Blue Yonder

Garden View

It is cold and rainy here. In like a lion and all...

No matter, I'm not above making my own version of spring when necessary.

I'm surrounding myself with flowers. There are vintage-y thrifted flowers on my bed and some special ones at my side. That's husband's baby quilt covering the night stand and my great grandmother's pink floral china holding my rings.

There are new curtains made from old sheets on the windows... A little floral cocoon in which to do our spring dreaming.

... And because we could hardly wait to see them up... They are hanging there with little yellow pins where a hem ought to be.

If the cold and wet stick around, that hem will get sewn, but if we spy sun behind those curtains all bets are off. As lovely as it is to wrap yourself in vintage flowers, it doesn't hold a candle to running through the real thing.

Take Another Little Piece of My Heart

Good things happen under quilts. (get your mind out of the gutter please, this is a family blog :-)

I mean things like dreaming, and imagining.

.. things like comfort and warmth, and the knowledge that oatmeal is on it's way.

When I was a little girl, staying over with my great-grandmother, my Momo, my cousin Alison and I had this game we'd play under the cover of Momo's quilts. We'd lie on our backs in the bed, and extend our legs up, straight as we could, and then pretend that the sunlight coming through the colored patches was really streaming though stained glass. Sometimes the glass was in a castle, and we were trapped princesses. Sometimes we were in some gothic cathedral, living out our days as sisters of the cloth (think Hayley Mills in The Trouble With Angels). We'd whisper and giggle and hear no end of "SSSSSH! You girls'd better hush now!"

Those memories are the reason that I simply HAD to have this print from Emily Martin's lovely shop. It's like looking in a mirror... only one that shows how you look in your happiest, coziest moments.

So, it's kinda natural I guess, considering this family's deep love of quilty bits, that we'd piece together our Valentine sentiments.

My boys have been busy, choosing fabrics, stitching patches, crocheting chains and cutting out paper hearts.

They are making wee quilts for their loved ones. They are meant for keeping bread warm on the dinner tables of our favorite folks, but we're pretty sure, as with all quilts, that they will come in handy for all sorts of imaginative ventures.

As for the mama, just watching my little men take up a craft that plays such a treasured part in my own childhood is a love note all it's own.

The Goods on Leaves

Do you see what I see?

There are colors, other than green, in those trees. Just miles from my house. It's coming! It is!

I know it is subtle. I know it's not much. But COLORS!

It. Is. Good!

It is good to see little boys throwing leaves in the air (less good to clean the resulting grime out from under their fingernails, but it's a small price, really).

It's good to know that if said leaves aren't changing colors fast enough for us, we can help things along:

We're feeling good about the fact that Grandmother will enjoy the notecards that came of our afternoon crafting.

And it's a VERY good thing that sweet, talented, Sarah is handy with the Gocco, because I'd like half a million leafy cards please, and I don't have the patience (nor the skill) to hand print them all! (Her beautiful wares are pictured below)

At this moment, I'm feeling extra special good, knowing that all the wee ones are tucked in, dreaming of giant piles of leaves, while a glass of cabernet and this lovely edible pile of leaves awaits me:

(Dulce De Leche Cookies - recipe in this month's issue of Martha Stewart Living)

And the goodest of all (as my Ryder says)? Knowing that afterwards, I get to fall into a (finished!) bed of leaves all my own :-)

That front pillow case was once a thrifted sheet, too small for our bed, but too good to pass up. It's become pillow cases, with an added bit of leafy embroidery, just for fun.

Ah, fall. Slow to arrive, but so, so good.

Collecting Days

My kids collect a lot of stuff. Some of it is intentional, some of it not so much, but valuable to us, all the same.

There are the natural wonders -

Feathers of all sorts.

Shells.

Heart-Shaped Rocks.

Insects and Fossils.

Add to these other, less tangible collections of natural wonders, like fantastic ways to annoy your mother with bodily noises (latest addition being the armpit fart - I'm sorry, there's no gentler way to say it.) A host of smell related memories (tootsie rolls = that time we all got sick at Halloween. waffles cooking = Daddy on a business trip), sounds we love (an owl in the middle of the night, train whistles, our thrifted cookoo clock).

Then there are the unnatural variety -

Bottle caps, an ode to public park-going litter bugs. I did not consume all that beer. Not because I'm opposed to alcohol, but because I prefer mine with a cork.

Pez dispensers.

Flattened pennies.

And others - near swears to say while driving ("Mama, what's a moron?"), days full of creativity, stories and exploration, Library fines for books lost to our home's black hole ($65 which I refuse to pay because I know they are here, SOMEWHERE!), foreign money from Daddy's travels, maps of all 50 states, vintage books, recipes that they can make themselves; minutes, seconds, hours, days of invested time and attention from loved ones, dreams, hopes, ambitions and confidence.

Combined net worth of all those collections? Depends on your currency.

Dollars and cents = nothing.

Heart and Soul = all of it.

A Family Affair

We thought about celebrating our 10th anniversary with new diamonds, old wine, spa treatements and a private yacht, but really, that would be so cliche. So, we opted for a quiet family celebration instead.

We'll go out, just the two of us, for sushi tomorrow, but today was for all of us. Because really, this mile stone belongs to us all. ("Just think guys, if you'd married other people, you'd have whole different kids!")

I felt it necessary to mark the occassion with a frolic through Goodwill. (I didn't actually frolic, people. I'm not that weird. At least not in public. Okay, not before dark.)

Goodwill was oh SO full of good will today!

I've been wanting some little divided plates for the boys, and low and behold there were SIX of them for a dollar! And some Glassbake. And some Fire King. AND a lovely little enamel coated pan. Honey, hush!

While I was gone, my fellas went out for roses. Eric says it took them half an hour to decide on the best ones. "They had to smell every single bouquet in the joint to find the one with the best nose." Sommeliers in the making.

Don't they look nice in the little pitcher that also made it home from the thrift store with me today? Mmm hmm. They do.

We all made dinner together, singing dopey 50s love songs from XM radio and making endless toasts with our wine and milk. ("To smooching!" "Ewwww, no, stop!")

At dinner, E and I stared, bewildered, across the table wondering how in the blue blazes we got here. For ambiance, spilt milk, one boy falling off the chair, the other two showing each other mouthfuls of chewed food.

They are so romantic. (Red tablecloth also courtesy of Goodwill.)

And just to make the night complete, we opened up our trusty, "Things To Make and Do" vintage book and made some paper puppets, which we used to recreate a wedding ceremony. "I promise to smell your stinky feet, give you at least one bite of every dessert and eat you, head first, if you make me mad."

Make some of your own! Delight your children. Annoy your friends and neighbors! Just click on the picture to make the instructions larger.

Here's hoping that your homes are also filled with laughter this weekend, and the thrift stores are as kind to you!

IF - You Put Your Great Grandmother's Pillowcases on Your Bed

... along with some thrifted vintage sheets, and your Great Aunt Vivian's Turtle Quilt, will you sleep they way you would if all of those grandmothers, combined, rocked you on their laps?

Reminds me of that Shawn Colvin song, Polaroids:

"Please no more therapy
Mother take care of me
Piece me together with a needle and thread.
Wrap me in Eiderdown
Lace from your wedding gown,
Fold me and lay me down on your bed..."

Weekend Wrap Up

Everyone is asleep, it's raining, and my bed is calling me, but it's been such a full weekend, and such a busy week looms ahead, that I find myself needing to download a little.

First, there were the things I made:

This little beauty is for my dear Aunt June's birthday.

She's a lady, in every way. She has impeccable taste, a quirky, fun nature, a heart of gold and way of looking at the world with curiousity and wonder. I love her, and for all those reasons, I find her VERY hard to buy for. So I didn't. Instead, I made her a little bag/purse thingy from a thrifted tea towel. I loved it so much that I almost kept it!

And I also whipped up this little tote for an old friend who has recently become a Mama to twins!

She's such an inspiring person who has already done such amazing things, that I have no doubt she'll be a fantastic Mama to little Luke and Scarlett. And hey Rachel, I might not be handling your PR anymore, but I'm totally down for a playdate! :-)

The apple on the front pocket is from a vintage tablecloth. I thought the kind of yin/yang look of it was perfect for toting around bits and baubles for twins.

Then, of course, there were the things that I carried home. (Have you read that short story, "The Things They Carried"? It's such a good one.)

I went to a FABULOUS estate sale with my mom on Friday, and then another on Saturday. Look at this haul:

VINTAGE APRONS

VINTAGE SHEETS

ODDS AND ENDS (that happened to follow a color scheme - visit here to see more of this phenomenon.)

Estate saling offers such mixed emotions for me. I get so excited to find something wonderful, something special that will hold a treasured spot in my home, something that reminds me of my great grandma's home and then... when I open a drawer to find and old man's pajamas, or when I enter a bathroom and see a walker and other home nursing equipment stored in the shower, I feel so sad, knowing that someone faced the perils of aging, and someone, probably many someones, lost a loved one. I try to tell myself that the good news is, these things, the things I carry, they are special to me, and they are making up the fabric of our home and my children's childhoods. That has to count for something. That has to be some sort of homage to the person who owned these things before me. No?

And then there is the thing looming ahead.

Now, I have to tell you. I don't mind getting my hands dirty. I'm just as apt to romp the creeks and dig in the dirt with my boys as the next gal, but I have a BIG challenge before me.

My oldest is a new Cub Scout. We joined up a few weeks ago, and have heard, countless times since, that camp is THE event of the year. So, we signed up, plunked down the cash, and then... read the fine print. All incoming Tiger Cubs must have an adult partner with them all day, every day at camp. That means, ladies and gentlemen, Mama will be by his side from 8:15 to 4:30, outdoors, Monday through Friday of this week. Heaven help me.

I will shoot BB guns. I will try my hand at archery. I will swim. I will hike. I will take lots of pictures and remind him of this when he's 14 and tells me that I never loved him. :-)

I like the idea of all this stuff, I do, its the actual DOING of it, in 95 degree heat for 8 bloody hours, five days in a row, that I'm not sure about.

The things we do for love.

He organized my buttons for me:

So, yeah, I'll broil alive for him. And, I might even like it. :-)

And that brings me to this week. I'm pretty sure I will want to come home and collapse at the end of the day. My sweet man has promised to be ready and waiting for me (think being fed grapes and fanned). I plan to go completely brain dead by about 6 PM central daylight savings time. So, instead of my regular programming here, I have prepared some entries ahead of time. I have seen bloggers do weeks of color, things they love, corners of their homes, and other fun stuff, so I thought I'd try something different. I'm calling it "IF". You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll be amazed. And I will, God willing, live to blog another week.

Think fondly of me when you are enjoying the AC this week!

Junkilificus Myopia

Friends, I need to warn you about a little known, but ultimately devastating disease that has reached epidemic proportions in this part of the country. Take precautions now.

I became acutely aware of this affliction when, just days ago, my father-in-law let it be known that he thought my use of the word "thrifting" was funny. I told him that I didn't make it up, it's a real word, and if it's not it should be, and I'm not the only one who thinks so. He still found it funny, I guess, because he told me later that he came up with a definition for "thrifting" and thought I should use it on my blog. It goes like this:

Thrift, thrifted, thrifting (verb) - To find good prices on stuff you don't need.

(This is where I put my fists on my hips and begged to differ.)

Now, I like my father in law, and I know he reads this little blog-o-mine, so I'm going to state that up front, but I have come to the disheartening revelation that he suffers from an illness that many men share. The scientific term is Junkilificus Myopia. It is a refractive defect of the eye in which the sufferer cannot see the true value of previously owned objects. The afflicted are perfectly capable of seeing the cracks, wrinkles, tears, rust or other minor defects in these objects, but cannot appreciate the item in its fullness.

Sad, I know.

I'm also very sorry to say that this hideous condition has affected a rather wide segment of the population, and appears to be an inherited malformation. I know this because my husband has, when looking at a perfectly perfect specimen of thrifted treasure, say a pile of pretty canisters and little suitcases that cost a combined $2.50, uttered the words, "Did you really need that?"

I give you exhibit A:

See what I mean? The poor man! Imagine, going through life not even SEEING the inherent beauty right before his very eyes! I'm thinking of organizing some sort of telethon, or fun run or something. I just feel so sorry for him.

You should know also that there is a variant form of the disease in which the sufferer not only fails to see the value in thrifted objects, but is also unable to appreciate found objects. My poor father, God be with him, has a severe case of this affliction. The man can look right at a basket full of pine cones gathered in the woods of East Texas or a bucket full of shells plucked right from the Gulf Coast and see only trash. I tell you, it just rips your heart out to witness this atrocity.

Thankfully, there is hope.

If you recognize the symptoms early, intensive therapy and retraining can help to correct the problem. I have worked tirelessly with my husband, for over a decade now, and I'm happy to say that he is showing some small signs of progress.

Only this afternoon, he looked at this little beauty,

(a gorgeous green glass lamp rescued from an estate sale), and said, "It's kinda cool."

Hope springs eternal.

It appears, as well, that Junkilificus Myopia may be entirely preventable if the gene carriers are identified early and innoculated with an appropriate amount of thrifty goodness.

My children are participating in a trial study that is already producing obvious results.

When shown this,

My 6 year old immediately recognized the green cup as the newest addition to our collection and responded, "Wow Mama! That one is awesome! Can I use it at dinner tonight?"

And when I showed my 5 year old this,

He said, "WHOA! You got THAT for only $.25? COOL!"

So please, don't let another little one grow up to suffer from this disfiguring disease. Right now, take your children by the hand and present them with opportunities to go THRIFTING. Teach them to use that word as often as possible! By all means, walk them through the various reasons to "need" a thing: for nostalgic value, for the thrill of the hunt, for the tingly feeling that comes from knowing that something a dead person loved is not going to rot away in storage or a trash heap but be cherished and loved anew and afresh, or just because you like it, it's pretty, it's cheap, (it's certainly not going to prevent you from eating, paying your bills or tithing) and by golly you give all week long and if you want to do a little taking on Saturday morning you just will, and that's all there is!

I'm so sorry. It's just that the horrific nature of this disease gets me all worked up.

I'm going to have to go and calm myself down now by reviewing the THRIFTED finds of the day.

Roots

I moved around a lot when I was little. I think I once counted seven different schools before the seventh grade. It was tough, but it was what my parents had to do. I think though that changing places so much as a young person has had some lasting effects on who I am.

See, during all that moving around, there was one place that never changed. My great grandmother’s home in a sleepy little East Texas town. It was nothing special, I guess. A white frame house at the top of a steep black-topped drive. It was nestled amongst tall pines, and solidly sturdy on packed red dirt. Probably the travelers and truckers that passed it never noticed it at all, but to me, it was home.

If we arrived at night, and I was sleeping, I would half consciously feel my Popo (my great grandfather) pick me up and carry me to bed. He was a mechanic, so he always smelled delightfully of grease, gasoline and ivory soap. He would lay me in the fluffiest bed in the world, with its cold, soft with age sheets, and topped with one of Momo’s quilts.

If we arrived during the day, my Momo would come out the screen door before we’d even had a chance to get out of the car. She would be wearing and apron, brushing flour off of nearly translucent hands, then holding her arms wide for the half hour long hugging session that would follow.

I could smell the cornbread and turnip greens as we stood in the yard exchanging hellos.

I love my Mom and Dad. They worked hard to make a home for me wherever we were, but my roots, those were never truly transplanted. Those are still at Momo’s house, dug deep into the red dirt.

And that is why I do so many of the things I do.

It’s why I wear aprons when it seems like no one else does anymore.

It’s why I try to garden, every year, despite the demon squirrels.

It’s why I relish purple stained fingers after blackberry picking.

It’s why I will get out the ice cream freezer at least once over the summer and make my own.

It’s why I love quilts, vintage fabric, enameled metal bowls, wood floors and the site of an old weathered barn.

It’s why I am moved to tears when for the first time this year, I see my little ones chasing fireflies in the yard in their pajamas, empty mayonnaise jars in hand.

It’s why the smell of grease or ivory soap cause me to smile.

It’s why I insisted my husband install a screen door, and once I even made him build me a chicken coop in our suburban backyard (but that’s another story).

It’s why I sew a stuffed bird for James.

And make after-pool pants out of thrifted sheets:

Because I can still see her sweet old fingers threading a needle, as clearly as I see my own.

These are the things make me feel connected to home. These are the tastes, sounds, and smells that I want my children to remember, no matter where they roam.

Thrifty Treasures

James' Garage Sale Goods
Originally uploaded by Blue Yonder.

I've created monsters!

My boys now LOVE to go thrifting at yard and garage sales. We were up with the sun this Saturday to see what treasures might come our way. They were singing in the back seat, faces slathered in honeybuns, "One man's trash is another man's treasure!"

I told them this old adage when we first went saling, a while back, and now it is their mantra. And they believe it with their whole hearts!

The stuff above is Jamesie's treasure. He was very purposeful, picking up random objects and replacing them until just the right thing struck him. I asked him what he was looking for, and he didn't know, but he said he would know when he found it.

I can relate.

He tells me that he is building a weather station with this stuff.

I'm worried a little that he's going to short out the power grid. It will be like that scene in Back to the Future where Michael J. Fox hooks up his guitar to the ridiculously huge amp, and then plays a single note and fries the whole thing. If you hear of a major electrical outage in the southwest, look the other way and pretend that you don't know us.

Luke picked up a really neat old hammer for his burgeoning tool box, and I came away with lots of fun fabric, an apron pattern (check my Flickr site for photos), and, the prize of the day, a vintage metal cot, with a trundle underneath. It's surprisingly comfortable, and just the right thing for our garden room. We wanted something that would allow for more seating, maybe even sleeping, but wouldn't block the windows, so I can still see the kids playing out back from my sewing table. For a mere $10, it's the perfect thing!

I'm going to sew some kind of slipcover to put over the whole thing, but it's gonna take a lot of walking circles around it and head scratching before I know just what I want to do.

Alright, tomorrow is my middle boy's big 5th birthday, so I've got lots of cake baking and wrapping to do. I'll post some pics of the weekend's craft endeavors and his birthday sometime tomorrow.