the unwritten summer

Summer is gone. Jack starts school on Monday.

Summer is gone.

I had lofty plans for the blog this summer. And now, here we are at the end. I’m realizing that my many, many goals went unrealized. For instance…

I had plans to: post about several pieces of pink Depression glass I inherited when my wonderfully sassy Aunt Dawnaline passed away earlier this year. Her home had pink dishes on the walls, pink dishes on the counters, pink dishes in the bathrooms, pink dishes in the cabinets. Did you know that during the Depression, cereal companies put these dishes inside cereal boxes as an incentive to buy? I think they’re beautiful.

I had plans to: put up this little tutorial for a denim doormat that I thought might turn out kind of fun.

Still in progress.

I had plans to: share a bit about our trip to St. George and Zion, where we had a wonderful week with my brother and his family:

I had plans to: show off this incredible shawl that was given to me as a gift by a friend I hadn’t seen in a very long time—about seven years. She’s this wonderful quilt-book author. Her name is Ursula, and she has a heart of gold. Obviously, she has hands of gold as well.

I lost my breath when I saw this shawl, and fought off tears to save you and I the embarrassment… thank you, Ursula. (And for the gorgeous cupcakes too.) Cold weather can't get here fast enough.

I had plans to: keep up with Jackspeaks and Charlietalks, like this one (rated PG):

Me: “Charlie, I heard that you said, ‘What the hell?’ in front of your cousin.”

Charlie: “Yeah.”

“Well, remember, we talked about that. Those are the kinds of words that aren’t for little boys.”

“I know.”

“Okay then.”

“Can I say ‘What the poop?’”

“No.”

“Can I say “What the pee?’”

“Nope.”

“Can I say, ‘What the penis?’”

“No!”

“Can I say, ‘What the nipples?’”

“Dude, I don’t even know what you mean when you say that. How about you can say, ‘What the heck.’”

Charlie is silent.

Me: “Go on, try it. What the heck?”

Charlie: “Um… what the heck.”

“C’mon, really say it. Say it loud. What the HECK?!?”

“WHAT THE HECK!?!??”

“Yeah!”

“Hmm. Well, I guess. I guess I can say that.”

“Thank you.”

I had plans to: announce that ReSew is now an eBook. You can have all 144 pages on your desktop in less than five minutes. Isn’t that cool? Yay for instant gratification!

I had plans to: write a post attesting to the fact that sewing connects us globally. Case in point: someone in China linked to a recent tutorial of mine. I used Google Translate to find out what they wrote, hoping it was positive. According to Google, the post says:

The skirt to dress? Have this possible? In the end how to modify it?
We take a look at the WildCards. This site provides good ideas.
Please link to practice page. Another trick is to cut the original T-shirt dress with the upper half.
After reading this demonstration for change clothes. Is not so that we have another new enlightenment?

Google Translate needs some work. (But I was thrilled to see that the post was, indeed, positive. I think.)

But now, at the end of our summer, none of those posts have come to be.

Instead, we’re doing this:

We’re moving.

Brett and I have been talking a lot about our family. Brett just noted yesterday that it’s been a full year since we started talking. It’s turned into a pivotal, enlightening discussion about who we’ve been, who we’ve become, and who we want to be. And through so many talks, we decided what is important to us right now:

• To find a place where our boys can run. And run. And run.


• To grow a little closer to the earth. All of us.


• To hear quiet.


• To see billions of stars at night--instead of scant millions, you know.


• To smell fresh-cut hay. (Brett’s favorite. It makes him happy.)


• To produce a freaking HUGE vegetable garden.

So, we imagined a place. We didn’t know where this imaginary place was until just this week. (In fact, when I started this post a while back, I titled it “On a Road to Nowhere.”)

The imaginary place isn’t imaginary anymore. It’s real. And we’re moving there.

I think we may have just turned our year-long talk—our dream, really—into reality.

I am elated. I am scared.

I was recently lamenting at the dinner table about possibly moving Jack from one school to another in the middle of the year. I was afraid for him. I was going on and on and on and on about it.

Suddenly, Jack interrupted me. He said, “Mom, we’re moving. Get over it.”

Oh. Well. That does seem like the easier route. Thanks, my sweet Jacky. Thanks for letting me know you’re game for this adventure, too.

And although we're now moving to a new home, what I’ve learned through this year-long process is that home isn’t where your house is. It’s where the people you love are. For me, it’s where Bretty and Jacky and Charlie-Barley are. Everything else will fall into place. I believe it.

I recently came across this quote (introduced to me via Soulemama). For me, it was the kind of thing that stopped me cold. I read it several times, and then felt a need to print it out and hang it on my design wall. It says:

Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
--Mary Oliver

Wild and precious. Yes. And one. Only one.

What is it you plan to do?

ALERT: Charlietalk

I’m telling Bretty about a dream I had. An unusually large cat and an even bigger dog were charging a deer in our backyard. The deer stood frozen, helpless against the angry pair. Charlie’s listening in on the story.

Bretty: “Weird dream.”

Me: “Yeah, it was bizarro.”

Charlie: “I didn’t see that deer.”

Me: “It was in my dream.”

“Your dream?”

“Yes. It was just in my head, bean.”

“In your head?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you mean in your hair?”

‘No, I mean in my mind . . . in my imagination. When I was sleeping.”

“Oh yeah, yeah. Okay.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. But the next time that happens, I want to see that deer. You have to show me. You have to pick me up and take me with you so I can see.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Seven years.

Our Jacky turned seven years old this week.

Fall 2010. The morning after losing the second front tooth.

Boy, have I learned a lot about you this year, Jack. One thing I’ve learned is that, after a full year of first grade behind you—and after a painfully shy babyhood—you are really good in social situations. You excel at making friends. You are friendly, accommodating, polite, and thoughtful. At the family birthday party, you blew out your candles and said your wish out loud. You said, “I wish that my entire family stays healthy.” I saw a few family members’ jaws drop. But not mine. Because at your best, you are selfless.

You’re also a charmer. How do I know this? Because of the stack of love letters you received from—ahem—several girls this past year at school. You’ve told me about the ones you like, and the ones you love. But don’t you worry. I’ll keep your secrets about who is who so you can play the field as long as you need to.

There are also some things that haven’t changed.

You are still… not wearing clothes much. Snow, rain, sunshine—it’s always the same. You enter the house, throw pants, shirt, and shoes in a pile on your bed, and hang out in your undies. I’m still under the impression that you will outgrow this little quirk of yours. I was under that same impression last year. Guess I’ll check back next year.

The paragraph above should explain several upcoming photos.

You are still… creating.

with legos

paper

buttons

wooden tool thingy parts

and more legos. And tiny ninjas and purple rubber frogs.

You are still… loving dress up.

One of this year’s favorites for me: the bandana loincloth.
(I’ve got pictures of the back too.)

You were very proud of this warrior mask. So innocent. You even taped it to your face! I didn’t have the heart to tell you what it reminded me of. I didn’t want to spoil your fun or choke your creativity. The politics of it are for another time.

Modeling a scuba-diving balloon creation given to you by our neighbor.
(More of Marc’s amazing balloon stuff here.)

Sometimes your dress up is a little more realistic than I would like.
Yikes! But that’s the actor in you.

(which leads to)

You are still… acting.

Whether you’re portraying a robotic dinosaur:

a sad little girl from old Russia:

or an old man sneezing…

 

It’s always entertaining. Bravo.

(Just in case anyone wonders, that’s magic marker on Jack’s chest. It's an Ironman thing.)

You are still… not swimming.

But you're getting braver by the day.

You are still… reading! More than 100 books during the school year. Lots of summer reading too. I’m so very proud that you enjoy it. Chalking that up to me and your dad, reading aloud, reading aloud, and then reading aloud some more. Backs patted.

You are still… loving your brother.

"Two peas in a pod" never made more sense to me.

* * * * *

I remember when you were a baby, Jacky. That painfully shy babyhood. You were so, so very shy. You held on to me so tightly when we were meeting someone new. So tightly. I didn't want to force you. So I just squeezed back. I wondered if you would ever gather up the courage to let go.

These days, you’ll still hold my hand. But if there’s someone new to meet, you let go. You let go of my hand to meet them. And that makes me happy.

I’m starting to realize it's me that needs to gather up the courage to let go.

I promise I’ll work on loosening my grip a bit. If you’ll promise to, if only once in awhile, hold my hand tight. Like now. Hold my hand, bean, and I’ll hold on to yours. Let’s walk together.

Onto year eight.

ALERT: Jackdo

 

Thrifted!: five quirky dresses

It’s 6:58 am. Thirty-eight people shuffle their feet in front of a store, waiting for the doors to unlock. They’re sleepy, but poised for a treasure hunt. I’m standing with them. I'm stealthily dressed in a loose tank dress and slip-off shoes. A small purse with a long strap is draped over one shoulder and across my body, holding only a debit card, a finely curated shopping list, and Burt’s Bees lip balm.

I had my morning shot of Diet Coke. I listened to loud, happy music on the drive in and I sang along, loud and happy. The anticipation amplifies. I’m pumped.

I hear the theme from Rocky in my head.

Okay, now you're just getting weird, I think to myself.

The doors open. It's time to play.

It’s 50% off day at the thrift store. I’m ready!

Amidst the fun of the 4th of July weekend—filled with food, fireworks, and a mass of mosquito bites (welcome back, little Beelzebubs)—I found a bit of time for a cheerful jaunt to the thrift store.

It was what I call a “jackpot” day.

Five summery dresses. Five. In my size. In my style. And most certainly in my budget. None made more than a $6 dent in my debit card.

I brought my dresses home to my three boys. The response? Kind. They care, of course. But they don’t care, you know, like dress hoarders do. Any dress hoarders out there? I need a little share 'n care.

Dress #1: the doily dress

What a unique mix of woven and knit fabrics, stripes and piping. And then they go and throw in a doily.

Right side, left side.

The dress had ties sewn into the side seams. Didn’t like ‘em. Took ‘em out. Now it’s just right.

Dress #2: the linen flowers dress

An everyday dress for summer. Such a pretty pattern, I think. I love that linen doesn't like to hug your curves too much. Thank you, linen.

Dress #3: the girly-girl dress

This dress is frilly, no doubt—more frills than I’m used to. But it was unusual enough to catch my eye. I love the texture of raw edges, and this has lots of raw-edge and machine-embroidered detail. I played down the girly-girlness a bit by pairing it with jeans and heavy shoes.

A close-up of those pretty details.

Dress #4: the mod-pod dress

Holy bizarro. I could not NOT take this dress home. The outside layer is cotton cutwork; the inside layer is a white cotton tank-style slip. I figured, why not bizarre-it-up even more with polka-dot leggings?

Here’s hoping I’ll find a way to pull this dress off, sometime, somewhere.

Dress #5: the date night dress

Bretty likes it. Enough said. Now we just need find a date for a date!

A quick thrifting tip: if you live near a Savers or a Value Village thrift store, they announce 50% off sales a few times a year. You can sign up for their newsletter to get reminders about their sales. Next one is around Labor Day.

Thanks for letting me share my finds. I hope you had a happy weekend!

sewing it: the denim sheet quilt

Quilting is a huge industry today. I think it’s like, B-B-Billions of dollars big. But when it was just a start-up, it was practiced pretty much out of necessity. Little bits of leftover fabrics sewn together to warm bodies.

The origin of quiltmaking is, somehow, insanely romantic to me.

The quilters of yesteryear probably wouldn't be very happy with me about the romanticism. I’m quite certain they wouldn’t describe it that way. But I’ve read lots about American quiltmaking history. It’s fascinating. For me, the whole idea for making the very first quilt could be pared down to this little rhyme:

Use it up, wear it out
make it do, or do without.

I’m not sure who originally said this. I googled it and came across pages about getting the last of your lipstick out of the tube, raiding the fridge instead of eating out, and fixing a broken strap on a mary jane with a heavy needle and fishing line. All 21st-century ways of living the old adage.

Good on you, 21st-century people.

I guess I’m just in love with the idea of getting creative. Instead of running out to buy something you want or need, you find a way to make what you want or need using what you already have.  

That said, I’m starting up a new quilt. Putting that old saying to use. One striped sheet and four pairs of denim jeans. To start.

I wanted to make one block design to repeat throughout the quilt in an interesting way. This is what I came up with.

It’s inspired by a wallpaper border I spotted, sitting rolled up on a shelf at a dollar store years ago. I remember sketching what I remembered of the design later that day in the car. My memory of it was, well, sketchy.

Let’s just say it was a mistake not to spend the dollar.

Anyway, I’m calling it the “Wallpaper Border” block. Certainly not as inventive a name as “Monkey Wrench” or “Nonsuch” or “True Lover’s Knot” or “Arabic Lattice” or “Devil’s Puzzle,” but it’ll do for now. After all, I’m just at the beginning.

When I get the blocks completed, the inevitable question pops up: how to set them?

I like the simplicity of this setting.

I think this would turn into a bunch of letter H's. So, probably not.

Rows like this could be a bit of a mind boggler, but maybe in a good way.

How about pairing two different ideas? Hmmm…

On point?

Maybe a weaved, lattice-y look?

Oooh. Me likey.

I haven’t made a quilt in a while. I forgot how fun it is. It's also quite maddening.

Any setting you like best? Or perhaps you have a smarter suggestion for a block name (please)? I’m all ears.

Ah, yes. Quilting. Very romantic indeed.