn't be noticeable. In the upstairs of the barn, where the baskets were kept - I would burrow in, making tunnels in the baskets, and bring a flashlight..."Oh there you are!" My Mom would say. I was really good at hiding :-) I don't really think behaviour like that is applicable to adult daily life, but wouldn't it be fun?

5. I can eat an entire jar of pickles. Just the homemade kind. In one sitting. Ask my Grammy about what happened to her stash of pickles when I house-sat one time for them...

3. Tag 5 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.

I echo Jen's sentiment about this part making one feel shy, but here goes:

kate

sarah

shin

heather

h.

4. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Done.

5. Don’t break the chain!

O.K.!

And p.s. if anyone ever wants to pass around a meme/chain for weird or random things about their partners, sign me up! I could do, oh..."73 weird and random things about Mr. S." Ha!

Stepping Back, or Scenes From a Basement

This is the large picture. My "workplace". It's in quotes because I've gone back and erased that word and re-typed it a couple of times because my real workplace has no physical limits. It is the house, it is the subway, the city, our backyard. Wherever we are. Funny, when it's written like that it sounds like it's (that is, the mothering thing) following me wherever.I.go. Ha!

As for the tidy table, lest you get any false impressions, here is the other side of the room:


My pile of projects. I know where everything is, really I do. By the way, that table in the first picure? Best idea ever. The idea was planted in my brain by Martha's oversized ironing board, and then watered by the hearty recommendations of my friend Johanna. Made it myself for all of $60 (adjustable legs from Ikea, plywood from the hardware store, flannel and cotton covering from my stash - I keep it loose instead of staple-gunning it because the fabric does double duty at craft fairs). Handy-dandy, man. And here's the floor:


Sweaters a-waiting cutting up and considering. The rug also had a former life as a sweater. And the leftover studs (painted by Mr. S. - thank you, honey :-) are oh-so-perfect for stashing and stockpiling:


It is difficult to make basements look cozy in photographs, but this little piece of concrete and bare walls has definitely made its way into my heart.

Snapshot of a Saturday

A short dissertation on the picture above:

There is a spot of chocolate syrup on my sweater. I am wearing sweatpants in the middle of the day. My snack of choice is a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes with a side of horseradish, and the literature is an intriguing study of the gnostic gospels so that my mental appetite can also be fed. Holed up in the spare bedroom, pillows and comforter just so, I can read and view the trees outside at the same time, half their leaves still clinging in golden valiance. Just for an hour or so.

This is indulgence.

Up the Walls

It's gorgeous, if cold, outside today; a sunny blessing in the middle of a rainy stretch of weather. So I've spent it taking "inventory" photos and updating the shop. Safiya has gamely been relegated to television company, which (my pride forces me to note) we haven't indulged in for many months. However, business takes time, takes it and sucks it up, spitting out keystrokes and hurrying footsteps up and down stairs before the light shifts. I am glad to have most of my things listed, all neat and orderly and accounted for.

And a very important thing that I've learned after one or two past time investment mornings like this: the rest of the day is my darling's. My eyes and hers, holding hands, running down sidewalks and kicking leaves. To make up for my distraction and a long morning in t.v. land.

Temporary Insanity and When Did She Turn Twelve?

This is why the first thing that every person says upon entering our house is: "That's a lot of apples."

Yes, yes it is. How did they get there? Under my mistaken belief that we are somehow homesteading instead of living in an urban home that is exactly fourteen feet wide. Must dive into canning applesauce...

Or, start drying apples. Today we dabbled in that, doing a little taste test of each variety: Mutsu (they're still in the oven!), Courtlands, MacIntosh, Golden Delicious...they ended up very yummy, nice and crispy and sweet. Safiya's reaction as she sauntered away with her little bowl of apple chips?

"Now that's a good snack!"

Ha!

The Good Stuff

For a former farmgirl, I've got ridiculously sensitive skin. Today we indulged in one of the little routines around here; making lotion. This is adapted from Jackie French's Natural Solutions:

3 parts oil : 1 part beeswax, grated

(I use sunflower oil, as it's high in vitamin E, relatively inexpensive, and I can get it Canadian made. If I'm splurging I add some calendula oil.) Heat the oil and wax in a double boiler (or, um, extra-from-Value-Village-'cause trying-to-wash-wax-doesn't-work-pot balancing precariously over another pot) until wax is melted. Take off heat, add a few drops of essential oil, and slowly whisk in about 1 part water (keep whisking! or else it gets lumpy, and lumpy lotion? booo!) Keep in the fridge.

Done!

It's inexpensive, pure, and, having tried everything else including doctor prescribed? This is the good stuff, baby!