Good Things today

Started the day today by driving downtown and meeting Rayna Gilman for breakfast. Rayna and I have "known" each other for something like 15 years online, but met for the first time face to face today. She is here (from New Jersey) for the Quilt Market where she is promoting her first book. I can hardly wait to get my hands on a copy.

Don't we look like old pals? That's how it felt. We had a great breakfast at one of my favorite Portland breakfast spots, The Bijou Cafe. What a treat to finally meet the amazing Rayna!

Rayna headed off for the Convention Center and I wandered into the Nordstrom Rack before heading back out to the suburbs. As I told Rayna, the Rack is a crap shoot, but I won today—found a great pair of Clark sandals that I can walk in. (I am sparing you a photo of my feet.)

I finished up some painting in the small bathroom at the house, then went outside, to enjoy the wonderful weather. Today it was in the '80s—our first really warm day this year. It was green and cool by the creek.

Ray is planning to plant native plants near the creek and bought a couple of trilliums, at my request.

I was tired of working at the house, so I called my son-in-law and asked him if he'd like to come and help Ray hang a cabinet and intall a toilet. In exchange I went and took care of Sofia. Win-win. Sofi was dressed for summer weather and looked awfully cute in her shorts and summery top. Oh, those knees and elbows! We had a good time out in the yard until I insisted that she couldn't eat the pinecones. That didn't sit well.

She didn't stay mad for long and accepted a baby cookie as a peace offering. When I asked her if she wanted a cookie, she went straight to the cupboard where they are kept and pointed up at the door. I think she's pretty smart. Good survival skills. I always think it's good to know where the cookies are.

And so it goes . . .

I have to admit I am a big fan of American Idol. Tonight the adorable David Archuleta sang this bittersweet Billy Joel song. (You can hear Billy Joel's version here) I think he did a beautiful job with the song, though I am probably rooting a little harder for the other David than for David A.

And So it Goes. You may suppose that the name of my blog, And Sew it Goes, was chosen mainly because of the corny "sew/so" pun, but I go back a ways with that phrase.

I am a fan of Linda Ellerbee, the journalist, who ended her newscasts, always, with the phrase, "And so it goes." Her writing and delivery were so eloquent, so beautifully expressed. For me she brought compassion and humanity to the news in a way that no one else ever has. She has gone on to produce childrens' news programming and having survived breast cancer, has become a speaker and activist for breast cancer research and treatment. Her autobiography was titled "And So it Goes." She is one of my heros.

Many years ago (1993, to be exact) I found my way onto the internet and discovered the Quiltnet listserve, which was my first exposure to what has become the amazing online community of quilters and artists. At that time the internet and listservs seemed very impersonal since there were no ways of posting photos easily at that time and no one had web sites or blogs. There were several Terrys/Teris/Terries on Quiltnet and I wanted a way of distinguishing myself in my posts, so I started using "And Sew it Goes . . ." as a signature line. It seemed a natural choice when I named my blog.

For me it means we are all in the river of life—where we started doesn't really matter, where we are going is too far ahead to see. We are in the stream—and so it goes . . .

Eat your veggies

House Tales

I can always tell what's nagging at my subconscious by what I dream. Last night I dreamed about the house that we are trying to sell. I dreamed that we had a buyer, who turned out to be none other than Deborah Boschert, of Deborah's Journal and a fellow 12 x 12 er. I was thrilled that someone I actually knew was going to buy my house! I was walking through the house with her and suddenly Deborah noticed a door that I had never noticed before. How strange. She opened the door and there was a room—quite large, with several nice windows and sun pouring in on a charming old linoleum floor. The floor was a very old style, but in such good condition that I knew that no one else had noticed that room was there for a very long time.

(It looked something like this)

Deborah said, "Oh, this must have been your studio—what a wonderful space!" I had to admit that I had not even been aware of the room and had worked all these years in the tiny bedroom next to it. I felt so foolish and was suddenly filled with regret that I had squandered such an excellent resource and now I was leaving it behind for someone else to enjoy. When I woke up it took me a couple of minutes to realize that I had not actually sold the house or found the hidden room.

You can never go home again . . . or can you?

This tale was not a dream. It really happened.

Last week I had a voicemail message from a woman who wanted information about the house. I called her back and she told me she had been driving around looking at houses and had seen that our house was for sale. She said she lived in our house in the '80s and loved the house. When I told her the price, she said it was out of her price range, but to call her if we decided to lower the price.

I had actually met her once years ago, when a package, addressed to her family, was delivered to our house. Rather than return it to sender, I looked them up in the phone book and called them. She and her husband and children all came to pick up the package, eager to see their old house again. We walked through the house then and she and her husband pointed out changes and the improvements they had made during their residence in the house.

A couple days after I talked to her, she called me again. She said she was close to closing a deal on the house she was selling and had decided she would like to see our house after all. She came over and we walked through the house together. She and her husband are divorcing. Her children are grown and she is looking for a house for herself. She said she had been very happy living in this house. She seemed to like the small changes we have made and enjoyed seeing, once again, the changes they had made to the house. She told me about the old linoleum that they had removed from the livingroom and diningroom and was glad to see that we had put in oak floors. (I have to think this discussion was the source of the linoleum floor in my dream!) She was especially pleased to see that the old lilac (see previous post) was still there, despite the damage to it and it is blooming right now.

She said she had other houses to look at and thanked me. A couple days later she sent a realtor friend to see the house. We may hear from her again, we may not, but what an interesing twist to our house-selling saga. I have always felt this house has good vibrations and has been well-loved by its former residents.

Deborah, you're not planning to move to Portland, are you??

If any one out there is planning a move to Portland, you can see more of the house here.

Because it's spring

We've had such a crummy spring so far, that now that it finally seems to be here I just can't get enough. I really think springs in Portland tend to be spectacular by any standard I know of. Lilac time is brief but thrilling. Our old house has several old lilacs. This one is my favorite—a most unusual intense, grape-y color and equally intense perfume.

I think this is a very old lilac. The tree was as tall as our roofline when we moved in, which is quite tall, but it was badly damaged in an icestorm a number of years ago. We thought we might lose it, but it has recovered. I hope we can take a start of this lilac to our new house

This is a more standard kind of lilac, but fragrant and beautiful as well.

We've been curious to see what would bloom at the new house. The first bloomer is this large rhododendren near the creek. You can see Ray's makeshift planting station set up under the tree.

Closer view.

And a slightly different rhodie just starting to bloom near the house.

I just can't resist taking flower pictures.

And because she's so sweet

Sofi sleeps with her new quilt.

Mysteries of the Universe

I still don't quite understand how this works, but if you paint a piece of fabric with fabric paint, then lay a leaf or bit of foliage on top of it and put it in the sun to dry, when it is dry and you remove the foliage, its ghostly image remains. I use Setacolor paints, but it is my understanding that most any kind of paint will work the same way. You'll want to try this if you haven't, I think. I don't think I really want a scientific explanation. I'm happy to just file it away under "mysteries of the universe." Like gravity and magnets and carbonation, scientific explanations do nothing to enhance the mystery and magic.

I thought I might add this to the "water" themed piece, but it doesn't really fit in. Still, making it was a nice diversion this morning and I will pin it up on the bulletin board and maybe one of these days I will find a nice use for it. When I ironed it, it smelled like cedar.

I visited my friend at the hospital today. She is so much better, but still so weak. She was a little crabby today, which seemed like a good sign.

How fragile we are

Yesterday Dee wrote about friends and gratitude in a lovely post. It happened to be a day when I was feeling particularly grateful and vulnerable and pondering the fragility of life.

My friend of more than 50 years is very ill. We were little girls, in the fourth grade when we met. Friends come and go through life, but some friends stay and she is one—a dear and funny and generous friend. Out of nowhere, quite literally, a deadly virus, then a complication almost more evil than the virus. She is a survivor and the greatest danger is past, but what she has endured is unthinkable and it goes on.

I once heard a scientist talking about viruses and he said his theory was that human life exists on earth to serve as hosts for viruses. That viruses are at the top of the food chain, as it were—the ultimate life form. Having lost friends to the AIDS virus, I have seen the power of an invisible enemy. My friend has been fighting a different virus, but it has been a battle for sure.

Again I am grateful for modern medicine. I am grateful to be able to have time with my friend. I am grateful for sunshine and the beautiful spring flowers in my garden. And mixed into that feeling of gratitude is the recognition of how little control we really have and how fragile we are.

Have you seen this?

I had to pass this on. I may have missed my calling—Cat Tailor. The English translations are almost as good as the photos.

Rocks?

I was thinking I might need rocks to go with my water. I started with a commercial print, then added watercolor crayon in steps.




I hope these look a bit like rocks when/if I finally use them. The original fabric looked like something the cat hacked up. Then the stages sort of reminded me of some kind of breaded cutlets gone a little bad or moldy pita bread and finally some mis-shapen potatos. It's like an inkblot test. What do you think these look like?

Water

The theme for the 12x12 challenge this time around is "water". This seems like a no-brainer, but I am having a very hard time getting an idea that excites me. Could be that I haven't spent time on art or quilts for what seems like months and my creative muscle has atrophied. Blehhhh. My brain has been occupied, nay, obsessed, with the projects at hand.

CLEAN THE HOUSE! OLD HOUSE! NEW HOUSE! PAINT THE HOUSE! OLD HOUSE! NEW HOUSE! HOUSE! OLD HOUSE! NEW HOUSE!HOUSE! OLD HOUSE! NEW HOUSE! SELL THE HOUSE! OLD HOUSE! NEW HOUSE! HOUSE! OLD HOUSE! NEW HOUSE! HOUSE! OLD HOUSE! NEW HOUSE! HOUSE! OLD HOUSE! NEW HOUSE! HOUSE! OLD HOUSE! NEW HOUSE!HOUSE! HOUSE! HOUSE! HOUSE! HOUSE! HOUSE!

It is making me OLD. And tired. I want it all . to. be. finished.

But I digress. Water. I took a day off from the HOUSE earlier this week to think about the water theme. I decided that maybe some fabric would inspire me. I think I have been hanging with Gerrie a lot because I decided to try painting some watery fabric. I started with a piece of hand-dyed fabric from my sister-in-law's company. It already had a sort of watery feel to it.

I added some color with watercolor crayons, then painted over them with diluted acrylic medium to set the added color. While the fabric was still wet I sprinkled some dishwasher detergent over it, to add some bleached spots.

Later I realized that I probably should have spritzed it all with a little more water to get the bleach working, but some of the larger granules discharged. After it was dried and then washed with anti-clor to stop the bleaching, then washed again, it looks like this.

I think those bleached speckles are reminiscent of sparkles on water. Maybe I can draw some inspiration from this piece of fabric. I think it needs to be something pretty simple.

Today when I was out at the new house I took a break from laying flooring in the utility room (yes, I am laying flooring. I am too OLD for this...) I walked outside to inspect the creek. It is running clear now and it was sparkling a little like my fabric piece. It sounded great, too. I wish I could get the sound of water in a quilt.

Nest

As Beth and I walk each day we observe the natural world along the Fanno Creek Trail. I am not a "birder"—don't keep a list, nor am I very knowledgeable about birds, but I love birds and I've been curious about the birds we see along the trail.

A couple weeks ago another walker on the trail pointed out this amazing nest, built in a swinging blackberry vine that trails over the top of the golf course fence.

Can you see it? It is made from moss and lichens and hangs on the vine like a pouch with a small hole near the top. The first time we saw it we also saw the female bird going into and out of the hole. The walker who alerted us to the nest also gave us totally erroneous information about the kind of bird that made the nest! That sent us to our bird books and the web and we, Beth and I, concur that it is a bushtit. (OK, stop your snickering—this is serious science here!)

image taken from a web site

They are tiny, darty little birds that we have been seeing whizzing around the trail. I'm glad to know their name and I am really enchanted with the nest.

Audubon's bushtit with the distinctive nest

Pie

We discovered a large rhubarb plant at our new house. I know many people don't love rhubarb, and frankly I'm not a fan of a lot of the things people do with rhubarb, but I love rhubarb pie. The kind my mother made, with eggs. Many people swear by the rhubarb/strawberry combo as pie filling. Ehhh. Awfully slimey for my taste. I'll take the rhubarb custard filling any day.

So when I was invited to a social gathering and asked to bring my "favorite recipe" the rhubarb seemed to decide for me what that was going to be. Ray cut a bunch for me and brought it home yesterday. Turned out to be exactly the right amount for two pies, according to my mother's recipe.

So I made two pies—one to take to the social and one to leave with Ray.

I can't help but think about my mother when I make a pie. I do not pride myself on my pie-making abilities. My mother made wonderful pies. My dad loved my mom's rhubarb pie more than anything. My daughter learned from her grandmother and is another skilled piemaker. I always say piemaking skips a generation, but I do make rhubarb pies. My mother's pies were not only delicious, they were beautiful. She could make a perfectly fluted piecrust with her eyes closed. I struggle to torture the edges into semi-even little crimps.

The lattice top is a bit skimpy on the smaller pie. I ran out of pie dough. That one will be Ray's.

Done. They look good, don't they? You should smell them. Mmmmmm. The custard is sugary and crisp-y on the top and creamy inside, with bites of tart rhubarb. Mom would be proud (though she'd wonder about those edges). This may well be my favorite recipe indeed. Easy, too.

Rhubarb Custard Pie
Combine 1-1/2 C sugar, 1/4 C. flour and 3/4 tsp. nutmeg. Beat into 3 already slightly beaten eggs.
Add 4 C. 1" slices rhubarb.
Line 9" pie plate with pastry, fill. Dot with 2T. butter or margarine. Top with lattice crust; flute edge. Sprinkle lightly with sugar.
Bake in hot oven (400°) 50 to 60 minutes. Cool before serving.

The best things in life

I took a lot of pictures of Sofia yesterday and most of them came out blurred and horrible, but I like this one a lot. It was the picture I almost didn't take—she was finished smiling and posing cutely—but I liked her look of concentration and the fact that she sits, surrounded by her toys and books, absorbed in a small cardboard box that checks came in. I watched her figure out how it opens and closes. I watched her put her yellow block inside and carry it through the house. She played with it for nearly an hour, finally discarding it as she crawled into my lap, ready for a nap.

Spring—for a minute

I took my camera along on my walk this morning. The weather was beautiful and they are saying we are going to get a snowstorm this weekend. Bah. Humbug. Anyway, I thought I'd enjoy spring while we still have it.

The plum trees that grow all along the trail are in bloom right now and are spectacular. Aren't these huge for plum trees? This is where our trail starts, next to the baseball diamond.

I seldom have good luck taking pictures of birds. By the time I futz around and get focused they are long gone, but this morning we stopped to watch a pair of flickers guarding their nest. Here is the male. The nest is there on the left—very messy looking, leafy nest. Isn't he pretty?

Here's the pair.

I love my super zoom on my camera! Gerrie just got a camera like mine. She is going to love it.

When we got to the bridge over the creek we saw a group of rare, headless ducks.

Har, har—just kidding! They were regular old mallard ducks, busily eating something found at the bottom of the creek.

The Oregon Grape is blooming. Very sneezy stuff, but it is so beautiful.

Beautiful day for a walk. Do you really think it's going to snow? I can't believe it. Nah, they must be wrong.

Here comes Crazy Legs

Emily called tonight after dinner. She was laughing so hard I could hardly understand her at first. She had decided to see if the outfit I made for Sofia last summer finally fit her and Sofi was running through the house in it, barefoot, whooping. I could hear her in the background. That's one of her shoes in her hand. Emily hung up to take a picture and emailed me a couple.

Sofia, since turning a year old, has become a character. She's been walking for a little less than a month, but has embraced the concept and lurches around like a drunk, but with great enthusiasm. She is mighty pleased with herself.

She has also, unfortunately, put it together that when I show up at her house her parents are about to leave, which doesn't make her happy. Today she got pretty upset about her Dad getting ready to go to work. I was sitting on the floor with her, trying to distract her. She spotted my purse on the chair, went and dragged it across the floor, put it on my arm and then stood in front of me and waved "bye-bye" at me, sobbing pitifully all the while. That seemed like a pretty clear message—"you can leave now, Grandma." After Cayo left she settled down and made peace with me and we had a good afternoon, then she had the grace to cry a little bit when I left after her Mom got home. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

All dressed up and waiting for someone . . .

We had a our first Open House today. It was a perfect day. Beautiful weather—warm, sunny. We have prepared the house, removing lots of our belongings and paring it down to the essentials. We put an ad in the paper. We put an ad on craigslist. We made sure our signs were visible from all directions and tied balloons to them. We put flowers on the table, along with extra flyers and a sheet listing improvements we've made to the house and a plant list for the garden.
I baked chocolate chip cookies for our guests (and to impart that delicious aroma to the house) and put out a pitcher of sparkling water.

Then we sat back and waited for someone to come. And they came! We had a good turnout. People liked the house. We met some really nice people. I don't know if anyone who came today will make us an offer, but they spent time and really looked and seemed interested. I feel encouraged.

Mid-afternoon a realtor called. He had seen our ad and wanted to let us know what a huge mistake it was to try to sell our house ourselves. I explained that we wanted to try it ourselves and might, at some point, engage a realtor to help us and we have one picked out if we need her, thank you very much. He wouldn't give up. "Do you understand what has happened to the real estate market?" he hissed. Well, duh, yes I do. He wanted to come by at 3 tomorrow. No thanks. OK, then 5. No thanks. He could drop by around 7 then. No thanks. Well, then what would it take to get just 15 minutes of our time to find out how we could actually sell our house with an aggressive, professional salesperson, such as himself? He was snarling at this point. This was where I told him that the more he talked the less likely it was that we would ever consider his services. And I hung up.

Other than one very unpleasantly persistent realtor, it was a great day.

What a little paint can do

I am always astounded by the transformation that paint can make in a room. This is what our livingroom looked like when we bought the house.

This past week we finally turned our attentions to some of the space outside the kitchen. This is how the livingroom looked today.

We're not even done, but to me this is a stunning transformation! It seems the dimensions of the room have changed entirely. I am so happy with the way this is beginning to look I can hardly tell you! What seemed like such a boring fireplace even looks like it has possibilities.

For June, who recently painted her office "Sweet Baby Rose" and was bemused by the name of the color, my dramatic wall color is "Spiced Carrot". I think the person that names the Miller Paint colors has a good time.

It's Here!

I felt like Navin Johnson in The Jerk* (one of my favorite movies—I know, dumb, but it tickles me everytime I see it) when I arrived home today to find three complimentary copies of the new Quilting Arts magazine had come in the mail. I could relate to Navin's excitement at seeing his name in print.

After my last post I got lots of news of "sightings" from people, that had me dashing around the Portland area—"I saw one at Fred Meyer's"—"They had it at Borders when I was there yesterday" etc. I think these folks were hallucinating. I still haven't found one in a store here—and I have looked! I also got an email from the features editor at Quilting Arts telling me that they were sending copies, but it might have been delayed by their preparations for Quilt Market this week. I was really impressed that she knew about my blog, and took the time to email me. I have to say everyone I was in contact with at QA was so responsive and so helpful regarding the article. And, by the way, doesn't it look great?!

The copies that came today were in a US mail plastic bag with the message, "we're sorry your package was damaged . . . " And the inside envelope was wet. The magazines are wet on the edges. Darn Post Office. I think that's why I didn't get them sooner.

* Navin R. Johnson: The new phone book's here! The new phone book's here!

Harry Hartounian: Boy, I wish I could get that excited about nothing.

Navin R. Johnson: Nothing? Are you kidding? Page 73 - Johnson, Navin R.! I'm somebody now! Millions of people look at this book everyday! This is the kind of spontaneous publicity - your name in print - that makes people. I'm in print! Things are going to start happening to me now.

OK, this is driving me nuts

I can see the cover of the new Quilting Arts magazine on the web site, but I can't seem to lay my hands on a copy of the magazine. There is an article that I wrote in this issue. All the subscribers have their copies and several have emailed me and left comments about my article. Since I don't subscribe I buy the issues I want. I have been to Powell's books nearly every day for the last two weeks and to Fibers in Motion a couple of days ago. Neither of them has the new issue.

Look, you can see the table of contents on the web site. That's my frog quilt! There's my name!

Fiddlin' around

I have been so immersed in house remodeling/cleaning/selling/painting/etc. that I have not done anything creative with fabric in waaaaay too long. Our small STASH group decided we needed a new challenge, so we settled on "tree". Last night I started fiddling with some ideas.

I carved a little stamp and stamped and painted some leafy fabrics. Then I sketched. I was looking at our old lilac out front and looking especially at the shapes and angles of the bare branches.

Today I scanned the sketch and cropped it to something that I liked.

Too many branches. I started taking branches out and simplifying.

I like that better. I took it into Illustrator and started tracing and adding some color to get a feel for what that might be like.

Now the trunk looks spindly and off balance. The background is a little icky too, but it's just a start.

I think this has a ways to go, but it's a start. This is the point at which I have to let it simmer in the back of my head. Most likely I'll get some kind of idea just as I'm drifting off to sleep.

Birthday gifts

Today is my birthday, but we celebrated it last night when Ray took our family out to dinner. We went to a nice restaurant and had wonderful food. Sofia sat in a high chair and ate a banana and puffed rice and smiled and flirted with everyone who walked past her. What a social little person she has become. As we were leaving I overheard people at the table behind us. "Ohhhh, look at that little girl. Isn't she daaaaaaarling?" Yes, she was. She has had a tough, grumpy week with new teeth coming in, but she was in fine form last night. I considered it my birthday gift from my granddaughter.

I got other gifts too. Emily gave me a gift certificate for a special "spa pedicure". I can hardly wait, but think I'll hold off until closer to sandal-wearing season. Ray had to order my gift from him and it hasn't arrived. I know what it is (since I hinted so strongly at what I wanted). It is an immersion blender, so I don't have to put my cruddy old blender in my lovely new kitchen. I know some folks consider kitchen appliances and gadgets unromantic as birthday gifts, but I consider it very romantic to get something I really want. My sweet son-in-law also gave me something I really wanted. He painted these little paintings for my new kitchen.

He had painted some similar paintings for Emily and I told him how much I liked them. They are fruits of Ecuador—papayas, mangoes and tree tomatoes. I don't know how many places tree tomatoes grow. They are virtually unknown in the United States. They are not really tomatoes at all, but are the same color and are beautiful oval fruits with smooth, shiny skin. In Ecuador they are the basis for the hot sauce called aji that is so popular. They are also used for juice, which is very delicious and the most beautiful color.

The first time we visited Emily in Ecuador we arrived in Quito late at night and Emily, who was coming to Quito from Cuenca the next morning, arranged for us to be met at the airport and taken to a small family run hotel in Quito. The next morning we found the charming dining room of the hotel and were served glasses of fresh, rosy-hued tree tomato juice. It was literally our first taste of Ecuador and we have loved it ever since. So I especially love the tree tomato painting.

...........................................

This is my kitchen cart. It started as the IKEA BEKVÄM cart. I stained it, added a handle and towel bar and used some of my extra Talavera tiles on the top.