Mother Knows Best

My mom always taught me to clean up after myself, and last night was a very good example why.

This morning I rushed out of the house and left the tube of hair gel on the counter. Tonight when I came home, I mechanically squeezed hair gel onto my toothpaste. So I had to dig up a grungy toothbrush left over from camping last summer.

Gross. Listen to your mother.

Endearment

Around hour six of sitting in my grandma’s dark nursing home room, my dad started to read aloud about the plasticity of the human brain.

“In one case, scientists were able to hook up a video camera chip to a blind man’s tongue. The circuits of the man’s brain rearranged themselves to interpret the new information as a visual image. As a result, the ‘blind’ man was able to drive a car through a parking lot full of cones.”

We all fell silent, trying to wrap our brains around the concept. Oblivious to our deep technological ponderings, my grandma started muttering to herself. “Well that’ll help, get that bugger outta there.” I looked up to catch her peering into a crumpled up Kleenex in her hand.

She had pushed her oxygen tube up across her glasses the way some people push their glasses on top of their heads. I’m still not used to seeing my farm-girl-tough grandma tangled up in an oxygen tube.

I guess she’s not used to it either.

She picked up her pinchers—-a clever mechanical device that essentially adds three feet to her reach. With careful coordination, she navigated the Kleenex from fleshy to metal fingers and dropped it into the garbage can at the foot of the bed. Then she sat upright on her bed and let out a contented “Hmmm.”

Ever since this fearless woman’s body has confined her to a strange bed, her independence is even more precious. Small tasks like throwing away a Kleenex and sitting back up in bed are suddenly challenging, and therefore that much more rewarding.

I couldn’t have been more proud of her.

For Everything a Season

I give up. I can’t deny anymore that summer is over.

Really it was a combination of events that forced me to this admission. The snow. The date on the calendar. Oh, and the snow. Not to mention the fact that everyone I know is sick. We’re seasoned Minnesotans, but this change in weather makes us all sick every single fall.

I like to look on the bright side. Having a 6-month-long head cold isn’t so bad. A big red sniffly nose is a guaranteed way to get a sympathetic smile. No one blames you for skipping the gym to burrow in bed, watch Pride and Prejudice and eat ice cream all day.

So, in honor of this Season of Minnesotan Sickness, I put up a new fall display at the shop. Here’s a little sneak peak from my sketch book:



If you stop by, you’ll have to tell me how accurate the actual sunflower is to this sketch. And if you come by between October 22 and November 1, in honor of another fall tradition you can play games with the Harvest Sampler Shop Hop. Marble games, or ping pong ball games, I’m not sure which yet. But we do know there will be prizes.

But don’t worry; they’re all good prizes: I promise to sanitize.

Flu Scare

These days Chinese airlines make a big deal of Swine Flu. We’ve heard horror stories of an entire plane being quarantined because one passenger has a fever. But they don’t check our temperature before we board in San Francisco. They fly us all the way across the Pacific first. Before we were allowed to deplane in Beijing, two officials came onboard wearing scrubs, surgical masks and gloves. They both carried some kind of portable temperature-taking device and moved down the aisles testing everybody. I was too afraid to take a picture of these faceless deciders of our fate.

Our guides in Beijing told us not to worry about the Avian Flu screening, that it’s mostly formality. But they warn us that they will check our temperature again before we leave the country. Then our guides also told us about more pressing dangers – don’t drink the tap water, don’t flush the toilet paper, and don’t feed the stray cats.

We’ve tried to be good about all those things. Here at the hotel we don’t have to worry about the flushing or the cats. But we still can only drink bottled water. At breakfast the first day it occurred to us they probably mix their juice concentrate with tap water.

This is after we both finished a glass.

Unprepared paranoids, we took that moment to speculate about what happens to Americans when they drink Chinese water. Diarrhea and vomiting are the usual suspects. Halucinations? Swine Flu-like symptoms so we can’t leave the country?

Heather smiles with equal parts humor and terror.

“Swine Flu. The water gives you Swine Flu.”

The Meeting

“Jamison, are you happy to be meeting your mommy today?” one of his teachers asked.

“Yeah! I’m happy!” I imagine he jumped furiously up and down while he said it.

This boy bursts with energy like no one I know. He touches everything, trying to be aware of his surroundings. Using his hands and his ears (and to a very small extent his eyes) he devours information. At the airport while he and Jewel and Sara were waiting to meet us, one of the staff members, he picked up the phrase “Nice to see you." And he’s not shy about using his English. We heard before we saw him: “I love you Mamma!” at the top of his lungs.

“Are you happy?” his teacher asked.

“Yeah! I’m happy!”

“Are you too happy?” his teacher asked.

“Yeah! I’m three happy, four happy, thirty happy!”

Spiny Snacks

I found this picture in the current edition of Mental Floss magazine. If this is what they serve in China, I’m in trouble.


The caption reads:
Love Fear Factor and food-on-a-stick, but don’t know where you can combine the two interests? Try China, where street vendors deep-fry scorpions and seahorses and serve ‘em up on skewers. Both foods are believed to have medicinal value. Seahorses are said to be good for men’s kidneys, and scorpions supposedly make your blood hotter in cold weather.



Just rice for me, please. I’ll take my chances with the cold weather.

Scaling Mt. Serger

Prepare yourself for something shocking.

I’ve never used a serger.

Strange, right? Being a cotton maven, knits have always terrified me. And sergers terrify me more. Four threads? Loopers? No bobbin? That’s not real sewing.

Last week in Bernina’s New Owner Training, we spent a day learning how to use a 5-thread serger. So, braced with my sister’s endless (and possibly misplaced) enthusiasm, I pulled one of our new sergers off the shelf and gave it a shot.

And it worked! Bethany and I went crazy. We spent all afternoon cutting up her old t-shirts and sewing them into tank tops, using ideas from the book “Generation T” by Megan Nicolay. I also cut up an old pair of jeans into panels for a flirty skirt with a sweetly scalloped hem and a feisty exposed zipper.

You better believe I laughed maniacally with every single finished project. Mountains seem a lot smaller from the top.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Sometimes I think my friend Heather might shop online for orphans like most women shop for shoes.

And that’s not a bad thing.

She and I became friends while she and her husband Scott were in the process of adopting Whitman. Her big heart made impression on me as she talked about that little boy. From the moment she saw his picture, with the cleft palate and the enormous smile, he was her son.

He’s been an official part of their family for over two years now. After several surgeries, his cleft palate is closed and he’s speaking more and more clearly. While he’s learning English he also has speech therapy homework like learning to drink through a straw or annunciating phrases like “Zip my zipper, please!” He still has the same enormous smile.

Next month Scott and Heather are adopting their second boy from China. His name is Jamison, he’s eleven, and has a pretty tragic story. The Christophers tell it better than I can, at bringjamisonhome.com.

Jamison finally gets to come home next month. And I’m going along as Heather’s travel companion. We’ll be spending two weeks in China, near Beijing at the Philip Hayden Foundation, in Guangzhou, and in Fuzhou. Our hotels are as luxurious as anything I’ve ever seen on TV. I will absolutely post pictures here.

I am so honored to go, and excited, and nervous. And it still doesn’t seem real. We won’t have much time for sightseeing, but if I see any fabric or yarn stores, Heather already knows I’ll insist on ducking in. Does anyone know of anything else we shouldn’t miss while we’re there? I’d love to hear your China travel advice.

Hunting Season

As long as I can remember, bugs have given me the creeps. Just like any kid, I know. But I’m a grown woman. Seeing a spider still makes me shriek and jump. I spot an insect on the ceiling from the corner of my eye and the world stops till I find a shoe and a chair.

Recently I’ve made peace with spiders. Something about my enemy’s enemy being my friend. But there is one species I cannot tolerate.

And they infest my house.

Wolf spiders are hunters. They don’t make polite webs in hidden corners. They run fast and grow big—four inches long is not uncommon. I’m pretty sure that the racing stripes running down their torsos give them super speed. They scurry around on long legs, but when I come into the room they freeze and glare at me. Wolf spiders are not afraid of anything. See for yourself. The picture makes my stomach turn (enlarge it if you dare).



Every spring I declare open season on Wolf spiders. Judging by incidents over the weekend, this year will be no different.

So look out, invaders: The hunter is now the hunted.

Purse Snatching

My heart is broken.

I made an adorable bag. The pattern was Amy Butler’s “Birdie Sling,” made from Fresh Aire fabrics. You’d love the red, yellow and orange flowers, and how the white background balances out the bold design of the flowers. The red floral handle is the perfect accent.

But you can’t see it. Last week while it hung on display, someone walked out the front door with my bag.

So from now on, I’m asking all of you to be on the lookout for this adorable, one of a kind purse. Maybe if we all work together, we can reunite my beloved bag with its true owner: me. So if, by a miracle of crafting miracles, you happen to run across it, follow these simple instructions:

Grab the bag.
Dump all her stuff on the ground.
Run away.

Your courage will make you a hero. Besides, what’s the worst she could do; accuse you of stealing her purse?

My Best Friend Monty

Monty is my Miniature Pinscher. He’s small and black and loves heights. When I put him on top of the entertainment center, his tail turns into a propeller. Sometimes I catch him sleeping inside my purse. Sometimes I catch him laying on the floor across the room doing nothing but staring at me. He’ll do this for hours.

Monty and I are made for each other. We have so much in common that if he were a person we would finish each other’s sentences.

We both hate the cold. We both love to look out the car window. He has a nervous bark; I have a nervous laugh. We both feel like we’re being picked on most of the time. And we’re both incredibly stubborn with a desire to be independent. But at the same time we just want someone big and strong to be sweet and take care of us.

Because of all this, we completely understand each other.

I know why he needs to be wrapped up in a blanket when he comes in from the snow. I know that he likes to be carried but doesn’t like to be captured, so to pick him up I crouch down very small and he comes right over. I know that such a small dog in such a big world can feel very alone, and it helps to be fed by hand every now and then.

In return, he understands that when I’m sad, he makes himself very small and crawls over to comfort me.

It’s a big world, and I need all the friends I can get.

Keeping Secrets

My family thinks I can’t keep a secret. Shows what they know. I’m like a crocodile. I lurk under the water, eyes peering, watching and waiting. Then BAM! Surprise!

They found out Sunday how good I am at surprises. Saturday was my brother’s birthday lunch. I didn’t say a word, just lurked and watched. I said to my mom, as nonchalant as can be, that I found something to bring her and asked if she’d be around the next day. So the plan was set in motion.

But first, a little back story:

Madagascar doesn’t make it into US news very often, even while the country’s been on the verge of civil war the last three months. My sister has been stationed in a village there, volunteering through the Peace Corps. They finally decided to evacuate the volunteers this month, so she was waiting for a flight out as rebels seized control of the nation’s army and surrounded the president’s palace with tanks.

After she made it out safely, we devised a plan not to tell our parents but to surprise them by having me bring her secretly from the airport. Everything was arranged. We kept testing the waters to see if our parents had heard of the evacuation in the news. Even Saturday at the birthday lunch they had no idea. So Sunday she was sitting by the front door when they came home.

Dad couldn’t get a complete sentence out. Mom’s jaw slacked when she looked over. Her arms fell and her purse dropped to the floor. It was like Christmas. Even I teared up. All in all, it was a good surprise.

Crisco Fiasco

Josh was having some guys over last night to jam or record or whatever. I thought I’d impress everyone with my domesticity by baking chocolate chip cookies from scratch in my newly painted kitchen. I even considered tying on a cute apron made from bright flowery fabric with ruffles on the bottom.

But the shortening smelled funny. It was a strange yellow color and was gooey and tacky like hair gel.

Turns out I haven’t baked in the amount of time it takes for Crisco to spoil. The can didn’t have an expiration date, which is another way of saying it lasts essentially forever.

Turns out I’m not as domestic as I thought.

A Fat Quarter is Not a Body Part

A customer came in for her new block of the month. I asked her if she wanted to grab her fat quarter and then went to get her new block. “You mean like this?” she said. But I could hear that she hadn’t even left the front counter. So I started explaining very officially that she gets a free fat quarter for finishing last month’s block on time. When I heard laughter I looked up. The customer was squeezing and jiggling her back side.

She and my employee had a big laugh together about how I’m too young to get the joke.

Go ahead, ladies. Have your joke.

Polar Bear Attack

My dad sent me this email today. Usually his forwards are of a beware-the-end-times nature, but this proves he has at least one friend with a sense of humor.

The email read:

Bear Attacks Man in Canada

You may not want your kids to see these photos!

These are pictures of an actual bear attack in Manitoba, Canada. These pictures were taken while people watched and could do nothing to stop the attack! Reports from local newspaper say that the victim is expected to make a full recovery.

Misadventures in Making Pants

I had the brilliant idea to make my own pants.

The idea was to find a professional pattern and use unexpected fabrics. Multi-colored stripes, for example. Or men’s wool dress pants salvaged from the thrift store. Or for that matter anything salvaged from the thrift store.

So I found a pattern that has potential. Saturday afternoon, I felt brave. I read through the entire pattern. I cut out the pattern pieces, laid them on the fabric according to the layout diagram, and pinned everything in place. Then I pulled out my scissors to cut, but something was wrong.

I couldn’t find my size.

Turns out the numbers on the front of the package following “Size:” are important.

Not only is this pattern over my head, even purchasing this pattern is over my head. Before I could make a single cut, this pattern has gotten the best of me.

True Love

Karina is my 8-year-old surrogate sister. We hang out every week. She has told me in folded up notes on lined paper that I'm her favorite sister, despite the fact that we're not actually sisters and that she has a real sister.

A couple weeks ago Karina told me that Damien who lives down the hall from her has a crush on me. He's twelve, meaning he's too old for Karina. This frees her to be thoroughly entertained by his insanity.

Last week Damien leaned his head out the door and yelled, "Hey, Karina. Is that your sister?" She said I was. Throwing caution into the wind like only a twelve-year-old can, he yelled to me, "I love you! Will you marry me?"

Helpful Karina, who doesn't understand that some things aren't meant to be shouted down the hall, shouted down the hall, "She's 28!"

It was clear from her tone that for how old I am I might as well be another species. He paused for a second, then ducked back into his apartment, calling over his shoulder, "I don't care if she's thirty, or a hundred, or dead!"

Ah, now that's true love.

Eating Pretty

I like eating with chopsticks. The rules of etiquette instantly relax. Those two little sticks are magic wands for messy eating.


It’s the same reason I like eating salads. No one can call you a pig for shoveling salad into your mouth.