Autumn Rose Blooms in a Blizzard

When I order something online, I'm much too cheap to pay for expedited shipping. Or express mail, or even priority. No, I just check the box for "delivered by snails wearing lead jackets" and I wait patiently. It's sort of fun to finally get a package that I've completely forgotten about, and probably already made the first credit card payment on. "Why, whatever could it be...?" is the best reaction ever when ripping open packing tape with one's eye teeth. (They don't call them canines for nothing.)

When I'm on the other end of things, it's another story. My Etsy shop has free shipping and a promise to ship within three business days. You wouldn't know that from my reaction to getting a sale notice. I spring into action. I race to get the quilt out of my sewing cabinet. I usually give it a final wash, dry and a once over, looking for stray threads. I pack it carefully and tuck the gift tag into the box. Then it's time to weigh it, make up the shipping label and slap that on with packing tape that fights me like a crazed wolf. That's just in the first half hour of the sale's notice.

Then comes the dash to the post office. The timing of the trip to the post office is in direct correlation to the latest incoming precipitation event. Yes, this is drought-striken California, but when I have a quilt to mail, it is guaranteed there will be a monsoon or a typhoon or the Pineapple Express or the Siberian Express or an Atmospheric River, or some other catchy named event made up by weathercasters sick of blue skies.

When Autumn Rose sold, my client specifically said "Take your time. No rush. Don't hurry." But I had boxes to box, tape to tape, labels to label, and this quilt went out in one of the downpours of "El Niño-ary" with wiper blades wiping and puddles puddling. And smack dab into Winter Storm Jonas. I should have gone with Parcel Post. 

Calling Molly

The dream of most dog owners, I imagine, is to have a perfectly behaved dog, the kind that can go to a dog park and show off its superior canine skills for all to see. While the other dog owners apologize as their pup wee wees yet again on someone's leather loafers or terrorizes the terriers and bullies the bulldogs, the confident dog owner just smirks that smirk of a good dog owner. I hate that smirk. I want that smirk. I practice that smirk in private.

After being Molly's owners for over five years now, our expectations have dropped considerably. At this point all hopes of the smirk have faded and I would settle for two commands:

Come

Don't kill the skunk

That doesn't seem too much to ask. Yes, the daily bedside paper delivery is quite awesome, and she smiles almost on demand now. But Come and Don't kill the skunk would impact our lives in such a positive and pleasant smelling way. 

While Ernst commands more respect from Molly in the Come department, she seems to be an equal opportunity ignorer when it comes to Don't kill the skunk. Molly definitely views Ernst as the Alpha Dog, and she and I as underlings on the same footing. I know my issues of letting her get away with too much come from that first photo we saw of her from Golden Retriever Rescue. That poor little dog in Bakersfield, tied to a trailer hitch with a rope, with scratches on her muzzle, kennel cough and pregnant at one year old with 9 puppies from a pit bull. Poooooor Little Doggie!

While Ernst has been able to put aside that image of Poooooor Little Molly from his mind, I haven't. And it shows up in the list of nicknames we each have for her.

What Ernst calls her

Molly

Mollykins

Mols

Shawubadawah (This came from who knows where, he uses it, I don’t)

Girl

Little Girl

The Girl

Noodle (When he’s mad at her)

What I call her

Molly

Molly Wolly

Molly Malone

Mols

Mols the Wols

The Mols

Girl

The Girl

Poooooor Little Girl

Pumpkin

Pumpkin Girl

Poooooor Little Pumpkin

Pump

The Pump (This one stuck and I don’t know why, Ernst has even started using it.)

Pumpernickel

Pumpsternickel

Schnook

Schnookers

The Schnook

SchnickerDoodle

Silly One

One

Little One

Poooooor Little One

Just a wisp of a thing

A mere wisp

MoLLEEEEY (When I’m mad at her)

Queen of the Ottoman Empire

Crocodile Mols

Sleeping Beauty

Skunk Magnet

Snug Bug

Chipmunk Molly

Triangle Molly

Bally Molly

Spot

Smiler

Rooster Killer

Dog Park Dropout

Kid Lover

Flying Ears

Ball Watcher

KonMari Molly

Hat Hater

Poooooor Little One!

California Cow Carnage

There are three ways to make a rag quilt. One way is to sandwich a piece of flannel inside, cutting the flannel the same size as the squares. This is probably the fastest technique and ensures a good fringy raggy look. The second way is to make a puffy rag quilt, which comes together fairly quickly but really only looks good in bigger sizes - they are a bit too puffy in just a little lap quilt. The last way is the first way I learned, where a smaller piece of quilt batting is sandwiched with an X by either a straight line, a zig zag or other decorative stitch. These to me are the cutest, but take more time to make when I add in the extra step of sewing the X on every square.

The technique using the X poses a problem too when the fabric I'm using has animals or people in it. That stitch always seems to whack right through some poor animal's vital parts, or stab through an unfortunate person's torso. This doesn't help in my quest to improve my photography for my Etsy shop. One can only crop so much before you've cropped the whole quilt away. 

When I took the photos for Fredrica the Farm to Fluff Quilt, I fully intended to do a retake. Or at least a recrop. But after cleaning up the fabric scraps, prepping the quilt for the photo shoot, writing the description and deciding on the price - Eh! Good Enough! I folded Fredrica up, stuck the quilt in my storage cabinet and called it done. Fredrica waited patiently until the time was right, and pulled my last quilt sale of 2015 out of her little bovine sleeve. Good cow. 

But I still have goals to improve in my photography skills in the coming year. Better lighting, more props, and no carnage allowed. 

OUCH! Straight through the neck!

Mr. Rooster gets it right in the tail feathers.

Cut off that ear and slice up that side of beef.

Busy background! Where is Fredrica?

Poor thing never had a chance.

Goals for 2016? I've got some great quilts planned using very refreshing colors moving into spring. There's a super cute Alphabet one planned using some vintage ABC fabric, a couple more using adorable lady bug prints, a shabby chic pink number or two, and some always popular blue and white quilts. Last year was a great year for quilts - here's hoping 2016 is just as good, with no farm animals harmed in the process.

My brain break is over

Coming back from a two week visit with my family in Connecticut involved five airports, four planes and a big bump – the kind that left me with a hefty travel voucher. I came back with a cold too, but a NyQuil induced coma of 24 hours cured that up real quick.

As is typical on any vacation I take, my intentions of working on my Romanian were lofty. Reading aloud, some intense study sessions, new vocabulary words, nailing down those pesky grammar issues that have plagued me for years – the plans were set. But any really good plan has some wiggle room, and I was in the mood to wiggle. There were gab sessions to enjoy, mountains to climb (OK it was just a hill) and thrift stores to explore.

I believe that Connecticut has the very best thrift stores in the country, if not the planet. Picture Talbots sweaters with original price tags and buttons still attached, as far as the arm can stretch. My sister Joanne and I went four times to the same Savers and I now have enough sweaters to get me through the next Ice Age. Which by the way has not hit the East Coast yet, some days it was just sweater weather. I’ll blame my lack of Romanian lessons on global warming.

One of my first days back home I read a passage of Romanian out loud to my husband, who by the way stayed home in California where it was cold. It was rough, my reading that is. My short two weeks away did a number on my Romanian pronunciation, that was apparent. It had nothing at all to do with the amount of chocolate consumed or all the Hallmark movies I watched. Time away and global warming, they are language killers of the worst kind.

So my first Romanian meeting back after the NyQuil induced coma was a bit nerve wracking. Everyone was happy to see me, and I stumbled through my story about my family being fine and the weather in New York being so warm. I've found it’s just easier to tell a person from Eastern Europe that my family lives in New York. They don’t know about Connecticut and its thrift stores full of never worn cardigans.

To my pleasant surprise it was the most I ever understood in my history of attending Romanian meetings in Sacramento. I got most of it, or at least I think I got most of it, which is a victory. There was even a video played that had Romanian dubbed over English, and I didn’t have my typical scenario of the English voices trying to drown out the Romanian. I heard the Romanian and I got it. And the last talk was by our dear Grigor, who talks at the speed of those people at the end of an infomercial. You know, those guys who read 10 minutes of material in 5.7 seconds. 

I’m chalking this language victory up to two things - giving my brain a rest from Romanian, and my new hearing aid! Yes, my dear Mom insisted I see her “hearing aid guy" in Brookfield Connecticut, right down the street from Savers. He was great to work with, and he set me up with a fancy new hearing aid to combat the hearing loss I have from Meniere's Disease.

Frank the hearing aid guy says my situation of really good hearing in one ear and horrible in the other is frustrating to my brain and emotionally draining, like having my brain cut in two. Yep, I would say so. It was wonderful from the moment I tried the loaner on, I danced around the office and hugged Frank and his assistant. I absolutely love it. I hope my brain can forgive me for putting it off so long. Romanian grammar, I’ve got my whole brain back and I’m coming at you.

Loved it from the second it went in my ear.

Me and my brother Jeff on the Walk Over the Hudson.
It wasn't cold, the hat was for a bad hair day.

My friend Sara's feet and my feet with a sign.
It's what people do now.

Me in Warwick NY
December 2015, no coat!

My Mom and I took a little drive down to see my friend Sara in Warwick NY. She and her family moved there to help with the new headquarters for jw.org. Besides getting to chat with someone who always helps me put my head back on straight, I got to see a bit of Sara's lovely home and new town. Charming. Simply oozing with it. I can't wait to go back and spend some more time in Warwick in the coming years. Because everyone needs a brain break now and then.

I think, therefore I yam

Or is it "I think, therefore I sweet potato?"

Turns out it's the second one. I finally got it straight. All those ugly looking tubers in your neighborhood grocery store, the ones hanging out near the potatoes and the onions, are sweet potatoes. Apparently, we've been lied to all these years. Every last one is a sweet potato. 

But the deception continues because a sweet potato isn't really a potato. More lies! They're not in the potato family, but rather the Convolvulaceae, or morning glory family. True yams are something completely different, way more dry and starchy and have scaly skins. But the moniker has stuck here and you'll find them named whatever makes them sell. Because their looks are not their best asset. Raw or baked, these guys are pretty ugly.

This was labeled Asian sweet potato.

These lovelies were called Beauregard yams.

The lighter skinned ones are usually labeled sweet potatoes.

The checker told me the insides of the purple ones would be white.

Two by two, they went into the oven for the ultimate taste test!

We don't smother our sweet potatoes in marshmallows or brown sugar or butter. We just bake them and eat them plain. They are really hard to mess up. Scrub them gently under water. Put them on some parchment paper, foil or Silpat, and then on a baking sheet. Put them in the oven at 350 - 400 degrees and let them bake until they're done. When are they done? Hmm, how do I put this delicately...

Cook them until they poop.

Cook the c€@p out of them.

Cook them until they're even uglier than when you put them in. 

That purple sweet potato is the one the checker said would be white on the inside.

What is it with the lies?

My verdict in the ultimate taste test? This particular purple one was a bit dry, but I've had others that were moist, so I'm not writing off the purples ones yet. The white one (labeled sweet potato) was really delicious, with a mild flavor. The Beuregard yam and the regular old yam on the far right had the softest texture and the "yammiest" flavor. They are so full of color,  I bet nutrition-wise maybe the yams have one up on the lighter fleshed sweet potatoes.

If I could find one that has the skin of a sweet potato and the flesh of a "yam" that would be my dream tuber. But they are all terrific and yummy, so flavorful I don't want to put one thing on them. And since there are nearly 400 varieties grown, I see more yam poop in our future. Excuse me, sweet potato poop.

Hats off to The Honest Dog

I don't need a pattern to sew a quilt. In fact, the less "patterny" they look the better, in my opinion. I'm not a fan of the type of rag quilts that look like a checkerboard, nor the ones that have a repeating diamond pattern. While I strive for my quilts to be balanced, the matchy matchy look isn't for me. This is probably a good thing, because working with upcycled fabrics - a little of this, a bit of that - means I go with the flow and many times the fabric decides how the quilt will turn out, not I.

But, do I ever need a pattern when it comes to crocheting. I can whip out a dish cloth on the fly, but something that must conform to a human body part? I need a really well written pattern, hopefully with good closeups and a video or two. And then I hope it doesn't turn out gargantuan. Through the years I have attempted countless baby booties to go with crocheted baby blankets. I have yet to give a pair as a gift, because these booties are large enough to grace the feet of a nine month old baby gorilla. On steroids. 

I've had great success with the hat patterns from Repeat Crafter Me though, if I use a size smaller crochet hook than the instructions call for. What can I say, I crochet big. I've made many hats from these designs by Sarah Zimmerman, and I tip my crochet hook to her greatness. They are all super adorable, and as soon as the cooler weather hits I start crocheting up a storm. My current project is a newborn size (OK maybe a bit bigger than newborn) little piggy hat to match one of my little piggy blankets on Etsy. I had to crochet four ears because they kept coming out different sizes, but I think I have two reasonably matching ears and the piggy hat will come together soon.

This little (OK not so little) dog hat has been sitting around for a while, and in my attempts to clear out my sewing closet from too much excess, I came up with a win win way to send the puppy hat on its way. One of my favorite stores in all of Sacramento, The Honest Dog (formerly Launder Dog) is putting on a raffle with all proceeds going to a dog rescue organization. A dog store in need of dog themed items to help dogs in need? So long puppy hat, you've got a new mission in life. 

For a grown up. With a large head. Preferably on steroids.

There are so many great hat patterns on Repeat Crafter Me, I've never had to resort to buying a pattern. But so far RCM only designs animal hats for humans, not hats for animals. Last winter I saw a photo of two really cute dogs in the snow, wearing crocheted hats. These were happy dogs. They were smiling and looked to enjoy their hats. They appreciated their warmth, and the love and care that their owners put into making them a personalized, just-to-their-size adorable hat that would make all the dogs in the neighborhood howl with jealousy. I was convinced that people would want to buy dog hats from me, not for themselves, but for their dogs. So I made my first and only purchase on Etsy. I bought the PDF pattern to crochet a dog hat. Because I love my dog. Because I love to make hats. Because our Molly is so photogenic. Because the photos would be so cute that strangers would beat down my door and shove money into my pockets, begging me to make their dog a crocheted dog hat too.

Granted it was a bit small, but honestly!

So much for the dog hat idea. Both hats are officially donated to the charity giveaway. Hats off to whoever wins them.

My new and improved, less is more, squaredup on Etsy supply closet.

Scrapping the craft faire

It turned out the Holiday Craft Faire was starting to look a bit too much like Christmas for my sensibilities, so I bowed out. And that meant I had to go into full-on Etsy posting mode.

Making quilts to sell in-person is like a real date. Person sees quilt. Person likes quilt. Person buys quilt. Everyone is happy.

Selling quilts on Etsy is like Internet dating, or so I imagine. An entire personna must be developed. Some grab-in-a-second first impression one-liners need to be tweaked. And photos, it's all about the photos. I'm still working on my Quilt Glamour Shot techniques. Morning light is good, it hides the wrinkles. Some props always help, takes the eyes off the imperfections. And then comes the uploading of photos, price decisions, measuring, figuring out worth verses effort. Then the sinking realization that you're competing with 13.7 million other Etsy sellers rears its ego-crushing head. Oh bother, give me a craft faire any day.

In addition to the quilts I had made, I decided to try to clean out my stock by posting some vintage fabric. A few short descriptions, some quick photos, a half-hearted paragraph or two. Bam! Two Disney vintage fabrics sold within an hour of posting. While my quilts were still getting ready for the ball, those bratty little pieces of vintage material were off to LA, tossing their hems with unbelievable self-confidence. Some fabric has all the fun!

Herb, the Decaf Tea Quilt is on his way to the East Coast.

Spot, the Dalmatian Quilt is wagging its tail

Autumn Rose, Pretty in Peach

The Hamlet Piggy Quilts are squealing to get off the farm

Dillon, Beachy Chic for Shore already jumped ship. He sold!

Pippa, the Apple a Day Quilt is ready to fall far from the tree.

Lady, the Bug Quilt hasn't made it past the cutting board. I may wait for spring with this one. I'll use this little break to clean out my fabric, sell some of the hot-to-trot vintage stuff and start hitting the Goodwill for some more fabric - the older the better.

Square by square

When I start a quilt, I'm in it to the finish. No half starts for me, or works-in-progress. I march into my fabric stash, pick out the material, cut it out, lay it out, start sewing, and don't come gasping up for air until my fingers look like eagle claws and my back is in the shape of the letter C. Balance is not one of my strong suits. 

In getting ready for my second craft faire, I tried a new approach. I cut out several quilts at once. It felt like I was cheating on the first one, but after that it got easier. I got on a roll. I only sliced my finger on the rotary cutter once, while cutting out four quilts in a short time span, while still having an unfinished project in my sewing closet. It was like I was running some sort of business or something. Unprecedented.

Dillon, Beachy Chic for Shore

A Futon Full of Future Fluff

Herb, the Decaf Tea Quilt

Spot, a Dalmatian Quilt

Pippen, the Apple a Day Quilt

Or some other apple name, I'm not sold on Pippen.

Lady, the Baby Buggy Quilt.

Cleaning up as I go along has never been one of my strong suits.