I See!

As I was sewing a couple weeks ago, I had taken my glasses off as I prepared to do some top stitching on a bag. When I am doing any type of finishing stitching on a project I like to really be able to see up close-I literally have my brown peepers just inches from my work-and in order to do this I have to take my glasses off. And, as usual when I’m working on something-my studio turns into utter chaos. As I was looking for a clear, safe spot to put my glasses, ( I learned the hard way that a safe place is critical-I sat on a pair of glasses once-they were never quite the same after that) my husband walked in and said, “You really need one of those chains that you wear around your neck to hold your glasses.” Brilliant suggestion! And as usual, I started to look for a vintage one. I found this cute eyeglass chain on Etsy from a shop called mupearls. Not vintage-but beautifully handmade from vintage amber and golden glass beads. I love the way they sparkle-and wearing my new eyeglass chain makes me feel rather glamorous when I work! Now if I could just operate my sewing machine’s foot pedal in my 40’s Cuban heels!

13 Pictures

As I was making chili yesterday, I thought about those picture frames you can get that hold all of a child’s school photographs from kindergarten through grade 12. I remembered thinking when Amy was really little, that 13 years was a long time, and a lot of pictures.

Last June Amy finished middle school-and had I bought one of those picture frames, 9 slots would now be filled. Along with those 9 years come a lot of memories. Amy’s very first day of school, when her brand new teacher forgot to count the children after recess and Amy was left outside for quite a while. She didn't mind-she had fun playing long after everyone else had gone in. She was “found” by a helpful 5th grader who took her back to her classroom and a very embarrassed teacher!

I remember a list of spelling words that came home one year…sailor, anchor, knot, ship, bosom…Bosom?! That made me do a double take! I had visions of lusty barmaids entertaining men who’d been at sea too long. Then I realized Amy’s teacher meant boson!

There was the dear teacher who announced to the class, “Had Lincoln not been assassinated, he would still be alive today!” (2002)

One year at the student talent show and bar-b-que, attended by families, friends and respectable members of the community, the local country music radio station provided the d.j. services. They played music before the show started-while people were getting their lunches and the kids were getting ready to perform. Above the chatter of the crowd I could hear the strains of “Ten Rounds With Jose Cuervo.” I could just hear the lunch servers ask, “Would you like milk or tequila with your burger?”

And I smiled remembering the junior high school age kids. They had once fought over who got to sit on my lap when I would help out in Amy's classrooms--now awkwardly holding hands with boyfriends and girlfriends.

Yes, lots of memories…

Yesterday, Amy started high school. Hard to believe that she is only 4 slots away from going off to college! As I made the chili, I must admit I had tears in my eyes. But then again, those were some pretty strong onions I was chopping.

That’s Life

There is an expression about a certain road being paved with good intentions. If that’s the case, I’ve resurfaced it several times by now. You see, I’ve been intending to to do a new blog post for the last three weeks.

I could blame it on Kona. New puppies are a lot of of work. A LOT of work! In between things like keeping Kona’s curious teeth out of trouble, (Table leg? Rawhide bone?) and cleaning up the occasional puddle, ( it’s hard to remember where the door is, or to even go to the door for that matter) she kept me on my toes.

And about those bananas that were on the kitchen table-well maybe they could have lasted another couple of days, but just to be safe I decided that I really should make banana bread NOW, and why not chop up some dried cherries and cashews to throw in while I was at it.

Then there was my garden. Ellensburg is a desert after all. That means very hot temperatures, and no rain. So we are talking about taking the time to drag the garden hose all around the yard, every day, so that all of my precious flowers and veggies wouldn’t perish.

Sometimes my best intentions went out the window because of family and friends. I helped get Amy and Stuart ready the night before their memorable father and daughter trip to Washington DC by helping get laundry done and cookies made for the airplane ride. And there was that morning walk, meant to be a quick one, so that I could get back home and take care of some loose ends. Instead, I ran into a friend who had just lost her husband last spring, and I hugged her for the longest time, right in the middle of the road, while she cried on my shoulder…

So I didn’t get a new blog post done for almost three weeks. But I’m not complaining. Because in between my best intentions, I was busy living my life. And that’s the stuff blogs are made of.

Only Fitting

Once upon a time I was a student at a smallish university in an equally smallish town and my intended major was Home Economics with a specialty in fashion design. Though this school was well known for some of its programs, fashion design was not really one of them…and no one pretended it was. When anyone asked what I planned to major in, and I told them, they would throw out the tired old line “Oh, you’re getting your M.R.S. degree!” Not exactly high praise.

What then, made my time at this particular institute of higher learning so meaningful?

Even though we learned obvious skills such as sewing and pattern making, preparing us for the larger picture of life was the more important objective. There was little talk of making it big in places like New York City or landing jobs with some major designer, because in reality that wasn’t what most of us would do. The goal was making sure that we felt good about ourselves so that we would be happy and proud of ourselves no matter where we ended up. I remember one assignment we were given to design and then make a skirt. I used a vintage drapery panel and some fringe. The resulting skirt was probably dreadful, but because of the praise I received as I modeled it for my grade, I “felt” like a designer. Another time I wore a pea soup green men’s golf sweater to class and paired it with a fuchsia scarf. Who else, but one of my gems of a professor would see the positive side and tell me that pea soup green was a difficult color to wear, but how ingenious of me to make it work by wearing the fuchsia scarf next to my face. Even mistakes were handled diplomatically. Once, when I incorrectly made up a pattern, I wasn’t told I was wrong, but instead I received the comment, “I’ve never seen anyone approach that design in quite that way before!”

I didn’t graduate from this school. I dropped out, for a variety of reasons. I eventually went back to school several years later at a much bigger and better known university. There the stakes were higher, image was everything, and if a career in the “majors” wasn’t going to happen, then there really wasn’t much point, was there? Pea soup green sweaters were a definite no no.

So why this trip down memory lane? Because once again I live in that same small town--and just a few blocks from that same ( but not quite so smallish anymore) university. And it was while living in this town, this time, that I dreamed up my little handmade barkcloth bag business, For the Love of Pete-which embodies all those important lessons I learned here as a student. That doing what I love and being proud of what I do, no matter how humble, are pretty big achievements after all. I think my old professors would approve .

Photo by Philip Gendreau

Guest Writer

They say that behind every great man is a great woman, but I think they should say that behind every great man-or woman-for that matter- is a mannequin.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dot, and as you may or may not have guessed, I am a mannequin. When a certain person I know just couldn’t come up with an idea for a blog post, I thought I’d give it a try. (After all, how hard can it be?)

My full name is Dorothy Dash-or Dot Dash for short. If you are up on your Morse Code you’ll recognize that dot dash, or ._ is the letter A. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that Valerie’s daughter’s name begins with an A. Pretty clever-I have to say. Anyway, just call me Dot. I’ll know who you’re talking about.

Here are my vital statisitics-or the dirt on Dot, so to speak. I stand a cool 6 feet tall. My measurements are 32-24-32, and my lovely legs are 36” long. ( But don’t be jealous, because after all I’m not real.) And let me tell you-- not only am I shapely, but I am firm too! Abs of iron, buns of steel…I have it all. (OK so I’m fiberglass to be precise.) I have blond hair, and brown eyes and I came all the way from New York City! I am rather embarrassed to say that when I did arrive, I was dressed only in my birthday suit, and in pieces no less. Luckily Valerie seemed to have a good grasp of anatomy because I was all assembled—and dressed-- in no time.

My life is good. I have an important job to do, modeling for Valerie, and I do it well. But if I could change anything, maybe I’d spend a day or two as a red head or a brunette. I’d have even more cute clothes-though I must say that I love, love, LOVE my sailor dress. (I like the way it shows off my legs-now if I could just meet a cute sailor, but hey, I don’t get out much. ) Most of all, I wish people would talk to me -- ask me for my opinion once in a while. After all, I may be a mannequin, but I am certainly no dummy.

Any way-hope you enjoyed my two cents. Maybe I'll get to write another post some day.

Thanks for reading,

Dot

Heavenly Hibiscus

One of my favorite sights in Hawaii is the hibiscus. They are colorful, they are strikingly beautiful, and they are almost everywhere! For a long time I wished that I could have hibiscus in my own garden, but since it can get well below freezing here, and I think of hibiscus as a tropical flower, I thought I was out of luck. Then Randi ( http://www.RagnazIdnar.etsy.com ) a fellow member of the Eastern Washington team on Etsy, told me about a hardy hibiscus-and she was a real sweetheart and sent me some seeds. Hibiscus seeds are tough little buggers that have to be soaked and nicked with a sharp knife to allow them to sprout. Whatever I did, it was wrong and alas, no baby hibiscus appeared.

Recently, my daughter Amy and I were visiting my parents in Puyallup, Washington, and fate smiled upon me twice. My Mom took Amy and me to a local garden center, and there, joy of joys were some hardy hibiscus! Of course I bought one, and it is now residing happily (I hope!) in my garden. It will bloom in the late summer, with flowers that are a deep purple blue. Swoon!

My hibiscus in front of a pink hollyhock-a flower that is very similar to hibiscus.

That same week, while my parents and Amy were on an outing, I did a little browsing online and found a piece of hibiscus barkcloth I had only seen in a book about barkcloth and had instantly fallen in love with-hoping some day I would come across some. I knew it was not in mint condition, but when it arrived several days later I was speechless to see that it had been used as a sort of drop cloth-covered with paint splatters and varnish stains. After giving it a careful soaking it is now almost paint free, and I can get a nice sized pillow cover out of it. Even with the abuse this piece had suffered, it is still gorgeous…

I am happy that beautiful hibiscus barkcloth is still being made. I just finished this bag using fabric with sunny yellow blossoms and palm trees (another Hawaiian favorite of mine.)

I love the lining fabric for this bag-it’s another retro print that reminds me of the dresses that my Grandmother wore!

I really should add that in the hibiscus department fate has smiled on me three times. As I was doing some weeding the other day guess what I found? A tiny hibiscus plant! So it seems I did something right with those seeds after all!

Which Way Is Up?

I don’t have a very good sense of direction. I don’t know my north from my south so to speak. I think a good sense of direction is something a person either has or they don’t, and I don’t. Mine is so bad, that I even have a hard time figuring out the direction that the wind is blowing-even though we have a weathervane.

When I lived with my Grandmother, she would say something like “Valerie, would you go to the kitchen and get my cherry pitter from that north cupboard?” Huh? Off I’d go-searching as quickly and silently as possible hoping I’d hit pay dirt right off the bat.

My husband Stuart likes to tease me by saying that the town we live in is twice as big for me as it is for most other folks, because I often get turned around when we are out and about and I think we are in a new part of the city. And as far as reading a map goes, well lets just say that it doesn’t matter if it is upside down or right side up—I always get confused by the fact that north can be any direction I point the old Rand Mcnally.

Recently, I asked my husband if he would make me one of those wooden direction signs shaped like an arrow, and with the word “HAWAII” carved into the surface. “Which direction would it point?” I asked, taking in some of the beautiful views from our yard. “That way.” he gestured, straight at the neighbor’s garage.

I may not have a very good sense of direction, but I DO have a great imagination!