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!

The Dog Days of Summer

Last Sunday a local church in town held a “blessing of the animals” service, and I was thinking of all the ways that animals bless us. They really touch every aspect of our existence, and my favorite example is the many ways that pets enrich our lives.

Here in Ellensburg several local businesses have resident pets-parrots and parakeets, cats, a guinea pig, and of course DOGS! I enjoy visiting a store where a friendly canine greets me and then rolls over for a belly rub. One of my favorite antique stores has Gabe-a giant yellow lab. Gabe is in charge of welcoming customers when they come in, and he even dresses for his job by wearing a necktie to work. His owner told me that before Christmas one year she put a different Christmas tie on Gabe every day. The day after Christmas, she didn’t put a tie on him--so he got one on his own and brought it to her—he liked his professional look, and has worn a tie every day since!

The local barber shop also has a dog-a very cute and very tiny Yorkshire Terrier named Bandit-who likes to sit on customers' laps. On one occasion, when my friend Paula took her son in for a haircut, Bandit showed why he is so aptly named. Paula put her purse on a chair while she got her son settled, and she happened to see Bandit nosing around in it-- and then streak across the floor with her hairbrush in his mouth! I’m not sure if she got it back-or if she even wanted it back after that!

Our own household is home to a parakeet, a guinea pig, and as of last Sunday-the day of the blessing of the animals-two dogs now instead of one. In addition to Willow- our beloved dog of 13 years-we now have Kona. She is a sweet little 8 week old Border Collie and Australian Sheppard mix who is sure to liven things up. It is fun to rediscover the joys of being around a puppy-housebreaking, sharp puppy teeth and all!

As a final thought, I pray for many blessings on the men and women who are helping with animal rescue efforts in the wake of the BP oil spill disaster. I know these precious creatures would surely say “Thank You!” if they could.

In A Different Light

I live in an old house. It was built in or around 1900, and though it’s held up well through the years, it needs some cosmetic improvements. One thing I’m trying to do is to replace all the more modern light fixtures with vintage or vintage style ones. Several months ago I found a old and beautiful chandelier at a surplus sale, and entered a bid in a sealed auction. Well I won—with a winning bid of $41! This chandelier had been removed during the renovation of one of the old buildings on the campus of Central Washington University-Sue Lombard Hall-a dormitory and dining hall. It was one of the original fixtures when the building was completed in 1926. Parts of this chandelier are even real silver! This week, after a good cleaning and polishing by me, and rewiring and installation by my husband and father in law-it now provides light for my studio, where it replaced a white ceiling fan. It looks stunning, hanging majestically from the ceiling and it makes me happy to see something beautiful from the past once again performing the task it was made to do!

Watch out ugly blue wallpaper! You are next!

The chandelier before cleaned up.

After a good cleaning and polishing.

The Virtue of Patience

On a recent foray to Goodwill, I came across a zip lock stuffed with bits and pieces of a quilt someone had started, but never finished. A bargain at $14.99, I bought it and was excited to get home and see what all was in the bag. I found about 25 finished blocks, and enough pieced sections for about 25 more blocks. The fabric appeared to be vintage, and the hand stitching well executed. This quilt had been started by an excellent quilter, and I wondered what had happened that the quilt was never finished. “This will make a good summer project." I told myself, but after about 20 minutes of rearranging the squares, and marveling at the interesting colors and designs of the fabric I lost my resolve and stuffed everything back in the bag. “This would take so long to finish.” I decided. I didn’t really feel I’d have the time and that was that. Perhaps my dear mom, an excellent quilter, would be able to do something with it.

Last week, as I watched footage of the massive BP oil spill, and thought about the way the world is now-so fast and complicated and full of staggering problems-I thought about simpler, slower times. And I began to appreciate the making of a quilt. I know you can buy mass produced quilts-but I don’t mean those. I mean the kind that I found at Goodwill-the kind that someone had planned to sew herself. I thought about the reasons why I love objects that are handmade, including those I make myself-- they are crafted by a person, an artist who puts heart and soul into into his or her work, and they are usually made to last for a long time. And I realized one more reason, too. That those handmade items take time to make. They require a commitment of hours and attention and an understanding that things of beauty don’t always happen overnight. This is a tough concept in our hurried world where we are used to instant gratification. I was guilty of this myself.

The quilt is once again on my list of summer projects-I want to see it finished because it will be really pretty when it is done. I’m also going to see if both my mom and my daughter want to help me. I know that patience is something I need to learn, but I’d like to have some company while I do.

Crossing Chestnut

In less than two weeks Amy will be done with school. Along with the end of the school year, it also marks the end of a daily ritual.

For the past nine years, almost every weekday morning and afternoon, she and I have walked the few blocks to school-first to elementary school and then to middle school. When she was little, I walked with her out of necessity. As she grew older I walked and still walk with her because she likes my company, I like hers, and I get some exercise. Every trip back and forth has meant crossing Chestnut street-a road usually busy and hard to negotiate.

Next year Amy will start high school, and it’s in the opposite direction. Though this school is also only a few blocks away, you don’t have to cross Chestnut street to get there.

A lot of changes have happened in the last nine years, the most dramatic being that Amy has gone from a cute, toothless 5 year old to a beautiful young lady. In those 9 years we’ve also watched neighbors come and go, we ourselves have moved to a new house, we’ve made new friends along our routes. We’ve seen huge old trees get cut down and young ones planted, old wooden fences replaced with new vinyl fences that last forever, and sadly, one great old house burn down leaving behind a shell of its former self, and then an empty lot. We’ve found different ways to get to school-down different streets and alleys, but the one constant has been crossing Chestnut street.

Will I miss Chestnut street, and the difficulty it often presented when we tried to cross it? No, but I guess I’ll miss what Chestnut street represented—a divider between Amy as a child and still very much needing me, and Amy as the adult she is rapidly becoming-still needing me, but maybe not so much and in a different way.

Does this thought make me sad? Right now very much so. But I’m excited too. I’ve been to the new high school and I’ve seen what the kids have available to them, and I can remember myself how bright the future is when you have your whole life ahead of you.

Though I’m not ready to have Amy grown up and be gone from home, I am painfully aware that it’s inevitable. I don’t need to hold her hand any more. I don’t need to do a lot of things for her any more. But sometimes, the little girl is back-reaching for my hand, leaning her sweet head on my shoulder, and whispering “I love you.”

So long, Chestnut street.