Oh Tax Return. Oh Tax Return.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

Okay so I know that I should spend this year's tax return on debt reduction and building our nest egg and creating a sense of security for my husband and myself so that one day we might have the options with regard to jobs and location and lifestyle. Be practical, I tell myself. And normally, I am.

True, I am not always prepared. For instance, I still don't really know how to change a tire. I don't carry a Tide pen in my purse for spills, and I never ever have quarters for the parking meter. But I am pretty practical, in a sensible flats and wash-and-go haircut kind of way.

I also love my little family and I want us to be secure in our future, to feel confident and comfortable with our choices. So I imagine I will deposit this check and pay off a long-held debt. I will gain a little independence and a lighter heart, sure.

But wouldn't a new sofa from anthropologie just be more fun?

Boys are different.

Scene: A wife comes in after a long day at work. She puts her arms around her husband and kisses him on the cheek.

Wife: (reeling backward.) Oh my gosh, your ear has been bleeding.

Husband: Really?

Wife: There is some dried blood on your ear lobe and behind your ear. Does it hurt? Did something happen?

Husband: Oh no, that's tomato sauce.

Excuse: Real Therapy is More Expensive

I'm down in the dumps. It doesn't really matter why. There are reasons, but they are not in proportion to the dumpiness I feel. This is no regular run of the mill moody blues, rainy kind of lethargy that can be solved with a cup of tea and an a quilt-clad pity party for one. No this is bigger than that. And deeper. And meaner. Yes, this is the mean reds as Holly Golightly would say.

In fact, this is exactly what she said: "No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?"

Her solution, if you remember, is not to see a therapist. No dream interpretation for Ms. Golightly. No--she shops.

And so do I.

Here are my latest acquisitions:

These letterpress prints from Really Good Things, etc. are the perfect addition to the beautiful red living room that I am decorating in my day dreams. Some day I will have the beautiful red sofa (from anthropologie) that would complement these perfectly. Or at least I'll have a sofa.

Besides, I have always loved letterpress--it's the deconstructionist in me--and I couldn't have found two better prints to inspire an aspiring artist and an aspiring writer more.

So for now I wait for the mail man to bring me my presents to myself. I'm so excited to hang these on my living room wall. And while, I'm curled up with a quilt, a cup of cocoa and a good book, I'll remember that these red beauties staved of the mean reds.

Now that's (retail) therapy!

P.S. If Richard doesn't hurry home with a hug, I am going to own this Queen Elizabeth pillow by Karen Hilton Designs that I have been lusting after since I first found etsy. Chic and cheeky, a fabulous combo.

To be honest, I'll probably own it by the end of the evening--hug or not.

On 'Mothering'...and other failures

Okay, so no one around here is pregnant. Though yesterday, my sister accused me of the condition when I made her wash off the moisturizer that she was wearing because it made me want to puke. In the nicest possible way.

I'm still nobody's mother and if you asked my husband (and he consulted our current bank balance), you would know that I am likely (though not certain, never certain) to stay that way for a while.

In fact, I realized this week that I am the only woman in his family that isn't a mother. I figured this out when I found out that we had missed "Mothering Sunday" or Mother's Day in the UK. Oh, we had the gifts and cards. They'd been stashed away for an age in the "present closet" or rather the "black hole at the back of the house." But where they addressed? Postage affixed? Mailed?

Absolutely not.

The reason for this was simple. I don't know when Mothering Sunday is. And if I had had to guess, I would have said that it was always the third weekend of March--not the fourth week of Lent. Why would you celebrate mother's day during lent? Why would you celebrate anything during lent? Or so my own mother--the preacher--wondered when I told her that I discovered we had missed it. No presents for Rich's mom. No phone call. Nothing.

Sure, Richard should have remembered, but in our family the division of labor goes like this:
Rich--dishes, laundry, vacuuming. Rach--holiday celebrating, bringing home the big bucks, looking pretty. Not sure that this is a formula that I am willing to mess with too much at the moment.

I might have remembered Mothering Sunday if I were British. Unfortunately, as much as I feel British on the inside (and I've drunk enough tea to make it so), I understand that this just doesn't count. Other evidence that betrays my alien nature: I hate marmite, ribena and branston 'pickle,' I always always look left-right-left when crossing the street, and I still laugh nervously when people say, "toilet" instead of "restroom."

Maybe I would have known about the day if I were someone's mother. I might have gotten a card and a well-wish or two from across the pond myself. But childless is tantamount to holiday-less. And being the only woman in the family who isn't a mother makes me, like the fourth wife in the Joy Luck Club, beholden.

Luckily, I have been forgiven. Someday, I'll know how important this holiday is. Or maybe I won't. After all, I am only an American.

So I am off to the post office to airmail my well wishes to the mothers in the family and there will only be the gentlest of weeping on the way.


P.S. Here's the gift I picked out. A sweet posy ring from Anthropologie (or Anthro as those in the know--aka Richard the employee--say.) What I lack in grandchild-production I make up for in funky-ring gifting, no?

A new me

On the 26 thousandth day of Christmas, my true love (the computer) failed me and I couldn't keep up with the daily features. But now we are both back and how.

I thought maybe it was too late to offer you any buying advice. However, judging from the hopping nature of our etsy store (thank you thank you, one and all!), people are still buying holiday gifts. You might ask why I am surprised. After all, I have a long list left to buy and I started in APRIL. Yes APRIL. In fact, the first Christmas gift I bought this year was also the first thing I bought on etsy and the beginning of the journey toward a Love & Squalor store that keeps me up late at night--in a great way. Here was my inaugural purchase:

It is from a series of photographs by Alicia Bock, entitled Sing a Song of Distant Shores and in about a week it will be given to my brother-in-law, who lives near and loves a very distant shore. I am not a fan of the beach, but this photograph makes me want to love the things that do not come natural to me--like open, empty, boundless spaces, like salt and light and golden skin, like fearlessness and grit and solitude.

Tonight I had every intention of writing a blog about gifts that recycle, that make new. But as soon as I saw this photograph again, I was made new. I was transported. And on the 26 millionth day of Christmas, when my list of things to do and buy just surpassed neverending, I needed the renewal. And the grit.

E.A.S.T. is Eden

The East Austin Studio Tour or EAST took place this weekend and it was fabulous. (Yay Austin!) I thought that nothing could top STITCH last weekend, but EAST is a horse of a different color.

First of all, it is organized so that you can wander through neighborhoods in East Austin and peek into more than 70 different working artists' studios. They work in every medium you can imagine. They are organized. They are messy. They work on scrap paper. They tear whole sheets. They are funny. They are deadly serious. They are artists.

Of course, STITCH had artists too. In fact, I saw these slip cast ceramic cups (in an alluring rainbow of colors) at both events. But I think the thinkg about EAST that is fascinating is that you get to see the work and the artist in its natural habitat, that is the studio. There are no booths or tables neatly wrapped in brightly coordinated tablecloths. EAST is not a fair or a shopping experience. It has the grit of plaster and sawdust. It tastes like charcoal and oil. It smells like sweat.

In a city that is "divided" by geography (and economics and the color of skin and a sense of culture), it felt radical to walk the neighborhood and wave at everyone we met. In a country "divided" by so called culture wars, it felt radical to celebrate art while drinking beer in lawn chairs. EAST was just a little bit of heaven on earth.

S*T*I*T*C*Hin Good Time

This weekend (yes, I know it is Wednesday. yes, life is occasionally a little overwhelming.) I attended the Stitch Austin Guerilla Craft Bazaar at the Austin Convention Center.

Like lots of people I know--well, lots of etsy people--I am trying to complete a large part of my holiday shopping by buying from independent artists and sellers. Like lots of etsy people I know, I have been trying to talk up this plan with friends and family who are yet to catch on to the handmade revolution.

Stitch was heaven for an independently minded buyer.

Not only was I able to procure a He-Man necktie for Katie's brother (will definitely post pics if ever i get my hands on any), but I was also G*I*V*E*N TWO awesome bumper stickers, one for me and one for Katie, that said:

Don't blame me, I voted for Etsy and My handknit sweater is an honor student at www.etsy.com

I have a very well loved car that is currently completely free of embellishments. I think that one of these is an appropriate first. I will pass the second one along to someone else who loves etsy--and drives all over town.

Another highlight was when I met Fort Cloudy in person.

Well, actually, I swung by her booth, told my husband, "Oh my god, that is Fort Cloudy. I recognize her from the etsy forums," hid behind him like a I was that a kid who is both scared and excited to see the cool babysitter coming, and finally browsed her racks. He had a nice conversation with her about her participation in Stitch and other craft bazaars.

Fort Cloudy had a wonderful assortment of garments for grown ups and little people. I particularly liked the bibs for babies with an imagination. Fort Cloudy has the ability to create an image that is almost cliche--and then completely upend one's expectations. The perfect example is the mer-bunny on the bag pictured. As Fort Cloudy says in the listing, "Don't let his fangs scar you. He's swimming his way right out of the seaweed bed and into our hearts."

The whimsical embroidery was refreshing after seeing lots of (admittedly amazing) silkscreened tees. The He-man tie had totally depleted my budget for the evening, but I have a feeling that I will be back by the etsy store sometime soon to complete my Christmas shopping.

Rarely does my husband express interest in a piece of clothing. When he does, I have to seize on it--and seize on the chance to replace any one of the holey (or is it holy?) t-shirts that he has been wearing since he was 12. Just kidding. Of course, I can't get rid of these treasures.

I guess I will just have to learn to S*T*I*T*C*H.

A Quickie...

Players: A young man and woman. They are married.

The Scene: a family room filled with "well-loved" furniture. The whole room has a broken-down, lived-in look. The girl inspects a package that has just arrived. She opens the outter box.

Girl: (Gasping). I think that this box is from Tiffany's.

Boy: Really? Who sent it?

Girl: (reading a small card) It's a belated wedding gift from K----.

Boy: Well, that's nice.

Girl: (holding the signature blue box up, marvelling) Seriously, I don't know that I have ever seen anything from Tiffany's in real life. Not ever.

Boy: (shrugging) Well, I guess I better put this frito bag down before I touch it, huh?

Confessions of a Methodist Princess

Things at Love and Squalor Designs are changing dramatically.

(It is okay to gasp.)

For nearly three years, Katie and I have worked together (some of the time in a tiny cubby hole that we shared with three other people) and it has been an experience full of love--and squalor too.

It was not "love at first sight" if you will. (Not like the other person I am married to, see post below) In fact, I was terrified of Katie for the first several weeks that we worked together. I avoided her and even went out of my way to schedule my lunchtime so that we would never happen to run into each other in the cafeteria and feel compelled to sit together. (I am a nice person, really. See additional post below about possible anxiety disorder.)

Like a scene stolen from a great chic flick, I found myself trapped at a lunch table with her and to my great surprise, I found one of the great soul mates of my life. We work long hours together. In fact, at the end of one 80 hour week she did say, "I have absolutely nothing left to tell you about. You are caught up on my whole life. I have to have a chance to go out and live a little bit more, just so we have something to talk about again." She laughs at the same stuff--actually, she's much funnier than I am. Maybe most importantly, she cries about the same things. Her heart breaks over the same tragedies. And she has been the best kind of friend.

Last week, I left our shared workplace.

I will be working for the United Methodist Church. I'm a double preacher's kid with a sister who is applying to seminary too. Richard calls the church "the family business" and likes to say that I'm a Methodist princess instead of the Mafia type. Starting this new job is a wonderful opportunity for me.

Also it has a kick-a** title--Director of Congregational Excellence. Doesn't that sound a tiny bit like a euphamism for the inquisition?

To celebrate my new role, I bought myself some beautiful notecards from Natural Historie.

They feature two gothic spires and a rose cathedral--the likes of which Richard Wilbur wrote about when, in his poem For C, he described consolation as, "'A Passion joined to courtesy and art, which has the quality of something made, like a good fiddle, like the rose's scent, like a rose window or the firmament."

The masters who built cathedrals used stained glass to tell the wonderful, mysterious stories of their faith. They built those gothic spires to show the world their passion and their skill. In the detail of their art, they captured something celestial here on earth.

Personally, I think everything in Natural Historie (and its companion blog, A Field Journal) is pretty heavenly too.

As for my confessions, here they are:

• I hate pot luck dinners. I can't stomach any kind of mayonaise salad. I'm not even in love with fried chicken. This is difficult because Methodists love pot luck dinners. The more mayonaise salad, the better.
• When I was a kid, my sister and I always fought on our way to church. Often, we still do.
• My dad always asks my opinion about his sermons. Then he tells me why I am wrong. It's our Sunday tradition.
• I am really glad to be leaving my old job.
• I am really sad that I don't see Katie every day.

At First Sight

The following ad appeared in the most recent edition of the "shot in the dark" section of the fabulous Austin Chronicle :

Library Help?

@ Pinnacle campus, you were tall slender

with english accent in library.

Had trouble finding a book.

I was studying by the window.

We met eyes before U caught the lift.

Fancy a coffee sometime?

You: man. Me: Woman.

Hmm...

I happen to know a tall, slender English guy who studies at the Pinnacle Campus for his teaching certificate. He was at the library on the date in question. And here is the clincher...he often has trouble finding things!

Now, some women might be threatened by the fact that their husbands were just "called out" in a personals column. Some women might worry. But not me. I ooze self confidence.

And I *also* happen to know that my husband has never fancied a cup of coffee in his whole life.

Seriously, though, I know that Richard wasn't making eyes at this poor girl. And I do feel for her. In fact, I know exacty how she feels.

When I met my husband, I knew immediately that I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life. He stood in a doorway, wearing jeans and a yellow t-shirt. He was indeed tall and slender with a beautiful accent. I loved him at first sight.

I spent this morning thinking a little about the woman who saw my husband and liked him enough to write a shot in the dark ad. I spent the morning thinking (and shopping) with love at first sight in mind.

I found this pair of hedgehog hair clips at Meeting Street Designs. Their names are Harry and Heidi and it was love at first sight--according to their maker.

I love Heidi's lipstick and flowery hair bow--or is it quill bow? As my sister and I often quote, "a lady needs a few things." Even a lady hedgehog. I think that any little lady would be lucky to own these darling hair clips.

Next, I ran across Annie and Olive, an adorable shop with an adorable name. I love everything in this store, but particularly liked the idea of the Surprise Heart listing. Annie and Olive list a number of small heart pendants, some in pretty paisleys and others in bright corduroy. Purchase this listing and Annie and Olive will send you a heart in a surprise style.

I just love this idea. On one hand, it is such a romantic notion--the surprise of a unique gift sent just for you, a small heart winging its way from another part of the world. On the other, it seems quite practical. Anyone who has loved another person knows that each heart is full of surprises.

Even married people find something new in each other sometimes.

When I read the ad seeking Richard out to him, he hugged me and said: "Me: man. You: woman in my arms. Fancy a life together?"

I met him and it was love at first sight. I followed him across Western Europe to win his heart. Now, that we're married I know that I would go to the ends of the earth. And so would he.

Twenty-Four Hour Potter People

Fight like a Girl.

Gentle Readers,

Perhaps you've wondered where I have been recently. Perhaps you have even missed me in my absence. Or perhaps you did not notice the absence. If indeed the latter is true, resist the urge to tell me so.

I took a break from blogging last week to start spending some free time AWAY from the computer or the television or any other appliance that could be enjoyed by sitting down. I got up and got moving.

Here is the proof:

Let me remind you that exercise does not come easily to me. I am neither lithe nor limber. There are no long, lean muscles in my arms or legs. In fact, I am fairly convinced that the strongest muscles in my body at the moment are indeed all found in the seat.

However, this month is Breast Cancer Awareness month. (Yes, I am catching the tail end of it, I realize, but unfortunately my powers of organization are about as well developed as my tricepts. Besides, breast cancer awareness may be highlighted each October, but it is a subject serious enough to warrant action year round.) Lots of studies suggest that moderate exercise decreases one's risk of breast cancer dramatically.

One more reason to tie those tennies and hit the pavement.

Please note that my newfound (nearly week old) commitment to exercise did require several new outfits, including the one pictured above--appropriately pink, I think!

In fact, shopping is another great way to fight Breast Cancer--one that comes much more easily to me than a couple of sets of jumping jacks.

Lots of great etsy sellers have created special listings with profits going to Breast Cancer research and treatment.

I bought this art card from Stiletto Heights:

She did a series of several for charity and I was lucky enough to grab this one. I love the vintage screen queens--like Garbo and Monroe and Hepburn (both of them--actually) and this original art card really captures their glamour and mystery so well. This card is even more beautiful in person. I can't wait to frame it. If only this exercise would lead me to that kind of hourglass figure!

Nevertheless, any good workout ends with a nice cool shower. This soap by Kopah is the perfect way to scrub down for a cure.

This soap is appropriately pink grapefruit scented and couldn't be a prettier reminder of the need to be aware. I love grapefruit and after sweating it out at the gym, I really appreciate a fresh clean scent. I think these are the perfect way to pamper yourself just a little! Oh and don't forget that just before or after a shower would be the perfect time to do a self exam.

Finally, I want to highlight Paws For Beads--a shop that typically donates profits to animal welfare charities, but which has created the following ornament for Breat Cancer Awareness. I love the gold leaf!

Is there a more beautiful way to remember that Breast Cancer effects women in all places, at all stages of life, in all the months of the year? I don't think so.

In all the Halloween hoopla, I hope you don't forget to hug the survivors in your life and hit the pavement (and the stores!) for your own health.

Give it up for Halloween!

me and my sister performing Under the Sea, 1991

Candy corn and make-believe--what's not to love about Halloween?

My mother (who routinely worked sixty hour weeks outside the home, who cooked our meals and never missed a school program, who went to the grocery store every single day though she hates the grocery store, who still laughs at all my jokes--even the really bad ones) made my halloween costumes. With a sewing machine.

For those of you in the etsy community, this will seem like no big deal. After all, the revolution is handmade, no? But I am not from a family of crafty people.

My grandmother's great loves: matching accessories, gold purses, shopping bags, clearance sales.

My grandmother's hates: needles of the knitting or sewing variety, working from home, following a pattern.

And the mother doesn't fall far from the tree so to speak.

However, each year my mom got out the singer and got to work on the costume of my dreams. I was a gypsy. I was a genie. I was swaddled and sometimes stuffed into costumes of satin and sequins, felt and fake fur--and always love.

As happens more and more in my adulthood, I find that I am not quite up to par with my mother. I am more laid back, more lazy, maybe even more tired than this woman who is apparently totally tireless. Also I have no sewing machine. So this year, I bought costumes for my nephews who live in the UK.

I made a mistake though and now I have an extra costume. You see, I did learn from my mother and from my grandmother before her that everything should match. (See my grandmother's loves above). After twenty-six years, the impulse to put two related things together is almost pathological.

Etsy and Katie are slowly breaking me of the habit. Note that we are big on coordination in the shop and we don't worry so much about actually matching. But it takes time. Meanwhile, I bought my infant nephew a lion costume, but couldn't find one for his older brother. Even after a hunt worthy of a Hemingway short story, I couldn't find a tiger. Or a zebra. Or a four legged animal of any kind. So I went back to the drawing board and bought the toddler a darling octopus costume and got the baby a matching goldfish swaddle.

Now, I have this lonely lion costume:

It comes from the Children's Place and is a brand new 0-6 month costume with a body piece that you could wear over a shirt, a matching head piece, and two booties. Unfortunately, you can't tell from the picture that it is new because in my haste (before I knew how hard it was to get a second safari animal costume) I took it out of the packaging. If you know a little lion in waiting who is without a mane or tail at the moment, leave me a comment. I will be conducting a raffle Saturday morning for this costume and will send it to the winner priority mail, so that it will be sure to get there in time for Halloween festivities.

To be honest, I am not even sure whether they do trick or treating in Wales the way we do it in Texas. I get the impression that British people are willing to buy their own candy and don't need to resort to begging for their tootsie roll fix. But I could be wrong. Anyway, I bought my nephews their costumes not because they needed them, or even because they would particularly appreciate them (they are really only babies), but because it allowed me to slip into that Halloween world where anything is possible and everyone is transformed.

For one day a year, you can be a fish or a bird. You can be a plane or you can be Superman. You can be the wicked witch or you can wear the ruby slippers. That is the homemade magic of Halloween.

What a Wonderful World...

Today, bloggers around the world have committed to taking up the cause of the environment. I decided to post some photos that Richard and I took while visiting the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago. We took them so that we could send copies to our 2-year-old nephew, Kai. (Unfortunately, Auntie Rachel has been busy and Kai is yet to see them.)

He's going through a phase in which he is fascinated by photos and since we live on the other side of the world (Kai is a native of Wales), he sees us far more often in print than in person. Actually, there was an unfortunate period in which he had me a bit confused with Al Gore. Thank goodness it was mostly in the name and not in the look.

Don't get me wrong--I think Al Gore looks pretty good for a middle-aged man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. But while I am somewhat flattered that my nephew confused me with a Nobel Prize winner, I do want Kai to think that I look slightly more--feminine.

Apparently, the confusion was never about look but about sounds. The names Rach-el and Al Gore sound a bit alike to a very clever young Welsh boy. I don't really hear it myself, but I have a hard time making my own voice or the voice of my interior monologue stretch to a Welsh accent.

Oh I hope that Kai someday understands what work Al Gore has inspired, the work that is yet to be done. I hope Kai lives in a world where we value the future--his future--as much as we value our own creature comforts. I hope Kai lives in a world where all the creatures pictured still exist.

After all, I may live on the other side of the world from my nephew, but it is such a small planet.

Come on Eng-a-land.

Today we practiced the other other religion--RUGBY.

Richard, Lizzie (my sister), and I headed to Fado, a local Irish pub that claims to have the best Guiness in North America, for the England v France semi-final game of the Rugby World Cup. For our part, we stuck with lager and ale. None of that Irish stuff today. We were channeling England all the way.

Before the game, Richard gave Lizzie a long tutorial in the rules. Before the game, I tried on four different outfits until I landed on the one that a) best represented the flag of St. George, the symbol of England and b) did not make me look fat. Hence, I still don't know the difference between a prop and a flanker. Nor do I appreciate the significance of the 22 yard (or is it meter?) line.

But, I am sure that Lizzie and I were the cutest ones in the pub.

Before you get worried that I have developed a big head, please understand that there were maybe 5 women in the place because most wives/girlfriends/sisters of the rugby fans at Fado would probably not have been caught dead in the mosh pit of men, sweating and screaming, "Come on England!" One guy scootched past me and the ripe stench that hung on the air after he was long gone suggested that he had been playing International Rugby, not watching it in an air-conditioned pub.

Even my darling mild-mannered husband transforms into a hooligan when it comes to Rugby. Once, when we were dating, he screamed in anger at my flatmate who changed the station while Rich was watching the rugby. I had run upstairs to put on a sweater and by the time I got back, Richard said, "Get your coat, Rach, we're going home." In that moment, he was Clark Gable or Humphrey Bogart--some classic Hollywood leading man, taking charge and taking care of the little woman. It might have been really romantic. Except I was already at home.

Today, Richard encouraged his team in his usual sweet way--most of the time. He was the only one in the pub saying, "Good play, lads. Keep it up" But when a Welsh man dained to cheer on France at a pivotal moment, I heard my darling husband yell back: "Traitor!"

I must say that this is not his normal attitude. In fact, we got home from the game this evening to find that a gift we'd bought for our newest nephew, Finnlay--who is a native of Abergavenny, Wales--was waiting for us in the "post box." Charlie and Sarah created this custom long-sleeved onesie for the little guy using a block printed design from their British Flashcard collection and I couldn't be happier with the way it turned out. I plan to buy a matching one for Rich soon so that he and one of his favorite Welsh citizens will match.




Finn--just remember that you may be "mini" now, but someday you'll be bigger and when the time comes, we'll be happy to watch you play rugby, even if you do play for Wales! (Well, at least Auntie Rachel will...)

But back to the game...after 80+ brutal minutes, England won! This is the face of a boy who has just pulled his wife to him in excited revelry (nothing to do with the beers he had--absolutely NOTHING):

I am now quite the fan of Rugby, myself. Anything that makes a man grab his wife like this has got to be good. Next weekend, we'll be back at Fado's for the finals and I'll be screaming, "Come on, England" with best of them.

-----

P.S. I know that I married the right man because of the following conversation:

Me: That number 11 guy is pretty hot!

Rich: Who, Josh Lewsey? Yeah, he reminds me of the guy on the Gilmore Girls that you are in love with.

What do you think?

I know why the caged bird sleeps.

My father says that I am like a little bird--not, mind you, because of my bone structure or my peckish little bites. I wish. Unfortunately, nothing about me is delicate, mostly because I am indeed often quite peckish.

No. My father says that I am like a caged bird, one that needs her caretakers to drop a black cloth over her cage so that she knows it is time to sleep. When I was in high school, he felt it was his job to lower the darkness each night. He went around the house in his red bathrobe, turning off all the lights and then he would say, "All the lights are out. Everyone else is in bed. It's okay for you to go to sleep now."

You see...my dad understands the reason I don't like to sleep. I hate to miss out on anything. I don't want you to have fun without me just because I'm getting 40 winks.

As I am still reminded, one of my first (and favorite) sentences as a toddler came in response to my parents' entreaties that it was time for a n-a-p. "But," I said, "my awake." Note: pic to left is me, circa 1982--standing near the bed and demonstrating just how bright-eyed i can be.

Tonight, I am dead-dog tired, but have I put on my PJs? Started my nightly ablutions? No way. Everyone else is up, so my awake too.

And as I most certainly am awake, I did a quick search to find some of my favorite etsy bird items.

I love these cards from JJB Studio. The original line drawings are darling and the details are great--especially the songs made of antique sheet music. Maybe if I buy these, I can write little love notes to friends and family next time I am trying to while away the evening hours (tomorrow night.)

Kitty Empire also has this fantastic messenger bag featuring a freed bird. I'm a big fan of Kitty's work. I recently featured another vegan friendly messenger bag from this shop in my laundry treasury (for a pic check out my previous post) for etsy.

I think I have a new favorite from Kitty's shop.

Finally, I want to highlight this amazing brooch from Wired called "First Frost." I recently bought a similar one in a different color pallette (love the muted, winter colors of the one below) for a member of my family--one of the few family members that I am hoping does not keep up with this blog!

It was more beautiful in person and could not have been an easier transaction. Craig--the artist behind Wired--was so so nice and completely went out of his way to make a piece that was not just good enough, but perfect for my loved one. I can't recommend his shop highly enough.

Okay, it's taken me an hour to complete this post and no one in my family has made a move towards sleep. So here I sit, anchored to the couch and holding my eye lids open. Still awake and still shopping!

Kitchen Confidential

In my house, it's biscuits and butter--the old fashioned kind that are made with baking soda so they are a little bit salty. And chocolate cake with cinnamon and pecans. And potato soup with lots of black pepper. All from scratch.

By the way, isn't scratch a wonderful word?

These are the ordinary family meals that our lives are organized around. (We're carb people!) My great-grandmother made the biscuits first. She fed them to her children for as many meals as they could tolerate during the depression.

My mother made them for her own children as a special Saturday morning treat. At our house, they were served with butter and jam and syrup.

Now my husband makes the same biscuits to go with his soups. They are a part of my favorite evening meals--the ones that bring comfort against the cold or solice at the end of a difficult work day.

Life seems to happen around the kitchen table and it is those most ordinary moments that I also bring me comfort and solice when my world is rocked.

Today I am listing a new memory board in our etsy shop. I think it is totally darling in a bright kitchsy sort of way.

I already want one for my kitchen--one to hang up reminders, one to hold our memories, one to recall the laughter and love we've already shared together, so often in that very room. I look forward to the special Saturday morning breakfasts and the birthday parties to come. I want my own children to know that despite our sometimes meager means, we are rich in the things that matter--chocolate cake and love. And these are the recipes that will be their most precious inheritance, the thing that links us to those we've loved and lost.

I often think that when I am older, I will be able to look back on the tapestry of my life and find that the common thread that binds my memories together is baking soda biscuits.

Seriously, What's that Smell?

I called in sick today.

As Katie said--yeah sick of this place.

Call it a mental health day. Call it lying, if you must. Doesn't everybody wake up some mornings and think, there is no way that I can get up and go through with the normal routine today? Most of all, I have no interest in pretending my coworkers are funny. (Though Katie really is funny.) I can't stand that fake baby voice that one of them speaks in when she wants to be particularly condescending. And I don't feel inspired when I am making copies.

Instead, I am hanging out at the house today. I've got some cleaning to do--lots of cleaning actually. Yesterday, my sister--who lives with us--walked in the door and said, "this place stinks."

"Stinks like what?" I said, sniffing mightily.

She wrinkled her nose, "like--human."

She's right. Once she pointed it out, I noticed the smell of lived-in-too-long. Some people might call it stale, but to me, stale is locked-up and untouched. This is the smell of running in and out to work and school and meetings. It's the smell of family meals that don't start until 10 PM. It's the smell of burning the candle at both ends.

So my job today is to make this house smell less like human and more like comet. And while I am home, I'm going to fulfill our latest order (thanks jennynucity!) and if I get a chance, I'm going to stop and smell the roses, the ones in my very own back yard.

Hello. My Name is Rachel and I am a Televisionaholic...

Okay. I admit it. I am the TV addict in this duo.

Katie is pretty take-it-or-leave-it about TV. When I ask her, "What did you do last night?" She has answers like: went for a jog, saw Bill Clinton live, did a little bit of casual sky diving.

Yeah, but did you catch the latest episode of America's Next Top Model?!?

Lately, though, I have been renting a lot of DVDs of cable television shows. For one thing, I get tired of watching ANTM and CSI and SVU. (Note to self: Rachel, crack open a book or you will lose the ability to spell real words.) Cable does do it better. But I am cheap and poor so I only rent a single show at a time, instead of paying a lot for a few shows at once.

Watching TV via DVDs is great because:

1. I definitely get to see new, edgy stuff.

2. I get to watch them over and over and over again. I can fastforward through parts I hate and hit pause when I need to get up and find something. And I start to memorize stuff so that I don't really have to pay that much attention, but somehow the electric hum of the familiar show brings me comfort.

The second scenerio happens often as I particularly like to watch TV while I am crafting. Hope this doesn't blow your image of the angsty artist who shuns mass produced products of society like fast food and pop music...and cable TV. My husband is that guy. I am the girl who loves handmade stuff with quality and character (like you can find at etsy) and I like TV; in fact, the TV I like most is also cut from a different mold than the average stuff and has fabulous characters.

Here are the top five television shows (in no particular order) that I love to watch--or rather listen to--while I make new stuff. (Bear in mind that I have not included any of the British television shows that I love, mostly because they are often crime dramas staring little old ladies and I have to know you better before I reveal my full nerdiness.)

5. Dexter. For one thing, Michael C. Hall is brilliant. He needs so little dialogue to convey such complicated emotions. I love him for that. I just plain love him.

Also, this is great when I am really just listening to it because I don't have to see all the gory scary bits if I don't feel up to it. I just put my head down and focus on the photo mat I am making.

4. Gilmore Girls. I know. I know. My aforementioned husband really doesn't understand my love for this show. What can I say? The heart wants what it wants.

3. Big Love. What I like best about this show is that I really really am rooting for Bill. I believe that he loves all of his wives and I want him to succeed in making his polygamist lifestyle work

An accomplishment, I think, given that if my husband decided to be a polygamist--he'd be a polygamist living on the curb.

2. Weeds. It seems to me that this is a show all about grief and since my mom has always called me The Queen of Tragedy--it's right up my alley. Plus, it can be absolutely hilarious.

1. Six Feet Under. I lied when I said that these were in no particular order. Six Feet Under is my alltime favorite show. I love the Fishers. (I am the Queen of Tragedy, remember?) I love Michael C. Hall. I love Nate and Brenda and the way they never, almost, always find each other and get lost at once. I love the creepy funeral home flowers and the way that Ruth braids her hair. To be honest, I don't watch the DVDs--though I own them all--much any more because it depresses me that the series is over. I know everything ends, but maybe I don't like reality TV, even when it is as good as this.

It turns out that television is the real soundtrack of my life.

***

p.s. Katie does have a new secret obsession with The Batchelor, but don't tell her that I told you that.