tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2498678503503881272024-03-21T18:40:40.059-05:00Shmata BoroRapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-46432197895481605192019-04-10T22:30:00.002-05:002019-04-11T18:40:13.683-05:00Today the sky, tomorrow the sunbeams.<br />
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-25161458663849340912019-04-06T09:36:00.002-05:002019-12-10T10:35:20.789-06:00Smart Phone possibilities?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Being a creature of great curiosity and wanting to share a work in progress I am wondering if it is possible to blog from my phone rather than having to do it from a computer......<br />
Testing.... one...two...three......<br />
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After Sandra's funeral in Vincennes yesterday I stopped by my favorite St. Vincent De Paul store in search of quilting magazines. I'm just not thrilled with what I am seeing in the new quilting magazines and wanted some more traditional inspiration. St Vinny did not disappoint, I found several issues, dating back as far as 1983. Then halfway home I stopped at St Vincent's in Loogootee, where I found even more. Also a good quilting book from Oxmoor House (they are wonderful), and a newer (2003) collection of 1000 Quilt Blocks in book form.<br />
If I can't come up with a decent quilt design out of over 1000 possibilities then I will have to hang up my thimble, and you know that is never going to happen.<br />
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<br />Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-13055585619102478042014-10-22T14:35:00.001-05:002014-10-22T14:48:26.792-05:00Dear Blogger, Will you let me post pictures and label them today?Dear Blogger,<br />
In haven't written a blog post in nearly forever, and You are the reason. When last I tried, and tried and tried, you would not let me post pictures -or- would not let me label them -or- would not let me write text, and I really wanted to do all three things.<br />
I am boldly trying again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX5LY21RwDh5zlWZoqkZ6SvY3sNh-bJCmdTmzIHz4wbfYNIeHo_zhNdy7eBZY3V9-Y1SC_z9uu0PWTJDzxG49O1q8Y180Wt9HOmRg-7sxv8J-oTiAh4ThpWdBk30EOaFdaceng5XRT4_yu/s1600/strawberry+girl+doll.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX5LY21RwDh5zlWZoqkZ6SvY3sNh-bJCmdTmzIHz4wbfYNIeHo_zhNdy7eBZY3V9-Y1SC_z9uu0PWTJDzxG49O1q8Y180Wt9HOmRg-7sxv8J-oTiAh4ThpWdBk30EOaFdaceng5XRT4_yu/s1600/strawberry+girl+doll.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is Strawberry Girl. From the fabric I'm guessing the original doll was made in the 1940's. Apart from the nestlings/fingerlings she's the smallest doll I've embroidered so far. Cheerfully odd facial expression and wee velvet boots. I made her for my friend Yuko Okumura, who has a great passion for strawberries, the actual fruit and nearly anything made of or with or in the shape of strawberries. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDaNl3NkdelKQws0WrCqHCM8gIIAW6balEn_xKEmjymsDGKLExA5DuZnzJmML6JEunJybs8oQnwBBcl_YufW9uv9BB8NxVIzcGXeMJUWwiiEcLIEMs_LJcsVubeG_Ml7HQnUe1LW2vrwhI/s1600/golden+gorl+doll.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDaNl3NkdelKQws0WrCqHCM8gIIAW6balEn_xKEmjymsDGKLExA5DuZnzJmML6JEunJybs8oQnwBBcl_YufW9uv9BB8NxVIzcGXeMJUWwiiEcLIEMs_LJcsVubeG_Ml7HQnUe1LW2vrwhI/s1600/golden+gorl+doll.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the current doll in progress. I'm stitching her embellishments in shades of gold and light brown to coordinate with the <span style="background-color: yellow;">ir</span>removable splotch on her face which seems to be ancient nail polish. We all collect a few battle scars as we go through life, and it is no different for the doll folk. Some little darling most likely felt Very Sorry about getting mum's nail polish on dolly's face. I wonder if she spent time in a corner thinking over what she'd done? At any rate this little one is no less sweet for having had some adventures in her life.<br />
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Well now, that seemed to go nicely, but I don't know how to get back to regular sized text. Sigh. I'm much more artistic than technological I'm afraid. I shall proceed in caption sized text as I've sworn not to give up easily!<br />
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I have missed having a blissful life of mostly stitching, studying and blogging. In April I went from working part time (which was lovely) to working a full 40 hours a week. This brings me more money, and medical benefits, but gosh! It hogs up five days of my life Every Week. Since I haven't been going-to-a doctor sick in a dozen years the idea that I'm getting medical benefits by working full time loses a lot of the thrill it's meant to have. I think I'd prefer to have that other 16 hours a week back, but the company doesn't allow people to un-promote themselves.<br />
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Since my job doesn't require much use of my brain I spend my mental energy on the job thinking about other things. Mostly contemplating my amazing kids and planning out my future projects.<br />
I'm frankly looking forward very much to retirement, when I can once again spend my hours on things I care about rather than just, as my daddy used to say, "Chasing the Almighty Dollar".<br />
Not that I don't like dollars, I do like them a whole lot, they're useful for all sorts of good things. <br />
Anyway, sufficient unto this day is the whining thereof. I've got a cozy loft to stitch in, lots of dollies to embroider, socks to knit, pets to pet, and half of a day off left in which to do all of the aforementioned. With these I shall be content.<br />
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-60184435129396218152014-01-12T10:32:00.004-06:002014-01-21T18:02:51.865-06:00NEW LEAF 2014 -or- THE ARTIST'S WAY Ahem. for reasons I cannot fathom, Blogger will let me write in the title box (obviously) but will not let me move the cursor down to write in the text box. It let me post 4 pictures, but will only let me caption two of them. I cannot wait to see what, if anything, will actually be published. Here goes!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jVe-Rlfb4tnXAFjvd4TDYQTfEiKUTueqtn7Ry5T2xwFPYGuN0bLt5pkhE5gbbY5CumQKEpscXTqQj04POrrWRhUuADjN0r7wHtu5lSA_ZFUSYKK4sJjaLwH13AG2lFBi1JiiG9tQ6cQx/s1600/dollface+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" closure_lm_780525="null" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jVe-Rlfb4tnXAFjvd4TDYQTfEiKUTueqtn7Ry5T2xwFPYGuN0bLt5pkhE5gbbY5CumQKEpscXTqQj04POrrWRhUuADjN0r7wHtu5lSA_ZFUSYKK4sJjaLwH13AG2lFBi1JiiG9tQ6cQx/s1600/dollface+1.JPG" height="320" hua="true" title="" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bit of a change from her gingham dressed original form.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_DqgAPx128cWEp4UBmF-vP-KaWD4TWgqjY5WyNAe9JUBNUCIPOkbJtwJnHQTC9hpi31LIwCbUBS5AqyzX6DqEmIS-2Glsbz648QC1XVFerYEn7lywO6wqFXGjwngpLvxGLkNdQDzFmrl/s1600/dollface+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" closure_lm_780525="null" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_DqgAPx128cWEp4UBmF-vP-KaWD4TWgqjY5WyNAe9JUBNUCIPOkbJtwJnHQTC9hpi31LIwCbUBS5AqyzX6DqEmIS-2Glsbz648QC1XVFerYEn7lywO6wqFXGjwngpLvxGLkNdQDzFmrl/s1600/dollface+2.JPG" height="320" hua="true" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little lady looks a bit angsty to me. She had a nice house and a pretty blue car, you would think this would make her happy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg4kS3dzvt2bIzYnH9wM2RAx5pL2zcBx-zb7msOLavH1tMqLSKskAM13WbJQLs3MHzk__fSuG368vJy1f8SDW17C2uytG8_enLpSHUSc8ysr7QBf_5jkGO05yaCSRQV9zNi81WwBJvghcT/s1600/dollface+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg4kS3dzvt2bIzYnH9wM2RAx5pL2zcBx-zb7msOLavH1tMqLSKskAM13WbJQLs3MHzk__fSuG368vJy1f8SDW17C2uytG8_enLpSHUSc8ysr7QBf_5jkGO05yaCSRQV9zNi81WwBJvghcT/s1600/dollface+4.JPG" hua="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-53328187143949563012013-04-17T16:24:00.001-05:002014-10-22T18:14:05.247-05:00When She's Not Scrubbing or A Very Slight Aquaintance With Permaculture in which Straw is Spun into Gold. Sort of.<br />
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Now that Rapunzel has joined the ranks of the blue collar workers you can well imagine the fascinating details of her custodial life. Or janitorial life if you prefer. BUT, you may be asking yourselves, what does she do these days when she's not off to town a-scrubbing? Obviously she's been sadly neglecting her blog, so what is her excuse for her absence of late?<br />
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Rapunzel has been tres busy recycling.<br />
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In Ye Olde College Dormitories there are all the mod cons an 18 year old student could desire. Running water, heat, cooling, a cafeteria, private kitchens, computer labs, lounges with televisions, bathrooms to accomodate a crowd, and a laundry room. It is this last item that concerns us today.<br />
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In the laundry room students wash their clothes in automatic washers. Eventually they return and put the clothes in the automatic dryers. Within a day or so they will remember to come back one more time to find their clean and dry clothes, which have by now have been flung out of the dryer in a heap by some other student.<br />
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Each laundry room has a <strong>Lost Box,</strong> where newly single socks and other oddments collect. Not just honestly lost items collect here, it is also the place where students toss things they don't want, and don't want to bother to dispose of properly: gum wrappers, hair elastics, capless flash drives, dryer lint, fabric softener sheets, caps from flash drives, soggy pencils. And T-shirts. Specifically T-shirts from events, that have graphics printed on the front, and often also on the back. After the wonderousness of a special event has passed it is often found that the event shirt is in fact pug ugly and the fashionable and discerning student would not be caught dead wearing the shirt a second time. So these franky dreadful shirts are tossed away. As if there is someplace called AWAY where things actually go.<br />
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It falls to the dorm custodians to periodically deal with the things students fail to come back and retrieve. Nasty things go into the proper trash can ,which being on the opposite side of the 10 foot wide laundry room and right near the exit door is apparently too far to walk for 18 year olds. Cute things go to co-workers with children young enough to admire teenage fashions. Cast off boxer shorts go straight in the trash can because boys are undesputeably gross. And then there are the ugly event shirts, which No One Really Wants. Having only been worn once or twice they seem too "good" to throw away, ("good" here is a subjective term) and the best of them are made of sturdy thick cotton knit which lasts and is comfortable.<br />
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And so it happens that a fat stack of unflattering t-shirts accumulated on my closet shelf this winter. Most of them in shades of green and gold, two colors which do not flatter my complexion in the slightest. I had thought that they would be useful to wear while mucking out the henhouse, and doing other dirty, messy, smelly or likely-to-snag type farm work, thus saving wear and tear on my dresses. The reality is they were too ugly in their original state to be worn even at home alone in a secluded valley where I'm only seen by colorblind people with four legs. <br />
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On contemplating my wealth of ugly t-shirts several thoughts tumbled about in my cogs.<br />
One is that when designing a quilt if your design just doesn't look good the best solution is generally to Add More Color. You cannot have too many colors in a quilt.<br />
The second thought is that the first principle of Permaculture is Whenever Possible Use What You Have On Hand to accomplish what needs to be done. My handmade long sleeved dresses are awfully hot to wear in summer, and something looser and more airy would be sooo nice. What I had on hand was a heap of ugliness. Coincidence? I think not!<br />
Then I recalled the colorful hand printed African political fabrics we have in the back rooms one of the museums here on campus, and the cheery colors of folk clothing in general.<br />
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It quickly occurred to me that the best possible thing to do with ten ugly green and gold shirts would be to chop them into large chunks, sew them back together, thereby making two play dresses of them. And so I did. Sew.<br />
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<strong>Two</strong> of the shirts (one for each dress) I simply laid out and cut straight across a few inches below the arms, to create what would be the slightly high waisted bodice, although bodice seems a fancy term for this particular project. I also whacked off the sleeves, thinking with my <strike>rather pudgy arms</strike> magnificent biceps it would be nice to have roomier sleeves.<br />
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The remaining shirts I cut into panels like this, each shirt making two panels, front and back:<br />
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I used one of the cut off sleeves as a pattern and added a bit to the width and length, then cut two pair of sleeves from panels of shirts. In my case two of my shirts had large blank areas, and I wanted graphics on the skirts, so I cut my new sleeves from blank parts, taking advantage of the t-shirt hem as the lower edge of the sleeves to save having to hem them. I fitted the new sleeves to my bodice shirts pleating them a bit to fit the arm scye. Which is probably one word, armscye. (It seems to be one of those words that look funny either way and I'm not looking it up, I am busy. I have a life to do!)</div>
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I then played around with the remaining panels, and settled on five panels for each skirt as a good width for moving around in. I tried out the panels in various positions putting my favorites in the front. When I'd found an attractive arrangement (the term attractive being used very loosely here) I pinned them up matching the already finished hems, trimmed the top edges to even them up and sewed them all together. </div>
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Then I took some of the whacked off sleeves and again using the original hems to advantage and measuring with my outspread hand I cut generous pockets for both dresses. These I sewed into place on the skirts. </div>
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Lastly I pleated the skirts onto the bodices and presto chango*, Bob's your uncle**: Two astoundingly beautiful dresses, had for no cash outlay at all and made with precious little time for the amount of good clean fun that was had by all (me).</div>
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Psssst: Do not tell the Christ's Temple Apostolic Assembly, but I seem to have put one of their Youth Rally shirts next to a large green witch. I suspect they mightn't approve, but perhaps it will do her some good.</div>
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So there you go---that is where I have been during some of the time that I wasn't here. (How is it that a blog seems like a place?) </div>
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The Manimal claims there is so much green in these dresses that when I'm out in the forest he can't find me. Perhaps I should look for some pugly t-shirts in hunter orange?</div>
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Aside from my highly unfashionable upcycling project (and I will not argue if any of you prefer to call it downcycling) I've also spent a good deal of time mending the fences around the gardens, as spring planting time is here and we're trying to feed ourselves more than the local wildlife, or the domesticated hens for that matter. </div>
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One of the joys of fence mending is that one gets to be out in the sunshine all the day, breathing fresh spring air (aaaachooo!) and watching cock fights. As a paid profession cock fighting and the gambling attached to cock fighting are illegal in Indiana, and for good reason. Whitney and Lonesome George are not professionals, however. </div>
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I filmed a bit of their antics to show you just how unprofessional they are. In the course of a single day George, the young upstart, beat the bloody L out of Whitney and left him for dead Three Times. But Good Old Whitney, official cock of the walk, is not one to give up so easily. Fully recovered from the fray, he is currently abiding in the henhouse with all the pretty ladies while Lonesome George the troublemaker is stuck on the other side of the fence muttering to himself and making do with Schmutzy the free-ranging white rabbit for company.</div>
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There's lots more film of the battle.....including the final highly dramatic scene I think of as the car chase, but alas I cannot get it to load on blogger. I may make a Facebook album of it to save it for posterity. Roosters are punks, that's all there is to it. Roosters only understand three things, food, sex and violence. That is apparently all there is room for in a Very Small Brain, and indeed it is enough to keep their species going. We larger brained beings do have rules here though, to protect our own species. If George the Troublemaker begins attacking people he will become George the Soup. </div>
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I shall close with an inspiring quotation from the wall of a temple built in Fatehpur Sikri India by the Mughal Emperor Akbar. .</div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Isa<span style="font-size: small;">*</span> Son of Mary said: "The world is a bridge. Pass over it, but build no houses upon it."</span></strong></div>
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Perhaps this is the philosophy of roosters. They're here for the journey, the adventure, the experience. They don't concern themselves with trying to make it last.</div>
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*presto chango seems to have the ring of truth here, as I did chango the cast off shirts to dresses, which if not exactly magic is a form of alchemy, is it not?. </div>
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**As for Bob's your uncle, I took a bit of literary license here. Bob's not my uncle, he's actually my cousin by marriage.. But he's old enough to be my uncle. I had rather a wee schoolgirl crush on him half a century ago, he was handsome, kindhearted, and a great storyteller, which is really all a six year old wants in a man.<br />
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*Isa. If you're not Persian you may know him as Jesus. Frequently quoted, also no doubt mis-quoted, and sometimes mis-identified as Anon.</div>
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-83926464561035003202013-03-26T13:14:00.000-05:002013-03-26T13:14:43.288-05:00<strong>Stitching...stitching....stitching.....</strong><br />
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Do any of these wee creatures look familiar<strong>?</strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW9ShD9r_SYpURtO7UWwyU_I__DzyiLYP8VFbuQZDIHL-TGfNJxuIPmE0uoebT14AqRYW4-sKMEU9s1phgsNup2egme2YbrS1pJ6liWJwutNnoIUK_dCx-2ju8_4j2g3BG3pZh2sZeT7kr/s1600/critters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW9ShD9r_SYpURtO7UWwyU_I__DzyiLYP8VFbuQZDIHL-TGfNJxuIPmE0uoebT14AqRYW4-sKMEU9s1phgsNup2egme2YbrS1pJ6liWJwutNnoIUK_dCx-2ju8_4j2g3BG3pZh2sZeT7kr/s320/critters.jpg" usa="true" width="320" /></strong></a></div>
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How about if I position them like this<strong>?</strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioypp4ooLz5w-Nc_Vt3VyWExy-BW7L0pLeK1NWO3x11bEnmKZ9PYaXtPcIQKRGDvzVLbvym44rShVlqMUkFVsz2E_ScmdOHgSC_av0Jyt0PnJzhy0Aka0P_B0eVIw89Dj4CJtsRDDBlboG/s1600/finished+critters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioypp4ooLz5w-Nc_Vt3VyWExy-BW7L0pLeK1NWO3x11bEnmKZ9PYaXtPcIQKRGDvzVLbvym44rShVlqMUkFVsz2E_ScmdOHgSC_av0Jyt0PnJzhy0Aka0P_B0eVIw89Dj4CJtsRDDBlboG/s320/finished+critters.jpg" usa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-88725714867034159842013-03-05T12:23:00.000-06:002014-10-22T15:04:16.997-05:00Shmata and Boro<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<u>Here's a blog post that maybe didn't get posted back when I wrote it. I'm going to hit "Publish" and see what happens. I am so un-tech. Sigh...</u><br />
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Greetings one and all. It occurs to me, as I examine the above photo taken a few minutes ago that without my lovely layers of clothing I only look half as big. But I like my clothes and am unlikely to join the ranks of spandex wearers just to appear slimmer. This particular pinny is from 'Ember (*waves-Hi Ember!-*) who is apparently rather taller than I, so it was necessary to shorten it. (This is the story of my entire short-legged life.) For several months I have toyed with the idea of dying it purple, to make it a little more smut-hiding, but haven't decided whether or not to go ahead with it, as it is so charming just as it is. I try not to do messy things in it. Most likely I will dye it after I spill something dreadful on it. Until then I can enjoy its sweetness.<br />
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I was thinking the other day that Shmata-Boro is an odd blog name and perhaps I might explain it.<br />
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Shmata is Yiddish for rags. Boro is Japanese for rags. Back before I met the Manimal and moved to the middle of the forest I had joined a synagogue and was studying for conversion to Judaism and studying Yiddish at university. I also was doing some freelance work for an artist doing sewing on indigo dyed Japanese style doorway hangings. (Rowland Ricketts and his wife Chinami, Google them, their work is amazing.) Consequently my head was full of Yiddish and Japanese terms and as my home life and artistic life is pretty much rag oriented I called the blog Shmata Boro.<br />
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My dear Manimal is hard on clothes. That is what is known as an understatement. When we first became "an item" I took it upon myself to mend his tatty jeans. I quickly found we were kindred spirits in this way: we neither one believe a patch shouldn't look like it's there. So I patched his jeans in an unhidden way. This kept them out of the rag bag and in active circulation, so they got more and more worn places which each got patched in their turn.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj08pno9vHI6EnrO8lp8JYYhxjsk5KLSA_6MYtEPlFp3HrCQh1h2OqCgYpx-dmNDrei6S22dVROhyphenhyphenZNdz33CSxDUGNah43_N1aCS_gBkxA7Yxv9NQlEola4mJ7MiFutsPUzk3YPWjkrFdHO/s1600/black+jeans+mend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj08pno9vHI6EnrO8lp8JYYhxjsk5KLSA_6MYtEPlFp3HrCQh1h2OqCgYpx-dmNDrei6S22dVROhyphenhyphenZNdz33CSxDUGNah43_N1aCS_gBkxA7Yxv9NQlEola4mJ7MiFutsPUzk3YPWjkrFdHO/s320/black+jeans+mend.jpg" height="320" jsa="true" width="240" /></a></div>
Over a few months they became less like jeans and more like a little walking art gallery.<br />
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Which is enormous fun for me, but unlikely to make me a fortune as an artist.<br />
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Happily money and I have a comfortable relationship, It arrives when I need it and I am usually not too freaked out if I don't have any. So becoming a rich and famous artist is not my top priority. I think I have one of those art-for-art's sake mentalities. Or perhaps I am just a gifted slacker.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixv4lKaPrFDhpSUxISIUc1KsMDc46Ni-zwVuiiG5js_k1R0n5Wsfpv_HMY-Jq_bBJBta6GeEQFxqOtlJpjd6wCV8TVKehsfEVfOzNDX1CIarKK-xDZjXUtI0emYWjt0NRvRJrC_2GfFosa/s1600/gold+shirt+patches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixv4lKaPrFDhpSUxISIUc1KsMDc46Ni-zwVuiiG5js_k1R0n5Wsfpv_HMY-Jq_bBJBta6GeEQFxqOtlJpjd6wCV8TVKehsfEVfOzNDX1CIarKK-xDZjXUtI0emYWjt0NRvRJrC_2GfFosa/s320/gold+shirt+patches.jpg" height="240" jsa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
When the Manimal's favorite shirt began to come apart I was called in with my scrap basket to make a rescue attempt. As I wasn't keen on this particular shirt I didn't bother looking for matching scraps to mend with, which would have been impossible. I patched it with scraps from doll clothes making. I "knew" it was no longer worthy of public display and he'd only be wearing it here in the valley to chop wood and garden in. Boy oh boy was I ever wrong about that. He quite happily wears it to work.<br />
Also this one, which has bits of cottons from a good forty years of sewing projects:<br />
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Now here is a puzzlement. </div>
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I have been wearing my plain dresses ever since I made them in the summer of 2007. So far not one of them has needed a single patch. They are less bright in color than they were nearly six years ago, but they have not worn out. Why is this? The dresses are made of plaid homespun from India. Good stuff, but not something fancy or expensive. I did not expect them to last this long. </div>
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The Manimal's jeans are denim, which is supposedly very strong, right? The light blue shirt is a denim-like twill, also seemingly very sturdy cloth. All I can think of is the difference in care. </div>
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When I came out to the valley I brought a bag of clothespins a reel of good sturdy clothesline,and began tying clotheslines to the trees and porch posts. Until then the Manimal's laundry was all tossed in the washer with commercial detergent, then tossed into the dryer. He still does it this way if I'm not around. It's quick and efficient. </div>
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I've always washed my dresses with homemade soap and hung my them up to dry. I've even put lines up in the loft to hang my clothes in bad weather, and I've got sturdy wooden clothes racks that can sit nicely in front of the woodstove for quicker drying.</div>
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Are modern detergents and clothes dryers really THAT BAD for clothes? It certainly looks like it.</div>
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Lest you think I spend all my time mending, awhile back I made some petticoats, with tucks in the bottom to make my skirts stand out a bit more. Not stand out for "fashion", but rather stand out enough to keep my skirts from wrapping around my legs.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4iPtzDJWDdPEuEEVRuveK-hCYnd377RdNDNuDdibw3_j9seXPj_LV8IkNwoi7_khGeAnmkdPA-6YxiaS2-3biNXuY6xW45CB-zgryRZwW37LsXEbZE8UB832LB7W55hyphenhyphen9MdREYCGbpGx/s1600/tuck+in+petticoat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4iPtzDJWDdPEuEEVRuveK-hCYnd377RdNDNuDdibw3_j9seXPj_LV8IkNwoi7_khGeAnmkdPA-6YxiaS2-3biNXuY6xW45CB-zgryRZwW37LsXEbZE8UB832LB7W55hyphenhyphen9MdREYCGbpGx/s320/tuck+in+petticoat.jpg" height="320" jsa="true" width="240" /></a></div>
It was a thrifty project, as I made both from a sheet that was here at the house. The Manimal has no rememberance of where the sheet originated, but it had some paint on it and seemed like something no one would miss so I repurposed it. The paint doesn't bother me or the Manimal, and no one else is likely to be seeing me in my petticoat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy_5C4eOYq7zcHMuRMyPdYT6XzbKlNHpC_tNCZejHE9Nz3Lnhw15oRB4Ms_3g5Es19ZHNLPijIPcU5eA-M37tYqSGamWZmGgXEV5uh0kZRwbHxM3UpCTp-zr3_mbzJjmCeNVjix4mMnLLp/s1600/paint+petticoat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy_5C4eOYq7zcHMuRMyPdYT6XzbKlNHpC_tNCZejHE9Nz3Lnhw15oRB4Ms_3g5Es19ZHNLPijIPcU5eA-M37tYqSGamWZmGgXEV5uh0kZRwbHxM3UpCTp-zr3_mbzJjmCeNVjix4mMnLLp/s320/paint+petticoat.jpg" height="240" jsa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've done a bit of what I call Extreme Mending the last few weeks. The first full sized quilt I ever made was on its last legs, so the scrap basket was call upon for help. </div>
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The blue flowers, upper left corner, are from Grandma Pat's bed comforter. Bright turquoise left center from a smock I made in high school (which caused highly dubous rumors I might be preggers, haha.) Pink and white stripe, doll clothes Grandma made in the 50's. Blue and pink stripes at bottom, grandpa shirt and also some of it became Middle Child's quilt binding.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopb_kXWwRlm_TeALuP9kj8QseZHvqsaBbfM1ud6120euYtCaGNYbutthfqm_9yH07hYsRHh3O73fcC8gvV8VIq9EMcK_mI5ua4K9_bqkt1YxOGRhkz8D69HI9JLuzv2kZbPxrHW7zsFKr/s1600/mass+qlt+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopb_kXWwRlm_TeALuP9kj8QseZHvqsaBbfM1ud6120euYtCaGNYbutthfqm_9yH07hYsRHh3O73fcC8gvV8VIq9EMcK_mI5ua4K9_bqkt1YxOGRhkz8D69HI9JLuzv2kZbPxrHW7zsFKr/s320/mass+qlt+1.jpg" height="240" jsa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
Pink plaid, center, another of Grandma Pat's comforters. Black plaids from a skirt I shortened. Beige and goldish odd print with squares in it was from Grandma's square dancing skirt which she wore when I was four years old, and which I adopted and frequently wore in high school. Yes, I wore a mid-calf length very full gathered square dancing skirt whilst my trendy classmates were wearing mini skirts and hot pants. Never have given a flying fig what anyone else thinks of what I wear. Had a wonderful grey cashmere full length coat from the 40's too. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggeCMNFEZRt7aSaT1MPpXzd3tuF1jTmGKLwjNxRxjRsTSjmKuekMTN___XaojnIBggk_APjGb-rGKF2CsOT3bBLM1wZ04AjSzYE2158AK_Apkz3_9mijFXUQyJuTRviVIKpDAH0ZmVYGsh/s1600/mass+qlt+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggeCMNFEZRt7aSaT1MPpXzd3tuF1jTmGKLwjNxRxjRsTSjmKuekMTN___XaojnIBggk_APjGb-rGKF2CsOT3bBLM1wZ04AjSzYE2158AK_Apkz3_9mijFXUQyJuTRviVIKpDAH0ZmVYGsh/s320/mass+qlt+2.jpg" height="240" jsa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
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Stitching is my passion, or as close to a passion as I've got (I'm a fairly calm person.) Pehaps amusement is a better word. Occasionally I even sew something that isn't tattered and isn't from old scraps.</div>
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That Blog header up above of the markers,crayons and drawn fabrics is a bit of my craftsy amusement. I am guilty of being a life-long poppet maker. I began in first grade, drawing paper dollies for my classmates, complete with clothes and wee paper sleepingbags to slide them into. I've been making and/or dressing dolls of one sort or another ever since. Here's a small rag doll I've drawn and stitched up this week.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN_GQ2OhyHBTBJwRzpEbv-13erWAtbzUyls8pW-qYezz1-I_3lJ-oTNLq3dagz-eN8yaxLxoj0e1Id3UaUcbtWuH7KFM7WPZ7Jy9c0f24xHaiByqtIAoVBEiYVZGdJ9CymOIE0MZnsgrnn/s1600/doll+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN_GQ2OhyHBTBJwRzpEbv-13erWAtbzUyls8pW-qYezz1-I_3lJ-oTNLq3dagz-eN8yaxLxoj0e1Id3UaUcbtWuH7KFM7WPZ7Jy9c0f24xHaiByqtIAoVBEiYVZGdJ9CymOIE0MZnsgrnn/s320/doll+1.jpg" height="240" jsa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
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She came together nicely I think.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyvtsAvKbeaxAmrrmrtZ5UUIHpLhM8guqIarjzLUiMr5nyTv2xlkIQ62lZBvQnV4zRLBHex6ackUih-VzeQkLanI6C2yTd-0YL7QCQ2zj93gmbW7Ik-LV_fwZpv2KR9hUke4GuGPLuMsY/s1600/doll+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyvtsAvKbeaxAmrrmrtZ5UUIHpLhM8guqIarjzLUiMr5nyTv2xlkIQ62lZBvQnV4zRLBHex6ackUih-VzeQkLanI6C2yTd-0YL7QCQ2zj93gmbW7Ik-LV_fwZpv2KR9hUke4GuGPLuMsY/s320/doll+2.jpg" height="240" jsa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
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Here she's getting some straps for her pinny.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUjg-lb0jHoB1cLgfTEgHEz8PjhfIypt0PPrZsm131E26AA3H0p7Obd5Hydv8_B3m9W8DIHR2Un1bOnheM3rAe1kerAsr1PAXGRmHc_mnmBibny1P9ggpxecIM5Eih5T1kW2CCBYvoTna/s1600/doll+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUjg-lb0jHoB1cLgfTEgHEz8PjhfIypt0PPrZsm131E26AA3H0p7Obd5Hydv8_B3m9W8DIHR2Un1bOnheM3rAe1kerAsr1PAXGRmHc_mnmBibny1P9ggpxecIM5Eih5T1kW2CCBYvoTna/s320/doll+3.jpg" height="240" jsa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
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And of course she must have pockets, a pinny is useless without pockets.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2uOdhn1M7Wh7LOP1AZ1x4tk9aqZy63sG76tjoagQzlWBVojl3n-_0T4be8k6y101i4uyURt-xRYC_2rkZqJU48wOamm9b2_Ac7qo-Fv-C6mLOHSyhANtadH1rpBlRh1wcaxuqhrCOcx1M/s1600/doll+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2uOdhn1M7Wh7LOP1AZ1x4tk9aqZy63sG76tjoagQzlWBVojl3n-_0T4be8k6y101i4uyURt-xRYC_2rkZqJU48wOamm9b2_Ac7qo-Fv-C6mLOHSyhANtadH1rpBlRh1wcaxuqhrCOcx1M/s320/doll+4.jpg" height="240" jsa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
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Voila! La Belle du Crayone et Boro.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihL6ku6P64kqeguAlawLuEMYd3sXE60Ca_3XOuv9saKye6CKCAV_uezi4c9i30NHAX-EPsKw1BHc0o2TbHmUrpaE3BcoWAP3dYIDUf14Ai6ATkJVUf-V84VI4g7U7XxHVARIirMjDzYVKb/s1600/doll+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihL6ku6P64kqeguAlawLuEMYd3sXE60Ca_3XOuv9saKye6CKCAV_uezi4c9i30NHAX-EPsKw1BHc0o2TbHmUrpaE3BcoWAP3dYIDUf14Ai6ATkJVUf-V84VI4g7U7XxHVARIirMjDzYVKb/s320/doll+5.jpg" height="240" jsa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
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She is much appreciated by our old freind Tatty Quilt Bear, who gets far too little attention.</div>
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Bunny and Little Head are glad of a new friend too. Bunny was drawn and stitched like La Belle. Little Head began his current life as a little china head we dug up in the garden in Vincennes. Or was it Loogootee?</div>
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As we never found any more of him it was necessary to make him a new body from Grandpa Dick's old work shirt. He's quite posh now, and a bit smug. He feels it necessary to frequently point out to the others that he "has a history" (although he doesn't quite remember what that history might be.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpcf6gw488ZLU5-kGW5BpBs3swO9v4XScCQ1ayF59k0OoEhyCZc-LrcZXzs_jVWL6o2QvRAitAkpKqni4cwxN8XHwbF3iKCivtWHPeHhgwOWWdGLBy4FZfRBXLrd2usBH41mUTkhznnY7K/s1600/dolls+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpcf6gw488ZLU5-kGW5BpBs3swO9v4XScCQ1ayF59k0OoEhyCZc-LrcZXzs_jVWL6o2QvRAitAkpKqni4cwxN8XHwbF3iKCivtWHPeHhgwOWWdGLBy4FZfRBXLrd2usBH41mUTkhznnY7K/s320/dolls+7.jpg" height="240" jsa="true" width="320" /></a></div>
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Next on our horizon: Some sort of Bear-Fox-Raccoon hybrid.</div>
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And quite possibly an end of season snowman, if I can get the carrot part to come out right.</div>
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Well there you have it, an explanation of the odd blog name and more scraps than you thought you'd see in one day. <3</div>
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-82532596552890367012013-01-30T14:27:00.001-06:002013-01-30T14:31:46.341-06:00A Contemplation of Stillness (which we have a lot of here lartely).<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is not today. This is last week, and it got saved as a draft rather than published. I figured this out when I hit publish on the post about Indiana Weather that I wrote today. So this is last week, and today will come next. (See below)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieqEXb9g02b5tjndCfrM_MVZOtrRTiHCfW3SjU1M0AFFdbwkoaZVALvH5C4biv3na2yWH0XO-scSg-kDVy8jrAWGOkhuc97oh5A9LRgs5AuGV0G8B0OWmQ27FZFUwesRkkWL05GKi4mawN/s1600/Blizzard+2012+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieqEXb9g02b5tjndCfrM_MVZOtrRTiHCfW3SjU1M0AFFdbwkoaZVALvH5C4biv3na2yWH0XO-scSg-kDVy8jrAWGOkhuc97oh5A9LRgs5AuGV0G8B0OWmQ27FZFUwesRkkWL05GKi4mawN/s320/Blizzard+2012+009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-47572152990588508312013-01-30T14:27:00.000-06:002013-01-30T14:27:01.041-06:00Indiana Weather. As far back as I can remember people have said of Indiana weather : If you don't like the weather here wait a few minutes. It will change.<br />
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Typically Indiana winters involve a rotation of snowy days with blinding sunshine, ice storms, blizzards with knee deep snow so that schools and businesses are forced to close and roads are impassible, balmy overcast days where coats are not needed and occasional summery days where the temperatures climb well into the 70's and we all bring out our summer shorts and tank tops.<br />
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Last week this was the view out the bathroom window:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsNqflWHasMam-7-SAMy_BvoPvIymDgjVblEndx0cP6XLtdqI2fAwV83OwEezsLIc0CSEmzi35p0aCSE5JC-JABWWB29VIjD4e_4MdUXpED-bRvHZO_ujRxnGSs1wHMxdcQjgO0rDUBEo/s1600/deer+in+snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsNqflWHasMam-7-SAMy_BvoPvIymDgjVblEndx0cP6XLtdqI2fAwV83OwEezsLIc0CSEmzi35p0aCSE5JC-JABWWB29VIjD4e_4MdUXpED-bRvHZO_ujRxnGSs1wHMxdcQjgO0rDUBEo/s320/deer+in+snow.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty little deer looking for something to nibble.<br />
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Two days ago the snow and ice were gone and the livestock came out to browse on the lawn.<br />
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Last night we had a roaring thunderstorm. Well after midnight the tornado sirens began to sound. I got an emergency text message from Indiana University (my workplace) saying there was indeed a tornado, and that we should all go immediately to the lowest floor of our building away from windows to wait it out. <br />
As I was at home, twelve miles from town, I waited it out in bed in the loft with two dogs and a cat (all blissfully asleep) my hand sewing, and a documentary on Netflix. In other words I kept doing exactly what I was doing before the storm. I was not brought up to be particularly fearful of storms. The family opinion where "dangerous"weather is concerned has always been: Usually the weather does not kill you, and if perchance it does, well, today is a good day to die. We were going to sooner or later anyway.<br />
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It has often puzzled me that so many people who claim to just adore God and really long for their home in heaven will go to extraordinary lengths to avoid dying. Perhaps it is the same line of thinking that causes me to want to be slim even as I am sitting here munching a bit of New Orleans King Cake. (Thank You Youngest Child, it is absolutely delish!)<br />
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This morning after a few hours of rain our creek, usually low in winter, was positively roaring. Lilly went out for a romp and I thought I'd share her pleasure with you all. It was perfect timing as I'd just washed the bedding yesterday so there was a fresh clean bedspread to lie on when she came inside.<br />
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******Rats! Rats,rats,rats!!! I've tried five times to download the film of Lilly and the creek and it won't. Even though I've done this lots of times before.<br />
If you wish to see it, hop on over to my Facebook page where it downloaded easy peasy in less time than it takes to tell about it.<br />
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Me and modern technology. Oy.<br />
<br />Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-66527577586049069532012-12-23T10:40:00.000-06:002012-12-23T10:40:23.375-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Here's what's going on in the valley.</div>
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Two days to Christmas, which I don't celebrate anyway as I'm more the Bah, Humbug sort of person. As we both work for the university we've got 13 days off from work, which may or may not mean more things get done around here. <br />
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Half that time The Manimal will be here at home.<br />
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Formerly that would have meant I would get nothing done from my own project list as his list tended to steamroller over mine. This had something to do with sexism. It would not have occurred to him to ask me what I wanted to do on a weekend, he simply planned what we would do, which was almost always work. Hard work. He is very much a workaholic and spends his free moments at his job thinking up more things to work on at home. It also has something to do with both of us growing up in the '50's when it was assumed men's ideas were more important than women's ideas and naturally ought to come first. (or only-est).<br />
To further brighten things this is a country homestead with acres (UK smallholding) not a suburban house with a swatch of lawn. There is plenty of backbreaking work here, loosely divided into 1-Must Be Done Now, 2-Do ASAP, and 3-Do When Time Allows. Also there's 4-Would Be Nice. Sometimes things just slide off the end of 4 and are gone forever. There is more than enough to do here to take up all our time, both of us all day every day, just to keep this place is a clunky slipshod condition and keep us all fed and clean. (two humans, 18 fowl, 2 rabbits and 3 think-they're-humans)<br />
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I often think of Millie Pontapee's accusation: "You don't want a wife Adam, you want a hired girl!"<br />
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However, the times they are a-changin. Since I've become gainfully employed with a real (albeit humble) permanent job rather than just a temp position, I feel in my heart that I'm more of a partner in the household and less of a doormat. I am not willing to do physically hard labor during the work week and then come home exhausted to spend my weekends hauling and stacking firewood or anything else that would make me wish I were for-petes-sake-dead already.<br />
These days I have taught myself not to automatically fall in with just anything the Manimal decides to do. I ask myself first whether I have the energy to do it or whether it would exhaust me, because I do need to be able to go back to work when the weekend is over.<br />
It has taken half a century to learn to say No. or No Thank You, or You And Whose Army?<br />
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So. The week Manimal is home I'll do some things with him and some of my own. He's got a good deal of book mending to do for folks including mending an old family Bible needed for someone's Christmas Eve. <br />
When he's mending and repairing books and documents I work on stitching up here in the loft. It is oddly companionable as we can hear each other, or listen to music (The Nutcracker is playing right now) and converse as we wish. The dogs and cat follow me up to the loft and nap on the bed which keeps them nicely out from under foot downstairs. When he's home with paying jobs to do I get a lot done of my own. <br />
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As a bonus complication he suffered a fall this past week. He was on campus to grade his students final projects and the stools in the bookbinding lab have adjustable legs, the type where one pipe telescopes into another and is held in place with a bolt in a series of holes. Manimal sat on a stool which had lost the bolt in one leg, the leg instantly telescoped and dumped him on the floor. Concrete floor.The fall knocked him unconscious, and he suffered a concussion and a broken tailbone. This has slowed him down a bit, and while I sympathize with his pain the slower pace suits me just fine. It has been a more peaceful than usual week. <br />
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The second week of winter break The Manimal will be in London on business. I will be a lone homesteader, here holding down the fort. I'll be stitching on various things and tending animals as usual. I've come a long way on sorting through the loft and hope to get through the last stack of three boxes and make one last haul to the Goodwill.<br />
Meantime here's the progress:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTgWlZ3G8HLt5HJG6Az1usWTeI3h64T997VIC2d43kNi3Or4-gJ5YXhstAvZkpBB9Iccvj57riaevQUqhvPUdeyDSytqC5cu-agIrKxRgEfSpd_8p_464Pzd2RnyUhEG4UAEqcxxStI93O/s1600/2dogs+on+bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTgWlZ3G8HLt5HJG6Az1usWTeI3h64T997VIC2d43kNi3Or4-gJ5YXhstAvZkpBB9Iccvj57riaevQUqhvPUdeyDSytqC5cu-agIrKxRgEfSpd_8p_464Pzd2RnyUhEG4UAEqcxxStI93O/s320/2dogs+on+bed.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the stairwell. Critters napping. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sewing area where no one is currently using a sewing machine.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwExlU6dF21cKZ4rhmnvv3FGg9yGk1P_KWK203OsU8vTKQFiB5o2O3wpgPyS19zYHdANeFNbKZUa6Hhxl0TlLpPaldx-cVq9otCwW_DGr8-O68Vr6tCLQq5sNE8sG0L9QJ_kAHPKKyRpq/s1600/qframe+dolljouse+bookcase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwExlU6dF21cKZ4rhmnvv3FGg9yGk1P_KWK203OsU8vTKQFiB5o2O3wpgPyS19zYHdANeFNbKZUa6Hhxl0TlLpPaldx-cVq9otCwW_DGr8-O68Vr6tCLQq5sNE8sG0L9QJ_kAHPKKyRpq/s320/qframe+dolljouse+bookcase.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bookcase, dolls abodes, and an ugly Rubbermaid cabinet that was here when I moved in. In spring I'll find it a home elsewhere.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quilt I'm currently mending.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhStjyrMNwxrLvIiRu5HIbyWMGXVU1c1W9x4yXaM5ZG638B-4oA9t6h-DtAVgnanrAjI2en1vZOogtPAXKwZ97zEh4AUdfY_CROKK4MOYiL6ZUDNLvTGFhponZosOt9AN85QFMhyXaTcdKO/s1600/room+w+sewing+macine+sodeways.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhStjyrMNwxrLvIiRu5HIbyWMGXVU1c1W9x4yXaM5ZG638B-4oA9t6h-DtAVgnanrAjI2en1vZOogtPAXKwZ97zEh4AUdfY_CROKK4MOYiL6ZUDNLvTGFhponZosOt9AN85QFMhyXaTcdKO/s320/room+w+sewing+macine+sodeways.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting area, desks, and my fabulous hillbilly electrical system. There is only electricity on one side of the room, so I ran an extension cord over to the quilt frame for the lights and taped it down so I won't trip on it. When the quilts are done it can all be put away and I'll have more floor space. I adore floor space.<br />
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Meanwhile in the valley snow has fallen and my camera battery has been recharged. Here's a few peeks out the window for those of you who live in southern climes and won't be seeing snow this winter.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">East window (pardon my ball winder). </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">West window. The shamrock was dying when I brought it up to the loft, but is doing very well up here.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The big window at the south end of the house. I can see this from the loft as well as the loft is only over half the main part of the house and the livingroom is below this window.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The slope across the driveway where Lilly chases the deer out of our front yard early in the mornings.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2Vr16dqwdfgiFp4ayI7h-p5ET5w4fqTB45-39Ipihh53OekhGVC2WIRwX-xKXTu9qpi1hwk53nPqaqN1t9AHiZdxdjFI4zHqscjRRFnQ640AjWcpLiZ6aBR1Ccp-gA4oMl8JDjHXqWMq/s1600/reindeer+complete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2Vr16dqwdfgiFp4ayI7h-p5ET5w4fqTB45-39Ipihh53OekhGVC2WIRwX-xKXTu9qpi1hwk53nPqaqN1t9AHiZdxdjFI4zHqscjRRFnQ640AjWcpLiZ6aBR1Ccp-gA4oMl8JDjHXqWMq/s320/reindeer+complete.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reindeer for Manimal's bookbinding class. I'm Bah Humbug, but I like baking cookies.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ptDBpP1RD3yTgijHGgoRn80Vpa3fY42gKm0NUBlXoBwETj3YZo7TefxJVeMKdx5C2hyphenhyphen-snk0U9c2t6UTu-hpIrum1M8YZDSj8z9fEoHZHN6gIqxiYnw4UETeQUp6UCBfxf5u4f88G-Fm/s1600/Goldie+breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ptDBpP1RD3yTgijHGgoRn80Vpa3fY42gKm0NUBlXoBwETj3YZo7TefxJVeMKdx5C2hyphenhyphen-snk0U9c2t6UTu-hpIrum1M8YZDSj8z9fEoHZHN6gIqxiYnw4UETeQUp6UCBfxf5u4f88G-Fm/s320/Goldie+breakfast.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goldie. She's the brightest of the hens, and anytime the door gets left open (by Lilly) Goldie sneaks in to help herself to some dog food. This has never occurred to any of the other chickens and apparently Goldie is not giving away her secrets.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju6cIqvlfwUEmmK3zAkAe21rTbBK_7o4tb8b50AwtD53gsrvmHpYks7nbPQAFa46tPlWSKjaS23HeHs6qNywanaiUnL83yc1bTZa8a1KnHH2LpFlhw1lM-YRYrORUjjHcfUUqPnA9A_X1Y/s1600/loft.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju6cIqvlfwUEmmK3zAkAe21rTbBK_7o4tb8b50AwtD53gsrvmHpYks7nbPQAFa46tPlWSKjaS23HeHs6qNywanaiUnL83yc1bTZa8a1KnHH2LpFlhw1lM-YRYrORUjjHcfUUqPnA9A_X1Y/s320/loft.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The golden triangular bit is the ceiling of the livingroom, which the loft overlooks. Very handly for chatting with the Manimal when he's down there. I also toss my laundry over the half-wall rather than try to wiggle down the stairway with a huge basket in my arms.<br />
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Clearly there's a delicious lot of space to work up here now. The second week of winter break there will be no Manimal, just the 24 of us homebodies. I think of this as "time alone". Haha. Aside from sorting the last three boxes I hope to get some sewing done. I've got curtains to make, and then I'll start on my winter sewing list, a shirt for the Manimal for a start and then the rest of the list which is long and getting longer as the little grandmanimal is starting to outgrow things.<br />
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I think it's going to be a lot more fun to work up here now that there's room to work and a place for everything. Yay!<br />
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Hope you all are having fun doing whatever it is you do this time of year.</td></tr>
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-35646603598443479852012-11-06T13:45:00.001-06:002012-11-06T14:17:40.831-06:00Ten Thankfuls<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ten Thankfuls</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>1- </strong>I am thankful Middle Child has blogging skills that I do not, and that she generously offered to tidy up my blog to make it more readable. Especially that she fixed the header so that readers no longer have to spend half an hour scrolling down a huge picture to get to the text. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>2-</strong>I am thankful the Manimal allows me to have the loft for my very own, because my inner child thrives in having a place to play far above the chaos of the real world below.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> This past week I made a wee "dollhouse" that is not a house at all. It is freestanding rooms and can be packed flat in a box or drawer. I made it for some wee girls who have come here to stay. Recycle features of the project: a bunch of Lundby dollhouse furniture from the '60's that had been lingering in a box, three old gameboards I cut down to make the walls, leftover scrapbook paper for the wallpaper and floors. It sits atop a bookcase for now and can be packed away when the space is wanted for something else.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5g-zZTl7p3zg2zBhw4K8Oqq84M9S67-Z7OcRZDLrUpmXQx3T7Pe6dUcXn8UADJVpAg3b5YGDkC7GAJCe8iRbxZqVNRsHWFJR01x47x-f3gykwU3scRMU4gGuac4AxHdr3MCL673COTW2K/s1600/bookcase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5g-zZTl7p3zg2zBhw4K8Oqq84M9S67-Z7OcRZDLrUpmXQx3T7Pe6dUcXn8UADJVpAg3b5YGDkC7GAJCe8iRbxZqVNRsHWFJR01x47x-f3gykwU3scRMU4gGuac4AxHdr3MCL673COTW2K/s320/bookcase.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bookcase is the sturdiest thing I own, and was built by a lovely grown man I had a mad crush on when I was a girl.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtddyNuwwSkm75DVQ4rgy97sG5LkHsOgTbNmh-CAfenhvdjhHpFaB8PK5GP0Xo59gGDolSoyuNR7Cz8DLemph7zbq5MO3hSfSo3CnKUkdJCiSnGOxPmFrqr5uR8OaduUD9sCusuITJqRmR/s1600/girls+in+diningroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtddyNuwwSkm75DVQ4rgy97sG5LkHsOgTbNmh-CAfenhvdjhHpFaB8PK5GP0Xo59gGDolSoyuNR7Cz8DLemph7zbq5MO3hSfSo3CnKUkdJCiSnGOxPmFrqr5uR8OaduUD9sCusuITJqRmR/s320/girls+in+diningroom.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I especially like the corner cabinet. I need to find a way to fix a broken table leg though, maybe a tiny drill bit and a half inch of paper clip or toothpick? Someone had glued it once, but that didn't work.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTslfsFfo56yfHnWvBSxdENvBGw4OQDCa5jBEEwpsiBKWyU938wVisNP7j6vhtShItJ3DtMUpl6aMF65YVEoenVKsZgoVdD4GtFPj5W3TvD1E0OWF6B8_nCDCQAJeowAd3B098y2Wb7Hro/s1600/girls+in+livingrom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTslfsFfo56yfHnWvBSxdENvBGw4OQDCa5jBEEwpsiBKWyU938wVisNP7j6vhtShItJ3DtMUpl6aMF65YVEoenVKsZgoVdD4GtFPj5W3TvD1E0OWF6B8_nCDCQAJeowAd3B098y2Wb7Hro/s320/girls+in+livingrom.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a bench for the piano, but I'm making a new cushion for it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDh5xA-6YcpzuPVQuQTJ03ewMMUjcHL4KKGiHtUVUeLu6B8BRR38_tLjGM49qPYW8Dy6_W6MZrhmQiI5af5ryRIVJqv9P5GLWvJELBlEEjq4TGmx2wB54_7-eWrHpnEUz2QmpL7r3ajv3/s1600/kitchen+w+new+table+paint+job.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDh5xA-6YcpzuPVQuQTJ03ewMMUjcHL4KKGiHtUVUeLu6B8BRR38_tLjGM49qPYW8Dy6_W6MZrhmQiI5af5ryRIVJqv9P5GLWvJELBlEEjq4TGmx2wB54_7-eWrHpnEUz2QmpL7r3ajv3/s320/kitchen+w+new+table+paint+job.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The chairs were originally red which did not (in my artsy opinion) look well with the '60's harvest orange appliances. Also the knobs were green which didn't suit me. Picky, picky, picky.<br />
The table was white, which was ok-ish, but had a paper top printed with a red and white checked cloth. It was quite tatty, as forty year old paper often is, so I stripped it off and repainted to match the mod wallpaper. The black cat in the corner followed me home from work yesterday. I have no clue to his history. He is flat. Perhaps he is meant to travel by mail?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhch5rCfz1rhK0s5kTsiN0lRRWj22MLBl3twjO691nuw6ymyyhnzLGeUBSn52O_dmdmF-9Kl65j9iMhVMni5X-hJFE-RUJKzWSqWAgS6an4s6YmWa-IrrhRAea5Kjm_TLAfeDK3dpi2kf6w/s1600/sugar+cookie+and+ember+in+bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhch5rCfz1rhK0s5kTsiN0lRRWj22MLBl3twjO691nuw6ymyyhnzLGeUBSn52O_dmdmF-9Kl65j9iMhVMni5X-hJFE-RUJKzWSqWAgS6an4s6YmWa-IrrhRAea5Kjm_TLAfeDK3dpi2kf6w/s320/sugar+cookie+and+ember+in+bed.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sugar Cookie and Ember Flicker Flame are waiting for bedtime stories. I knitted their blanket on my lunch breaks at work. Much quicker than working on people sized things.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wkJaUhjWIngdyoFjWXiuKHClFEJ_8xXtlMQ3hpcVRgEwzKMhzEIMaEX3I8-yhv1aag0OvIdlC9QbqJdTIpae8LRE7Da8WggqU7C5sLKfi44WoQf7LDhyphenhypheno9iHlpkdGe2K_Ygrd6s8FtTm/s1600/lap+w+pets+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wkJaUhjWIngdyoFjWXiuKHClFEJ_8xXtlMQ3hpcVRgEwzKMhzEIMaEX3I8-yhv1aag0OvIdlC9QbqJdTIpae8LRE7Da8WggqU7C5sLKfi44WoQf7LDhyphenhypheno9iHlpkdGe2K_Ygrd6s8FtTm/s320/lap+w+pets+(1).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hardest part of the project: reassembling the sink, which sometime over the years had got smashed to bits. I glued my fingers together four times trying to hold tiny pieces together long enough for the superglue to set up. The washcloth carelessly flung on the sink is actually glued down and covers the largest crack.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>3-</strong>I am thankful for company out here in the forest.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWn3sE3U0_v8yO7x7nRjsjf3dqlNO1Ggggw_jczAQ6vAKiwCfRgILEec200GcgaLArXsFpixcYoWBXFahVv_IQ-xyd9YYCdPayhRg0ePOmfzDJeZoJrXxFup_IiAchyeF0_KCJnMnvm1yd/s1600/lap+w+pets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWn3sE3U0_v8yO7x7nRjsjf3dqlNO1Ggggw_jczAQ6vAKiwCfRgILEec200GcgaLArXsFpixcYoWBXFahVv_IQ-xyd9YYCdPayhRg0ePOmfzDJeZoJrXxFup_IiAchyeF0_KCJnMnvm1yd/s320/lap+w+pets.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As I write this Dan is at my crossed ankles and Pyewacket is by my left knee. Close enough to keep warm. All summer he's the independent sort, but come chilly weather he's ready to nap near a (human) heat source.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5tyINw54ZgWWBU0Jj-vguhj7oUW3aDaes2hxVLgdA0orimI0oEbsQha4xHSjRbEuXUg_K_JLpYcT5ruopguwY1sv3JL_mFoXN5l8itJvZoFxBeqKkwHGa15lMHu3ytN1Myux32u5FxN5P/s1600/lil+on+bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5tyINw54ZgWWBU0Jj-vguhj7oUW3aDaes2hxVLgdA0orimI0oEbsQha4xHSjRbEuXUg_K_JLpYcT5ruopguwY1sv3JL_mFoXN5l8itJvZoFxBeqKkwHGa15lMHu3ytN1Myux32u5FxN5P/s320/lil+on+bed.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miss Lilly is just the other side of my ample bed table. She likes a bit more wiggle room.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>4-</strong>I am thankful my job schedule gives me three days off in the middle of the week. When I had a job that gave me ordinary weekends off my dear Manimal had more things to do scheduled for the weekend than any two humans could possibly accomplish. He is a perpetual over-booker. This kept me perpetually exhausted because I was not capable of saying ,"BUT I DON'T WANT TO DO ALL THAT STUFF! " Now he's off at the weekend and free to overbook to his heart's content, while I go to work and do my 8 hour stint. I'm free mid-week while he's at work, not around here to schedule my To Do list for me. Life is better this way. When he retires and is home all day I may need to take a second job to get out of the house more, hahaha!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>5-</strong>I am thankful I made lots of petticoats. Fall is here, we are into layering weather. More petticoats means more warm air trapped around me, which feels quite lovely. Plus I adore the swishiness of petticoats and the multiplicity of colors.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihkOshOl8b-VusEq54xxDrwAAJMvmzXfpfk2kjXTNvPbF6nrU7T6OitbfX-BL0TalikNkFcib0u5jzqj1GW4tvw4NqZpFceix0QaW9ZcgS1K_LbH7qC8akm9Qw3RCDvXtp4QDwf_9km2YI/s1600/leslie+dressed+for+Fall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihkOshOl8b-VusEq54xxDrwAAJMvmzXfpfk2kjXTNvPbF6nrU7T6OitbfX-BL0TalikNkFcib0u5jzqj1GW4tvw4NqZpFceix0QaW9ZcgS1K_LbH7qC8akm9Qw3RCDvXtp4QDwf_9km2YI/s320/leslie+dressed+for+Fall.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ghastly picture, but my photographer is a 'one shot and lets get going' kind of guy. Still, the goofy grin expresses the joy of romping about in petticoats.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>6-</strong>I am thankful for the good winters past I have spent knitting up nice wool socks. Cozy, cozy, cozy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>7-</strong>I am thankful for Ember's suggestion that I fix my floor bed to allow air circulation. I did this by putting the slats under it that used to fit the iron bed frame. With both the slats and the spaces between the floorboards in my primitive-ish space here I think the mattress will be able to breathe ok. As a plus, if I need to/want to move the whole thing it's quite easy to do.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjboU6eI3XpHuMmXDDHh897DE0AF2kNt3cdj-tGHEOKRocjrrJWI1q2RWo53YBWGtosBbSN9GWUp4Cq4tLP2UTY62qAwKSa8JOH36HSuOhV849HWpOhpPqF3DOAFGzHKWuVRGWvRCOJmuJj/s1600/futon+frame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjboU6eI3XpHuMmXDDHh897DE0AF2kNt3cdj-tGHEOKRocjrrJWI1q2RWo53YBWGtosBbSN9GWUp4Cq4tLP2UTY62qAwKSa8JOH36HSuOhV849HWpOhpPqF3DOAFGzHKWuVRGWvRCOJmuJj/s320/futon+frame.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>8-</strong>I am thankful for my darling offspring and thankful that they forcibly dragged me into the modern era by firstly making me get an email account, secondly insisting I learn to text and thirdly suggesting I do a blog. These peculiar forms of technology allow us to communicate across vast miles, and since I adore them beyond all reason and miss them dreadfully it is wonderful to be able to interact without requiring time off and plane fare.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>9-</strong>I am thankful for the Envelope Budgeting system. It's quite an old system, but new to me. Using it I find I no longer have too much month left at the end of the money. In fact, I now come to payday with fistfuls of cash left over from the last payday, an event previously unheard of in my financial life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>10-</strong>I am thankful for zucchini bread. It's just a tad too late for me to take a picture of that for you but it is a wonderful thing indeed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> Is there anything anywhere that feels better than being thankful?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">AFTERTHOUGHT</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> The Manimal was talking about retirement the other day. I'm incredibly likely to outlive him, probably by a good forty years as I'm planning to live to 120. This means I'll get to retire twice, once when he does, and once when he croaks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> I suppose the first retirement will take place here, as he assures me the only way he's leaving this place is feet first and carried by six.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> For my second retirement I have decided I would like a change of geography. I want to live in an ancient village in the UK.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> The village is to be located in the middle of a triangle, equidistant between Dibley, Clatterford St. Mary and Ballykissangel.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> I shall have a bright blue bicycle to retire with and I'll weave it a wicker basket. I'll knit a sturdy sensible brown cardi against the chill and fog. Also a bright striped scarf to warm my chin(s).I'll pedal along in my cheery skirts and petticoats to </span><span style="font-family: Georgia;">do my marketing and visit my friends.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> Yes, Realists, I know BallyK is in Ireland, but by the time I retire the tectonic plates will have shifted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> Yes, I do realize Dibley and Clatterford St. Mary are fictitious, but obviously since you can SEE them on the tv screen they exist somewhere under an assumed name.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> Yes, I am quite aware that BallyK is also fictitious, but even in Ireland the same rules apply.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> You've had fair warning Dear Mother Country. When the earth moves I'll be coming right over!</span>Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-6742790495839601102012-10-16T14:38:00.000-05:002012-10-16T14:38:03.370-05:00Relearning How To Cook. A humble beginning.Smallest Child and I are embarking on a mutual project of learning to prepare more mate-friendly suppers.<br />
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Her reasoning is that she and her husband work different schedules and she's often the one closer to home at a reasonable supper-preparing hour. She also claims she is tired of eating the same six things she knows how to cook over and over and over...<br />
My reasoning is that I work a four day weekend, so I have three whole days off in the middle of the week. A girl can't spend ALL her time just having fun, so I ought to resurrect some useful domestic skills. I am also tired of eating things that invariably start with "take a lot of olive oil and add a lot of garlic and sprinkle liberally with hot peppers" and rather than teach Someone Else to cook things the way I like them it seems more practical to just cook them myself and let Someone douse them with Sriracha to his heart's content.<br />
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The beginning of our project was a lot of food related texted messages and a good bit of wallowing around in various recipe files and cookbooks. (I like reading cookbooks, even when I have no intention of cooking the things described therein.)<br />
Then we remembered Queen Dot's chicken broccoli casserole, a mid-century classic, and I agreed to try and recreate it and to share the results with Smallest Child, who when I emailed the recipe to her promptly suggested I share the joy with the rest of the known universe. Or at any rate My Known Universe, which is rather smaller than the main one.<br />
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Herewith is the email I sent her, because I'm too <strike>bone idle</strike> busy to re-write the whole thing when it is<strike> easier</strike> more fun to cut and paste.<br />
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Dear Sweetie Pie,<br /><br /> Here's Queen Dot's Chicken Broccoli Casserole, a good "old fashioned" recipe from the 1960's, as made by me this weekend. It is a highly tweakable recipe.<br /><br /> I started with 2 rather large humanely raised and undrugged chickens (not raised by me...I'm not killing my laying hens!)<br /> Queen Dot always used one chicken, but I wanted an extra casserole for the freezer so we could eat it on a day we don't want to cook.<br /><br /> I washed the chickens, (removing the giblet packets) and plonked them in my big stew pot with a handful of carrots, about half a big celery, two fist sized onions and a spoonful of peppercorns.<br /> This I brought to a boil, then reduced the heat and simmered it for a long time. Maybe couple of hours? Till the meat falls right off the bone. Then I hauled the meat out of the pot onto a baking pan (the jelly roll pan with a good edge) and let it cool for awhile.<br /><br /> As the meat cooled I strained the bits of veg out of the broth and set the broth to cool so the fat would rise to the top. I spooned off as much of the fat as possible and put it in a pyrex cup in the freezer to chill. The sediment sinks, and then the fat can be saved in a jar in the fridge for cooking. <br /><br /> Next I greased my baking dishes (with chicken fat since I had plenty available) and layered chopped broccoli over the bottom and and added some of the cooked carrots just for a bit of cheery color. <br />
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<br /> I took the chicken off the bone, and layered the dark meat on top of the broccoli. I was using two 9x13 inch pans, and just the dark meat really was enough to cover all the veg. They were big chickens.<br />
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<br /> On top of the chicken I poured and spread out a can of diluted cream of broccoli soup (I found some with no MSG!). One can per 9x13 pan, and I diluted each can with about 3/4 c of chicken broth. Aunt Dot always used milk because that's what the original recipe says, but to me broth gives more flavor. You could also use cream of chicken soup, cream of mushroom soup, or a homemade white sauce.<br />
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<br /> I made stuffing (also while the chicken cooled) of a loaf of whole wheat bread (dried in a 250 degree oven, just keep turning the slices till they're crunchy dry.) with broth to wet it good and chopped celery and onion. I also chopped up one chicken breast and mixed it into the stuffing.<br />
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<br /> The other three breasts I double wrapped and tucked into the freezer for later use in soup, casserole, chicken salad or whatever. Queen Dot always used the whole bird, she must've had scrawny chickens.<br /><br /> Next I put the stuffing on top of the soup layer. It was thick, not something you can pour on or spread with a spoon. I formed it into flat blobs by hand, layed the blobs on and smooshed them together. (smooshed is a sophisticated culinary term.)<br />
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<br /><br /> Then I baked the whole thing at 350 degrees for about a half hour.<br />
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<br /> And I put the second one in the freezer.<br />
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(Note pyrex pitcher with fat rising to the top)
<br /><br /> THOUGHTS: (Aunt Dot would write "Thots", as she felt the whole 'ought' spelling was a waste of time, space and ink)<br /><br /> One chicken would make one 9x13 pan full, plus leave you an extra breast for something else. Or you could leave the breast meat out of the stuffing (it really wasn't necessary) and have two breasts for another supper.<br /> Soup Base or boullion cubes jazz up the flavor nicely if you have any on hand and like them.<br /> You could make it with canned chicken, thereby making it a good recipe for a not-shopping day since the rest of the recipe is stuff that is typically in the pantry.<br /> You could leave out the chicken entirely and add more vegetables (but then you couldn't rightly call it a chicken broccoli casserole so you'd have to think of a better name.)<br /> You could top it with commercial stuffing, which keeps nicely on the pantry shelf (but I don't because around here it has MSG in it)<br /> You could top it with savory cracker crumbs instead of stuffing if you had any around.<br /> You could layer in some shredded cheese somewhere.<br />
Anyway, there it is. Give it a try and let me know how you like it.<br /><br /> Love you!<br /><br />PS- You could leave out then chicken, use chopped apples and pears and pineapples and maybe bananas instead of veggies. Then drizzle melted butter over it, top it with a mixture of oats and brown sugar, and after baking put some cream or ice cream on top. It wouldn't be a casserole, but it would be good.<br />
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Thus endeth the lesson.<br />
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While things were simmering, and baking, I sorted a bit more in the loft and loaded up the truck for a happy jaunt to my favorite Goodwill store.<br />
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There I very happily parted with the old iron bed I've slept in for the last twenty years or so. I love the bed, but I love having less stuff even more. I kept the mattress, not a modern innerspring sort but a simple cotton futon mattress that I inherited from Smallest Child many years ago. She was moving to New Orleans and as I recall it wouldn't fit on the very overcrowded moving van.<br />
A long happy summer of sleeping on the front porch on the futon mattress from the livingroom has taught me that I like sleeping at floor level better than up on a bed. I like the way the world looks from down low or something. Since the decluttering began I've hauled off five truckloads of Stuff I Did Not Need, and so I no longer need under-the-bed storage space.<br />
I'd like to hear an Amen!<br />
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I've learned that I like not having boxes of things stored underneath the bed when I sleep. It was nice for a few weeks to be able to easily sweep under the bed. It is easier yet to have the mattress on the floor and not have dust bunnies get under there, and not have to sweep them away. Middle Child (who is an avid de-clutterer) reminded me that with the bed down low I'll have to wash the bedding more often, but with two adorable doggies who like to sleep on the foot of the bed and who shed and occasionally walk in the creek I wash bedding pretty often anyway. Sometimes quite suddenly. So I don't see this as a hardship or a drawback.<br />
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Here's the bed as it looked about 90 seconds ago. I love digital cameras. I could not get either Daniel (left) or Lilly (right) to face the camera. I was lucky to get them to hold still., having awakened them by pulling out a camera. <br />
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Now you know I didn't drive all the way to Goodwill in a pickup truck with ONLY A BED FRAME to donate. That would be a waste of space and gasoline, wouldn't it? I also took along nine computer paper boxes full of miscellaneous, not photo worthy as the boxes are identical. They contained extra sheets for twin beds we don't have, craft supplies, shoes, boots, more books and too many other things to remember. And with so much more stuff out of the way I also happily parted with a five drawer dresser, which adds 7.5 square feet of useable floorspace to my loft. Yay! <br />
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I see in the above picture another thing I did this past week. I sawed the legs off my mama's antique sewing table. The antique police will no doubt come arrest me any minute now.<br />
It's a small folding table with a measuring ruler carved into the front edge. Very useful for a person who sits around hand sewing a lot (as I do). I hadn't used it literally in years though. Since I do most of my hand sewing whilst sitting crosslegged on the bed (look, another happy occasion to use whilst!) I have been using my little black plastic useful-but-disheartening lap desk all these many years in the valley. <br />
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I was thinking one day as I sewed that it would be tres useful to have a desk that was a bit bigger than the lap desk, and that had its own legs so that I didn't actually have to hold it on mine the whole time. <br />
I thought the little sewing table would be a lovely size (it is 19x36 inches) but of course the legs were of sitting-on-a-chair height. As I was raised by antique loving collectors I do truly know it is a mortal sin to whack the legs off an antique. Then I mused that Mama, who bought the table, has been dead a great many years, and she never used it much herself as it was.<br />
Next I considered that in the sin department I've been unapologetically divorced since 1993, I'm "Living In Sin" with the Manimal, and I covet my neighbors ass. (Miniature donkey actually.) <br />
So I thought In for a penny, In for a pound, and I measured where my knees come to when I'm sitting crosslegged, got out the Manimal's little Japanese chop saw and whacked approximately 13 inches off each leg. Of the table. <br />
I say approximately because that is how I am with sawing things. Since the table when in use is sitting not on an even floor but on a mattress piled with quilts approximate is plenty good enough.<br />
I've used the table every day since I shortened it. Yay! It amply holds whatever I'm sewing, or designing, or drawing. It has that nice built in ruler so I don't have to get up and fetch one. My little mini computer fits neatly on one corner of it too, in case I want to watch The Vicar of Dibley while I sew or have the need to Google a stitchingn technique. Perfection!<br />
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In other news (and I use the term very loosely) on my days off my friend Candy "decorated" the front of my work locker with all sorts of random bits of cheerful rubbish she's collected in the dorms. Students tend to wander through life leaving behind them all sorts of peculiar things. Also in dorm living there's a tendency to come up with projects and festive occasions that require "one for everybody" which means if you find a wierd little cast off useless item in the dorm you're quite likely to find sixty more of them.<br />
<strike>One</strike> Two of the items inelegantly scotch taped to my locker were little rubber smiley face figures (I will not dignify them with the term doll). One green and ugly, one purple and ugly. Funny. Ha. Ha.<br />
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On my lunch hour yesterday, as a sort of counter-joke to Candy's decorating efforts, I decided to dress the smiley figures. I've got the green one done, (I also made a peaked hat for her little bald head) and am just getting started on a gold suit for the purple one, Because of course you can't dress one and not the other, that would be mean.<br />
One of the guys at work, upon seeing miss purple dress, tells me he "has the whole family" in his supply closet, by which I think he means one of each color. I wonder how many that is? I wonder if I could sneak in there and put clothes on them? Hmmm.<br />
Here's something about us Blue Collar Workers: we are easily amused.<br />
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I am able to do this sort of daft thing to amuse myself because happily somewhere along the rolling of the years I have gotten over caring whether people think I'm weird or not. Very liberating, that. If "they" think I'm nuts, that is fine. I think they're nuts too. Which worries me not a bit. In truth I think the entire universe is just a giant can of mixed nuts, rolling around in space. And I'm happy to be here.<br />
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-25238623243884700902012-09-27T09:48:00.000-05:002012-09-27T09:48:49.187-05:00RAIN...Day Three..... Yes, my lovelies, it's been raining here for three days now. I am tempted to post pictures of our grumpy wet hens, but they look so pathetic it might spoil your appetite. Not that they were thrilled with the drought this summer either, but they seem to like the steady downpour even less. <br />
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Instead I will post pictures of an old friend. I cannot remember when it was that we got Blue Bunny for Daniel, but he has been getting alternately chewed and resewn, patched and repatched for several years now. He is starting to look like art. Recently he was found by Silly Puppy and somehow lost his eye and a good portion of his face. Luckily my scrap basket is always at the ready and I recently received a box from Smallest Child that held the perfect stuffing for dolls and creatures. (Thank you Dollbaby!)<br />
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When she is not busy being an adoring wife and affectionate kitty-mama or dressing up as a young man and firing cannons at historical reinactments, or lindy hopping in the street with her mister, Smallest Child is New Orleans finest shop girl, and she sells shoes among other things, (Check out Trashy Diva online for vintage inspired adorableness.) In the shoe shop they use little nylon footie stockings for trying-on, and on account of germs they're used once and thrown away. Smallest sweetly installed a bag for collecting them for me. Queen Dorothy (my father's sister) often used her old worn out stockings to stuff rag dolls, and now I've got a fine collection of them to use myself. They're much nicer to work with than that nasty fiber-fluff stuff that is sold for stuffing things. Stockings can be packed in firmly which makes a much less floppy creature and that is most important if the doll is going to be embroidered and otherwise embellished or the creature is going to be hauled all around the house and out into the forest by rough and tumbly dogs.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's bunny with his face patch, and I'm putting in footie stockings to fill out the shape of his face and replace the original fluff (which was all over the lawn). Does the fabric I'm patching his face with look familiar?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZA_wJbt17wDlB4EyRZeCk2YwK-UPz0uMkaGQafHbDa_qMmgMoRB43MlLPyh3sNahyfZW3lakfNe7NCgoRKOezFlLs_lNvkXX3wJ2ax5vjEwQwh41eAZWQ4HiqSMCCIcTbuNV_oBF9YFiO/s1600/with+eds+angels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" kea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZA_wJbt17wDlB4EyRZeCk2YwK-UPz0uMkaGQafHbDa_qMmgMoRB43MlLPyh3sNahyfZW3lakfNe7NCgoRKOezFlLs_lNvkXX3wJ2ax5vjEwQwh41eAZWQ4HiqSMCCIcTbuNV_oBF9YFiO/s320/with+eds+angels.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When Professor B. designed his series of three dimensional angels he hired me to hand sew the fabric panels he printed onto the welded frames. The blue one is just behind me, you can see the wing over my right shoulder. Naturally I saved the scraps because the fabric he made is so interesting, based on a scan of a pile of glistening glass shards. While I think it would be unethical to use another artists art to make my own art..... I figure it's ok to use it for a patch on something that will only be seen here at home. It's a very sturdily woven cloth, so the patch may outlast the rest of the bunny.<br />
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Looking better, but needs a smile.
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That's better!<br />
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All spruced up and ready to face the world again. His eye is needle tatted, his neck is Grandpa's old chambray work shirt and his ear is a scrap from Grandma's old muu muu. It looks better on the bunny.
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While I'm thinking blue, here's the lovely yogurt cups the Manimal brought back from Paris.
We use them to drink out of, which is something you wouldn't want to do with American yogurt cups.<br />
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This is the afghan I'm making for Onlyest Son. His old one was wearing out (I think I made it a decade ago). I happily crocheted the squares on my lunch breaks all summer, then procrastinated putting them together. In a drought with temps above 100 it is too hot to have a lot of afghan on your lap stitching it together. Three days of gray, chilly rain has been perfect for stitching all the squares together. I'm working on the edging now and hope to mail it this weekend. He's probably not reading this, so don't tell him ; )<br />
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The Manimal leaves for London on Saturday morning very early. I'll be working my usual three day weekend, but come Tuesday I'll be up in the loft sorting and packing joyously. I'll return and report!</td></tr>
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-29453098297325759482012-09-21T12:12:00.000-05:002012-09-21T12:13:25.323-05:00Here Lately.... My darling Middle Child is a splendid essayist (find her at <a href="http://www.jauntydame.com/">www.jauntydame.com</a>) and her bloggery is a continual delight to me. I look forward to her thought-provoking analytical musings.<br />
I, on the other hand, am more of a catch-up-on-the-news blogger. I live in an isolated valley far from my dear ones, and this is how I let them know I'm still alive. Here's what's been going on in the valley the last couple of weeks:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxl2rakdW4IhlqiblHIFXKoYiyHkL8IDd_ZrjC6fy6Bfxd7rbQK4WoFIWnhSYiERehyphenhyphenxR_KwlDZEPDlhZTLtyqTEErs1avB5PKiD__mKIll1rnUzwy1wYbW3xXaNasvI1L2ykDVY8XhkIC/s1600/three+boxes+packed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxl2rakdW4IhlqiblHIFXKoYiyHkL8IDd_ZrjC6fy6Bfxd7rbQK4WoFIWnhSYiERehyphenhyphenxR_KwlDZEPDlhZTLtyqTEErs1avB5PKiD__mKIll1rnUzwy1wYbW3xXaNasvI1L2ykDVY8XhkIC/s320/three+boxes+packed.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've packed a good many boxes of stuff in the loft. (I wish I could rotate this picture for you)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggLSAPzDnd631sLusNikV7EMAltKpERxTTLiF4XqoARf30Kmj60ajdD8sj-AtYb0WZRRtgTxP8Z3vAQkN0apR-IcHNtq8lP4FQdbzGWVH7A4n10b14axiry5YPfWsYA7PBAfag4EFkL0zz/s1600/loaded+truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggLSAPzDnd631sLusNikV7EMAltKpERxTTLiF4XqoARf30Kmj60ajdD8sj-AtYb0WZRRtgTxP8Z3vAQkN0apR-IcHNtq8lP4FQdbzGWVH7A4n10b14axiry5YPfWsYA7PBAfag4EFkL0zz/s320/loaded+truck.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've loaded up the pickup truck and hauled the boxes off to Goodwill. For a long time I was stuck in the decluttering process because I kept remembering how much was spent on my heaps of un-needed things. Shouldn't I sell them to get some of the money back? Shouldn't I personally give each and every item to someone I know will take good care of it? Then I began studying Ebay and other online sales venues. There's an awful lot of stuff in the world and most of what gets listed never sells. Things I don't want to keep other people probably don't want to pay auction price plus postage for. And I honestly don't want to have the troublesome task of listing, selling, packing and hauling things item by item to the post office. Finally, I hit upon my new mantra: <strong>That money is Already Gone.</strong> I repeat this to myself often as I pack stuff to be given away. Yes, I've given the thrift shops a lot of things that are "actually worth money."But isn't that the point of thrift shops? I estimate this summer I've saved YEARS of time by giving things away by the boxful and truckload instead of trying to sell them or personally find adoptive homes for them. The way I see it, I've spent half a century accumulating these things, and it could easily take that long to get rid of them if I do it one item at a time. I feel I haven't another half-century to waste on the same darn stuff.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwfg3MUpQRCXF6WYkerIqujlvZ1LBZg_RxBkPRVcjpz6DRXQ3cmHrKBR_Fu-juuCYwKLrEcwcvSvqjt5C2HnYL9P_eeNQuGVRZenFVBE5gWcjeVLanL-w9v3IHVyUS7yI5geBUy5ptwA2/s1600/loft+floor+space.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwfg3MUpQRCXF6WYkerIqujlvZ1LBZg_RxBkPRVcjpz6DRXQ3cmHrKBR_Fu-juuCYwKLrEcwcvSvqjt5C2HnYL9P_eeNQuGVRZenFVBE5gWcjeVLanL-w9v3IHVyUS7yI5geBUy5ptwA2/s320/loft+floor+space.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's a pretty sight--empty floorspace in the loft. It makes my little heart sing.</td></tr>
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And look! There's some in the other direction too!</div>
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I've also been stitching up a doll. She's number ten in a series of embroidered and embellished cloth dolls made in the 1940's-50's and every one of them start out really showing their age. When I get them they look like this--generally stained and with some holes where the 60-70 year old cloth has worn out or been moth bitten. Sometimes they have limbs missing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mouth stains are very common, children like to feed their babies. <br />
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The hair is usually moth nibbled as it's made of wool yarn which is apparently delicious to moths. It also is generally wonky looking. <br />
There is a secret to making good looking rag doll hair, and this secret is unknown to most home sewers, so wide and crooked parts and bald spots are par for the course. Not a problem to me since I'm going to take the hair off anyway.<br />
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As you can see, she's got an odd torso. Not sure why her head is bowed like this.<br />
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A trip through the washer will take off a lot of the staining and eliminate any musty smells. This girl wants to float, so I had to pin a heavy bath towel around her neck to drag her underwater. <br />
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Once she was through the wash I found three holes in her, two in her neck where the seams are and one on her forehead where her hair was stitched in. I had open her up and empty out her raw cotton stuffing in order to get her dry. While she was gutless I patched her gaps with some pink gingham from Grandma's old bedroom comforter. It doesn't match her skin very well, but for my purposes that matters not a pins worth! When I put her back together I added a dowel inside her to strengthen her neck. Cloth doll necks so often become floppy, which weakens the seams.<br />
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Here she is with a bit of her embellishment done. There's a lot more stitching to do before I put her back together. I'll get back to her next week.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This week I've been busy stitching up some clothes for First Granddaughter's Lalaoopsy doll. For sewing enthusiasts interested in decluttering their fabric stash I must warn that making doll clothes for grandchildren's dolls is the slowest way of getting fabric scraps out of the house.<br />
A box and a truck is much quicker.</td></tr>
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-49462863622988634542012-08-28T16:48:00.001-05:002012-08-28T22:30:13.172-05:00Fleas Be Gone! or Taking a Little Fleacation. Whilst Smallest Child and her Handsome Husband are taking a little Hurrication in New Orleans as "Isaac" does what he must do, I am similarly occupied here in the valley.<br />
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Today I am flea bombing in the house.<br />
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Every summer there is a 'flea season' in the country. They breed like crazy, can live for 2 years without food, and there is no way to completely kill them all off without killing ourselves as well. (probably not even then...)<br />
So...there are flea baths for the furry beasts, flea medicine, and occasionally when those don't work well enough there's "the real poison", the flea bomb automatic spraying thingy, which you set off in the house and leave. As we've had a hideously hot summer and fleas thrive in heat we've had to resort to the bomb. Which is why I am now justified in hanging out on the porch on this pretty day, with my blog and my sewing and my coloring book and haven't a single guilty thought about all the work I "should be doing" in the house.<br />
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Aside from the pleasure of being liberated from 'shoulds', the Manimal is teaching his twice weekly bookbinding class tonight, so I am free to do as I please till he comes home around 10pm. A nice big swath of time for me to fill with happiness, thats what.<br />
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Especially For Ember:<br />
Here's me early this morning in my favorite outfit. Manimal took the picture for me. He thought it a rather strange early morning request, as I actually have never liked having my picture taken.<br />
It is quite a roomy dress, which I did not make, and the apron over it which I re-made. I got the dress and apron at different times at the thrift store, or actually I got a burgundy square necked dress and a somewhat larger blue round scoop necked dress at the thrift store. Both are of sturdy all cotton calico, both flower prints, both home sewn not factory made, which appealed to me. (You seldom see homemade clothes at the thrift stores here.)<br />
I added pockets to the burgundy dress, which you can't see because of the apron. Then later I cut the sleeves off the blue dress and cut out the back except a bit of a bridge at the top, and sewed it up neatly to make it into an apron very nearly like my favorite style. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifWonSh5jJBAZ2IQ_H-e0V6hRyVRveBfBSou9kMSF4A1X6m-JkM7dRpVCqaoATJBMrb1K2xUwur4WmLHJ7uMf64tA4w7MjihojwNV7ShjEij7pq1hz633HcBy8-DBbJHhw9hBRXVEGgbKc/s1600/me+in+fave+dress+++apron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" fea="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifWonSh5jJBAZ2IQ_H-e0V6hRyVRveBfBSou9kMSF4A1X6m-JkM7dRpVCqaoATJBMrb1K2xUwur4WmLHJ7uMf64tA4w7MjihojwNV7ShjEij7pq1hz633HcBy8-DBbJHhw9hBRXVEGgbKc/s320/me+in+fave+dress+++apron.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">Notice the enchanting morning-sun squint. Also bare feet, my preference as often as possible.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's what I did to the dress back, just cut out a big ironing board shaped piece all the way down to the hem, then turned the raw edges under twice and stitched it neatly by hand. (too lazy to get out the sewing machine, fill a bobbin and thread the machine,)</td></tr>
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Here's one of the two pockets, made of 1950's scissors fabric from Grandma Pat's stash and a bit of blue flower print from a long ago quilt project. The scissors fabric was a wonky shaped bit left from cutting out a blouse or something, so I had to piece it together to make pockets. Which just makes it all the more fun.</div>
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While we're on the subject of fashion or the lack of it, here's a pic of <strong>Molly My Love</strong>.<br />
She is my fashion icon. I do not own her, and I have no idea who she belongs to or where she came from, or who made her, I was watching her on Ebay and she got boughten while I wasn't looking. She's a happy sort, does things her own way, keeps her chin up. When I grow up I want to be just like her. But taller. She's on my computer screen because saved her as wallpaper.<br />
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I adore handmade rag dolls, possibly because they look more or less like the real people in my life. Teehee.<br />
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Oh-here's a true story sort of about that. And sort of not.<br />
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Yesterday I cleaned shower drains in the dormitory. during lunch hour we had gotten a call that the furthest west shower drain on Foster-Martin building's 3rd floor was running slugishly. Martin is my building, and I was taking care of floors 2 and 3 for the day. <br />
The <strike>dimwitted children I work with </strike> male custodians had themselves a hearty laugh about this, and one "kindly" offered to "teach" me "<em>how to fish</em>", guffaw, guffaw. To which I replied "I've been a single mother since 1993, it takes a lot more that a wad of soapy hair to scare me." And I trotted off to snake out the drain in question. <br />
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Now Martin building hasn't had it's very own custodian for more than a year, and has had to make do with a series of temporary hourly employees who really aren't trained yet. This is because the custodians who were in charge of this building fell sick (one in mind, one in body) and because they have neither one actually QUIT their jobs, and because the company can't fire anyone when they're out sick (even for a year) their jobs cannot be taken by someone else. Job security issue. I imagine the drains have not been cleaned over there for more than a year as I gather from the grapevine neither of these workers were the type to do more than the minimum anyway.<br />
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I got to floor 3 and found in the custodial closet the long thick wire that our maintenance man had bent into a hook at the end. I took out the shower drain cover and sat down on the damp shower floor as there was no other way to see or reach into the drain. After I had poked around in the drain a while I dragged up enough soapy stinky old hair to build a fair sized but smelly and unattractive kitten. <br />
My grasp of logic is good enough that I supposed the other drains would be in similar condition, and I was right. <br />
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I am newly assigned to Martin. The other hourly custodians are, shall we say less inclined to hard work than I am. Two of the three are large enough I seriously doubt them capable of fitting into the shower stall in the position necessary to clear out the drains. This being the case, and since I like to deal with life As It IS, not as it 'ought' to be, I went ahead and gave my afternoon to clearing all the shower drains in the building. <u>Twenty</u> of them. The final two were in good condition, I imagine because they were in the basement where the suction power is stronger than on the higher floors. I think the basement showers drain more quickly, so hair doesn't have a chance to hang up and make a clog.<br />
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---------> Here comes the loosely related to personal appearance part of the story <----------<br />
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Picture me in a loose blue polyester smock, pockets bulging with toold, blue jeans just beginning to fade with a splotch ofnpaint below one knee. (from painting pedestals at the art gallery)<br />
Short hair, no makeup, pink in face and sweaty. Figure like a comfy granny. Sitting flat on my derriere on the wet floor of an unflatteringly beige tile shower stall, legs wide spread, right foot sticking out of the shower displaying my worn-out black tennis shoe. <br />
I'm studiously poking around with a long hooked wire, dragging up fistfuls of stenchy old rotting soapy black and red hair and plopping the wads of hair on a paper towel by my left foot. <br />
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In walks a Greek god. <br />
Ok, a college student, but not the pimply dork kind. This one was tall,(at least from my seated position) tan, well muscled, with a stop-and-stare handsome face. Wearing naught but a periwinkle blue towel casually slung around his six-packish mid-section.<br />
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"Hi," he says in a warm strong but silky voice. "Wow! Thanks for doing this. Will it bother you if I'm in here, or should I come back later?" (oooooh, a gentleman!)<br />
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"No, go ahead," I say, "The one on the end is draining good now."<br />
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"I really appreciate you doing this," he says, and goes off to launder his marvelous figure.<br />
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Dang! <br />
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Never seen something so purty up close in my life, and there I am not a poshy well primped 18 year old, but a comfy little granny parked on her wet backside hauling big smelly gack clogs out of a drain.<br />
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Like I tell my kids, Life is all in the timing.<br />
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(thus ends the exciting part of the story)<br />
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As I was making my way down from 2nd floor to 1st I ran into the chap who had offered to teach me to fish. He asked what I was doing, and I told him I was clearing the drains. Both floors? He seemed astonished at that, and I replied No, all 4 floors, explaining I'd rather take care of them now, while I had free time, than wait until I was busy and have to do them as emergency calls. He told me I didn't 'have to' do them, and I said I wanted to (quite true). He went away shaking his head. <br />
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Apparently he not only was surprised, he told the boss and the rest of the staff. When it was quitting time I went to the office to clock out and as I came round the corner my co-workers and boss stood up and CHEERED waving their arms in the air and fist-pumping happily! Which was really funny, and very sweet of them. They're a good hearted bunch of people.<br />
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Funny thing is I didn't expect any praise, I just thought it seemed logical to do what needed doing when I had free time to do it. Plus, clearing really yucky drains is kind of fun. It's the sort of job where you can see that you've accomplished something. I like that kind of project.<br />
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<strong>Here's how the porch looks at bedtime. You will have to imagine the songs of crickets and bullfrogs.</strong><br />
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<strong>And how I look at bedtime.</strong></div>
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<strong>And how I look in better light at bedtime I think I'm beginning to look like Hugh Grant. Probably it's the floppy hair and pointy nose. (the current Hugh Grant, not the twenty-something one).</strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFoJN0HgSAeASR5Lyccdpif6covxnPDUQ6Wft3fidNsyX1Ak-4U-x91FRFagHA1ZaunX1ueNqIHBoGFiihyxpxNjztRPrYoevIoj9HadzudWB4_S-tTn9iXA8wigJDkXG-bTBMvHeXhXb8/s1600/good+half+smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" fea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFoJN0HgSAeASR5Lyccdpif6covxnPDUQ6Wft3fidNsyX1Ak-4U-x91FRFagHA1ZaunX1ueNqIHBoGFiihyxpxNjztRPrYoevIoj9HadzudWB4_S-tTn9iXA8wigJDkXG-bTBMvHeXhXb8/s320/good+half+smile.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<strong>And here's the dogs ready for bed, or parts of the dogs, I couldn't fit them all in the picture. And my feet being happy to not have shoes on (although I love buying shoes I love taking them off, too.)</strong></div>
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<strong>Here is where I sit writing this today, although obviously I'm not sitting here as I took the picture. Nice breeze, not to hot. A good day for occupying the porch.</strong><br />
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<strong>Meanwhile on the clohtesline a nice striped cotton is drying. This will be the binding of a quilt that will live with Smallest Child. I'm going to cut in on the bias, so the stripes will be diagonal around the edges of the quilt.</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hollyhocks we brought from the house in town are huge this year, topping twelve feet high. I suspect this is because we planted them where Manimal has been chucking the coffee grounds for many a year. </td></tr>
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The flowers are the size of my palm and are a deep somewhat purplish red.</div>
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They're just beginning to go to seed, and I'm saving the seeds if anyone would like some to try in their own garden.</div>
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And there you have it folks, all the news that's fit to print, And More!</div>
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-15795937248484258372012-08-22T14:22:00.001-05:002012-08-22T14:22:07.710-05:00Work on Monday, Wash on Tuesday, Iron on Never. School started Monday here in Indiana, and for those of us who are humble blue collar dormitory custodians that means the summer work schedule ended and the winter work schedule has begun. I'm an hourly employee in my first year with the university (as a staff member, I was a student for eight years). This means from now until May 2nd I'll be working the weekend shift, 7:30am to 4:00pm Saturday, Sunday and Monday.<br />
The rest of the week is <strong>Mine, All Mine!!!</strong><br />
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Tuesday was warm and sunny with a nice breeze. I celebrated my four-days-a-week freedom in a homesteadly manner by scrubbing down Maybelle, my beloved vintage Maytag wringer washer and doing laundry The Fun Way. She has been sitting idle since the beginning of last winter, poor girl. The whole summer I've been working a 40 hour week and not had the time or energy to clean up the porch and get her going. Yesterday, however, she got a good scrub, as did the double utility sink that serves as my rinse tubs. I got a new, much longer garden hose awhile back, so I don't even have to carry water to fill the washer and tubs anymore. Yay!<br />
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Maybelle lives on the porch because the laundry room is already occupied with The Manimal's washer and dryer. He got here first. That's ok, there's not enough room in there for a wringer washer and rinse tubs anyway, and if Maybelle were inside I'd miss the whole working in the fresh air and sunshine part of laundry day which is so fun.</div>
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In winter, when water in Maybelle's insides might freeze and burst something I use the automatic washer in the house, but even then I don't use the dryer. I prefer hanging things to dry. I have clotheslines in the loft which is very warm in winter.(it's very warm is summer too, come to think of it.) I've also got three wooden folding drying racks that I can set up by the wood stove downstairs. Clothes drying adds moisture to the air, which is especially nice in winter when the house is heated and closed up.<br />
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Here's a pictorial tour of my fun, fun first day off of work.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-13wMWTUZHDe-sun27ByuhLXT2FiCEwDY7qxcFXIUFZJuE4L383NJ6haTrWxAzR5tZiLGEt-rrxSfBDWgpm_1npVM2XkARuIzLkOdgYcFvTd_K-MS98SUrrBHhzPyxeGnitxMd7ZMS_G/s1600/porch+laundry+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-13wMWTUZHDe-sun27ByuhLXT2FiCEwDY7qxcFXIUFZJuE4L383NJ6haTrWxAzR5tZiLGEt-rrxSfBDWgpm_1npVM2XkARuIzLkOdgYcFvTd_K-MS98SUrrBHhzPyxeGnitxMd7ZMS_G/s320/porch+laundry+room.jpg" width="320" yda="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The double utility sink is from Manimal's oldest son's old place. It was sitting unused in a store room. Both sink drains are linked together with a y shaped pipe, so you can pull one plug and drain either side or pull both plugs and drain both sides at once. I haven't got the sinks piped to the septic tank, I use nontoxic soap (homemade) to wash with and drain my gray water into a bucket for use on the gardens,or sometimes I use it to scrub the front porch and back deck. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmLge1a8U9pkUIVk2cy2iyEL7bghHsKctMOOKvz8wCZVpsU7nUMvUAcVMwPu3h9kgLMweZBZdina7cyKUqtG6aikp90ivtgtbIQG_SFCAY3nvteBU8UUsg0DFidjr9MkN9hCgDKZfmvrZ/s1600/laundry+room+with+hose+and+lawnmower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmLge1a8U9pkUIVk2cy2iyEL7bghHsKctMOOKvz8wCZVpsU7nUMvUAcVMwPu3h9kgLMweZBZdina7cyKUqtG6aikp90ivtgtbIQG_SFCAY3nvteBU8UUsg0DFidjr9MkN9hCgDKZfmvrZ/s320/laundry+room+with+hose+and+lawnmower.jpg" width="320" yda="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's a long view of my "laundry room".You can see the hose, which comes from the faucet around the far side of the house. The blue mover's blanket hanging on the left is to block the sun, we've had an excessively HOT summer here in the midwest.<br />
The little old cupboard was abandoned in the shack up on the other side of the creek and I've adopted it. You can also see the chairs I made new seats for by weaving strips of the heavy plastic sacks our animal feed comes in. They're pretty sturdy, and when eventually they wear out I can always weave new ones. I found the chair frames with torn seats on the curb at hippie Christmas a few years ago.<br />
(Hippie Christmas is the end of the spring semester. All the university students pack their cars and go home, leaving piles of furniture and other useful things on the curb, allegedly for the trash man, but most things are "adopted" before the sun goes down.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The utility sink makes a great set of washtubs, and the price (free for the hauling) was perfect for my budget. It had the kind of drains that take a rubber plug. I had two, but one has gotten mysteriously lost.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So I cut the turned edge off a lid from a plastic cottage cheese container. When I put water in the tub suction holds the lid in place, making a leak-proof plug. After I'd done the washing and was draining the tubs I found the ring on the rubber plug for the other sink hurts my finger as I try to pull it out, so I've decided the homemade plug is better and have made one for the other sink from a pudding lid.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way to the clothesline you would do well to stop and have a few cherry tomatoes, sweet and warm from the sun. Yum.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">This skimmer is meant for cooking, to get foam off the top of beans or jelly as they boil. It's also a good laundry tool for removing dog hair from the top of the water so that it doesn't just go right back onto the clothes. It's also great for catching bugs that have the misfortune to fly into the washer or rinse tub. Bugs sometimes do not realize what they're getting into. (Like us all.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUG_qSH9ta2utQ34A44QxfXjlcGVRR_xigrgYM1nC5iIK0xvL6XP5xgPGA8RrmtQW958XkRzaY_H_6vv0WowYel_BO83pr57TRI3aL-QmcHdyg_dRS0xyi-XXAPkGfKZe7qSGoKT9ORcis/s1600/small+load+plunger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUG_qSH9ta2utQ34A44QxfXjlcGVRR_xigrgYM1nC5iIK0xvL6XP5xgPGA8RrmtQW958XkRzaY_H_6vv0WowYel_BO83pr57TRI3aL-QmcHdyg_dRS0xyi-XXAPkGfKZe7qSGoKT9ORcis/s320/small+load+plunger.jpg" width="320" yda="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">A drain plunger with holes in it makes a good agitator for doing small loads of wash in a bucket. There are fancy versions of this available online and from catalogs, but the homemade version works pretty well.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Years ago when the Manimal was courting me he would bring me out here for the weekends. As we worked in town all week at least part of the weekend was catch-up on household tasks time. I began doing the laundry because I didn't like the way he did it. He did it the"normal" way, of course. Automatic washer and dryer, toss clothes in, take them out,shove them in the closet.<br />
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First I brought some clothesline rope out here, and a package of clothespins. I strung the line up between a triangle of stout trees, and gave the electric dryer an extended vacation. The Manimal found he liked his shirts line dried, fresh smelling and crisp. Next I found a canvas bank bag and stitched him up his very own clothespin bag, probably the manliest clothespin bag anywhere. The JRC is his initials.<br />
If I'd known I would be coming out here to live and would become the permanent primary laundry-doer I might not have made this thing, haha. My thought was that he could now properly hang clothes in my absence. HA! Manimal, bless him, lacks the clothes-hanging gene. He will only hang clothes on the line if the dryer is on the fritz or the electricty is out. If forced to line dry clothes he hauls the sodden clothes out of the washer and flings them higgledy-piggledy onto the clothesline. They don't "need" clothespins as the weight of the water holds them down. They take forever to dry this way, and when they are finally dry they are all dried solid in pleats, crimps and clumps. Which DOESN"T BOTHER HIM!!!<br />
So I do it myself (said the little red hen) so he doesn't look like a bum.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manimal's shirts on the line. I hang them by the collar band, with three clothespins, and they dry smooth enough to not need ironing. I think the valley breeze must work as a wrinkle preventative. At any rate I DO NOT IRON. I figured out doing the Plain Dress Project that I could spend 5-15 minutes of my time ironing each dress or blouse and within 10 minutes of putting it on it would look about like it had before I even ironed it. So being the wise woman I am I just stopped ironing. I now consider the iron to be a tool for pressing seams when making clothes, not for maintaining the daily appearance of clothes. Anything that looks too awful un-ironed does not stay in my wardrobe.<br />
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Notice the travel trailer in need of refurbishing, the rumpled blue tarp over the hen's straw bales and the henhouse just behind the laundry?<br />
One end of the clothesline is tied to a basketball hoop post. The other end is tied to a schoolbus. I see no reason to pretend to the world that I live anywhere other than a supremely rural ramshackle valley. Manimal's best friend Cowboy calls this place "Little Arkansas", and I think he does not mean it as a compliment. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here are my four extremely boring polyester blend work smocks. I know I'm fond of plain dress, but this is an entirely different level of plain. Worn with the mandatory blue jeans this "uniform" serves to make the custodial staff recognizable when needed. We're all blue, you can see us from 50 yards away.<br />
At the same time it serves to make us easy to ignore. Many of the students walk past us as if we didn't exist, the uniform is a sort of cloak of invisibility. I will spare you my rant concerning class distinctions (and the denial of them) in America Land of the Free. Also my rant concerning foreign students and how they view/treat servants (which is what they see us as).<br />
Not that all or even most foreign people are unanimously bad to servants. It's just that the only way an 18 year old student gets here from the other side of the world is by coming from a wealthy family, and the behavioral programming of persons who are brought up to be served is as different as night and day from the behavioral programming of persons brought up to work for a living. Between the students and the staff this job is quite an education in human nature. Honestly, I often feel like I don't "belong" in this job, like I'm working undercover or part of the witness protection program or something. But I enjoy the job, it's great fun to tidy things up, and I find my co-workers fascinating. Not movie-star-fascinating, more as a study of personality types and psychological quirks. In private conversation with me once our boss referred to our workplace as The Land of The Misfit Toys, and it is a very accurate appelation. Not that I'd tell the other toys what he said. <br />
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To the left, our schoolbus. Someday to become a home on wheels.<br />
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Cloth napkins. I hang them neatly folded in half over the line, and they dry not needing ironing. I just fold them two more folds and stack them in a basket. <br />
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Now, since I think I"ve figured out how to download them, lets go to the movies!<br />
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WASHING MACHINE AGITATING- unlike the automatic machine Maybelle has not got a tall center post, so straps and sleeves and long lengths of cloth have nothing to get twisted and tangled around.<br />
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WASHER SOAKING- you can pull the lovely aqua knob on the side of the machine to stop the agitator, and soak things for as long as you like.</div>
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HERE'S HOW WE SQUEEZE THE WATER OUT WITH THE WRINGER. When Middle Child was eleven or so we had ,my grandmother's (Mom Rodgers') wringer washer. Poor Middle Child was doing laundry and got her fingers caught and her hand went through the wringer. Our visiting neighbor girl ran screaming from the house, and continued screaming all the way home. We popped the wringer open (there's a safety release) and put ice on Middle Child's hand. She is clearly not the hysterical type.</div>
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The trickiest part of a wringer washer is getting the clothing started through the wringer without catching your fingers. My other grandmother (Mamaw Williams) taught me to chain the clothes through by laying the edge of the next item onto the one almost through the wringer, nose to tail. Much safer for the fingers, and fun to do as it's a sort of challenge to keep up to the speed of the wringer. (note: the wash water is not orangey yellow in person)</div>
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BUCKET AND PEFORATED PLUNGER - this is useful for small loads, and takes no electricity which is excellent. It's of course more work intensive than the wringer washer, but somewhat less so than using a washboard.</div>
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Sharing the cherry tomatoes with the hens.</div>
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Lastly, just for fun, a nice wedge of watermelon for Pollock and Schmutzy.</div>
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Hope your laundry day is sunny and fun!</div>
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-5150414022999055742012-08-17T21:03:00.001-05:002012-08-17T21:03:52.771-05:00Whilst the Owl is away the Pussycat shall play The Mighty Manimal is away for a week, and we have been busy,busy, busy here in the forest valley. By busy I mean sorting through the loft and packing up boxes and boxes to be taken to Goodwill. By 'we' I mean me. The dogs and cat have been laying about as usual. Supervising, they call it, but they're supervising from the front porch while I slog away upstairs, so they're not supervising too closely are they?<br />
I worked on packing things on my last days off, and a bit after work during the week. I also brought more boxes home from work to further the project, which looks like it will be ongoing for awhile.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doesn't the truck look pretty half loaded with useful things that are of no use to me personally?</td></tr>
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Today is my day off again. This is the last week before school starts, and I will be switched from my summer job of 40 hours a week to my "real" job, which is weekend shift plus one day which equals only 24 hours a week It will be less money, but also less gas to get to work and more time at home which I intend to invest in continuing to declutter my part of the home.<br />
Be The Change you want to see in the world, right? <br />
I spent this splendid Friday morning hauling boxes out and loading the truck, and when it was full I drove it to the Goodwill in Martinsville. Although I seldom listen to the radio as I drive (I prefer the noise in my head) I switched it on as I started up the road and the song playing was Dust In The Wind, which seemed quite suited to the occasion.<br />
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We live halfway between two towns, so halfway between two Goodwills, but gasoline in M'ville is several cents a gallon cheaper than elsewhere, so I went there and filled up the tank and got groceries all in one trip. The difference in price on a full tank of gas more than pays for the drive there and back.<br />
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The Goodwill unloading guys complimented me on how I had everything boxed up neatly, and in categories even! Well of course I did. I'm a tidy person, it was organized in the closets and drawers and cupboards...I just transferred it to boxes. <br />
After Goodwill I stopped by Traderbakers, my favorite flea market, to wander around happily, marveling at the enormous amount of useless junk there is in the world. Naturally I didn't buy anything. I felt positively giddy with virtue (ok, imagined virtue).<br />
Then I got groceries and came home to my happy doggies (It was not just trooooo love, I also brought them biscuits). There was a message from Manimal, saying he's going to a Parisian Flea Market tomorrow morning. He's eager to see what french junque is like. Haha. I messaged him back requesting that he Please NOT buy me anything! I do not recall that I mentioned what I'm doing with my free time this week....<br />
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After lunch and a nice phone chat with Smallest Child, who called from New Orleans, I realized I still had several hours left before Goodwill closes, so I scampered up the stairs, slung a great many more things into boxes, and hauled them down to the truck. In the process of hauling, and casting my eye about (there's a pretty image) for other things that could be hauled away, I realized that with eleven boxes fewer books in my life I don't need two bookcases, so as I adore the big one (and the men who gave it to us when I was a teenager) I hauled the skinnier white painted one to the truck. (Quickly before I could think of anything else to put where the books had been!) I figured out I don't need a sewing machine cabinet with no sewing machine in it, or that cleverly designed wheeled wicker file folder organizer now that I have a big desk with file drawers. Or some baskets that were storing junk in a posh looking way, now that I've got rid of the junk. Or three drawers full of video tapes, or a box full of music cassettes from my dear departed mama. Or my huge wheeled book bag now that I'm a college drop-out. I haul hay, straw, manure and vegetables these days, and use a wheelbarrow.<br />
The second trip to Goodwill was even more fun than the first. I truly love decluttering. As I drove I made up a song for the occasion all about how happy I am to put useful things back into the world, and how I don't want to have to take care of anything I don't care about, and how I like having space for the good things to breathe, and a bit about the joy of saying Goodby to things that were once a good buy. It was a verrrrry happy and spritely little song. It may or may not have had the words 'useless crap' in it somewhere, I can't quite remember. As songs go I'd say it was right up there with Ballerina Corner and The Cricket In The Lamp, and was quite a bit better than Little Elvis.<br />
Then I came home. Happy. I went up to the loft (which it is too dark now to photograph) and gazed benevolently at the empty spaces where boxes and overloaded shelves used to be. I came downstairs and studied the big homemade calendar that covers half the fridge door and realized that The Manimal will be home in two days, which gives me two evenings after work to tidy up and do laundry so he doesn't come home to something resembling a bomb site.<br />
I also realized he will be going away on business again in a month. That gives me four weeks to collect some more boxes, sort some more corners of the loft, and discover all the other things I can happily live without. I'm hoping to get to tghe back of the second closet on the next go-round. I got one side of it done today, but there's a lot more in there, most of it mysterious and as I haven't needed it in 4 years I imagine it can mostly GO.<br />
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I promised Ember to get pics of me in the dresses that made it through the closet sorting. I've no one here to take a picture, will persuade The Manimal be photographer when he returns. Meantime here's a very bad picture of me in his bathroom mirror this morning (before I hauled boxes and got the whole front of my dress filthy ,which is what I get for deciding it was too hot to wear an apron.)<br />
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On the one hand it is true I didn't hold the camera very still, but even if I had, I AM kind of fuzzy looking. This is my "I don't need to see anything" look. There's also a variation that involves wire rimmed glasses. Modern peasant, that's what. I tend to be at the outer extreme of low maintenance. The Manimal likes this just fine, which is fortunate as it's unlikely to change. I don't fancy becoming fancy to please anyone.<br />
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Between sickeningly hot weather and a ghastly flea infestation that required smelly sprays the dogs, cat and I have more or less taken up residence on the front porch the past ten days or so. Not something we could do in town where people are expected to sleep in bedrooms and eat in kitchens or diningrooms and bathe in a bathroom.<br />
It's been quite fun, really. The necessity to sleep out there honestly lasted just two nights, the rest of it has been simply because we're enjoying it. Especially during thunderstorms.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's Daniel lounging on the summer bed (aka the futon mattress from the livingroom)<br />
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Also of note, and also related to the flea infestation, Daniel has gotten all his dreadlocks cut off. He hates haircuts, which is why he had dreadlocks. He WILL BITE if you wave scissors about in his vicinity. His only GOOD haircut in 12 years was the summer Smallest Child and her Sweetheart (now her handsome husband) visited and gave him a playful and cuddly (and sneaky) haircut on a blanket on the front lawn. It took an hour, but was amazingly peaceful. They have serious skilz.<br />
Not having an extra pair of hands or any charming helpers I muzzled the poor lad with a thick strip of plastic shopping bag (soft and drool proof) Then I sat on the bed with him, holding him down gently with one leg across his body. Then I chatted to him and sang songs to him. He started out not liking it, squirmed like crazy and vocalized his complaints (echoing through the forest valley). Eventually he got tired of wrestling with me and fell asleep, and I had to wake him to turn him over and do the other side. Fairly peaceful. His second best haircut behavior-wise. AS far as appearances go, his haircuts are always ghastly looking. He's half Miniature Schnauzer and half Toy Poodle, bad hair is just part of the whole package deal.<br />
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Here's Sir Daniel sleeping peacefully the morning before the scissoring. Longest dreads he's ever had. Without them of course, he looks like a small grayish rat. Still, he's my bestest pal ever.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No longer dread-ful.<br />
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That's about it for news at the moment. For those in the family who are sentimental, bid a fond adeiu to this. I once spent a couple of weeks working on this paint job because the idea of a plain old brown magazine rack was just appalling to me. Turns out we are not the kind of family to keep our magazines in a rack anyway, and those spindles are foul dust catchers. <br />
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More When it happens!<br />
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XOXO !<br />
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-33076615123049154652012-08-02T19:40:00.003-05:002012-08-02T21:29:51.669-05:00Lofty Thoughts or What I Did This Summer (and am still doing) A jumbledy bit of writing but I'm too yawny to properly sort it, so I wish y'all luck making sense of it.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Years ago when I moved in with The Manimal I sorted through my little rented house like a mad woman and got rid of nearly everything I own. Hahahahaha! </div>
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Ok, I got rid of a whole lot of stuff. Sofas, chairs, tables, boxes and boxes of books, half of my clothing, more than half of my dishes, pots and pans and so on. I gave things away to family and friends, then I donated the rest of it all to Goodwill and moved down to this valley with a happy heart and a great deal of optimism.</div>
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Optimism, of course, is a far cry from Clear Thinking.</div>
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. The Manimal built this house, and raised his 3 sons here long before I came to this part of the country.He has a long history here, a history full of adventures and collecting.</div>
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Because I did not want to take up too much space or be a burden I thought the best thing would be to move my belongings into the loft of the house. My reasoning is that the loft was not 'really' being used. It just held things in boxes and random bits of furniture belonging to the 3 grown sons who were all off living on their own. Junk actually....at least close enough to junk that none of the boys wanted it in their own homes. After a couple of years the boys moved their stuff out (or threw it away or whatever) which you would think would give me more space, but I got another sewing machine, and set up my quilting frame to finish a quilt, and my brother gave me a spinning wheel.....so it stayed crowded up here.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what happens when you move 5 rooms of stuff into one room.</td></tr>
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The loft had been 2 bedrooms not-very-large-bedrooms before the addition was built, with one bedroom having a half wall, open to the great room below. A year or two before I met The Manimal he had taken out (chopped out might be a more accurate term) the wall between the bedrooms, turning this into a large open room. Brilliant idea, much more useful than two little pokey rooms. STill, once all my giving away was done I still ended up essentially moving 5 rooms of belongings into one room.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;">I managed to get all my vast wardrobe into the closets, but it certainly took some doing.<br />
WARDROBE CONCERNS<br />
My dilemma with wardrobe issues is this-I really like clothes and have far too many of them. Like most people I had by this time accumulated different kinds of clothes. Everyday clothes such as jeans, sweaters, t-shirts; dressy clothes for special occasions with matching uncomfy footwear and little bags that won't hold anything; Sunday Best dresses and suits; painting clothes (with my history of painting all over them); school clothes (I was in college for a decade. Oy.); play clothes; shorts and tank tops for hot weather; thermal underwear for cold weather;rather nice and properly stylish office type clothes (for business occasions and interviews);. Costumes for dress-up (we're that kind of family), and lastly I had a set of handmade clothes from The Plain Dress Project.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ecQBy-PQEdK2VgXnnwZSoMpY2oP2h93f_mt5zobms8UgRsVF2s1dcT3SSuiTInV4FutEfus2ka9yEVH7TPFFQla75fpE_vVx2aYonIipbB2fiierCVnaAmAm-K-FaFQj7easIbxXqFw6/s1600/overfull+closet,+alas....jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ecQBy-PQEdK2VgXnnwZSoMpY2oP2h93f_mt5zobms8UgRsVF2s1dcT3SSuiTInV4FutEfus2ka9yEVH7TPFFQla75fpE_vVx2aYonIipbB2fiierCVnaAmAm-K-FaFQj7easIbxXqFw6/s400/overfull+closet,+alas....jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is one overstuffed closet. Behind the crammed together clothes are 10 plastic snap-lid storage boxes (6 large, 4 small).Necessary because mice love dresser drawers, and chew into cardboard boxes.</td></tr>
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As a Textiles Major at university I'd become interested in the functionality of clothing on several levels. Why do people dress as they do? How do we judge/evaluate one another by our clothing? Where does clothing comed from? Who makes it and how, and in what conditions? These and a dozen other clothing related questions filled my head. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjQiF7GgJ4OEVoCYdLtQN9lFf6xGzBQ5JLtK9ma9jJff5Ck3dKtGlw78YT7h8CG3ZcDaYp_F2ZgkjB7nP_CjPLUeRyoFfrUa-cxoO-uWaPUPgtgX3O72Nhg8E1j2AknIjj5AELFGX6ZsSG/s1600/clutter+to+de-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjQiF7GgJ4OEVoCYdLtQN9lFf6xGzBQ5JLtK9ma9jJff5Ck3dKtGlw78YT7h8CG3ZcDaYp_F2ZgkjB7nP_CjPLUeRyoFfrUa-cxoO-uWaPUPgtgX3O72Nhg8E1j2AknIjj5AELFGX6ZsSG/s320/clutter+to+de-.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someow when I started working 40 hours a week I stopped tidying and putting things away. Beneath the clutter-an ironing board, a desk, two sewing machines, two dressers, a sewing project. a bookmaking project, and afghan squares waiting to be stitched together. Oh yeah, and a spinning wheel I need to find a part for.</td></tr>
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As my Thesis work for my degree in Textile design I chose to do an exploration of very fundamental clothing. As it happens, in the middle of the year I ended up dropping out of college to go live in the forest and take up a Back-to-the-Land lifestyle with my darling long-haired bookbinding teacher, so I've not actually completed the Plain Dress Project. </div>
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But I haven 't given it up either. </div>
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The idea of the project was that I would design a simple functional outfit, make multiples of it, and live a year wearing these plain-ish dresses exclusively. I would carefully document what this did to A-the cloth, B-my head, and possibly C-my relationships. I chose simple homespun cotton, which to my delight turned out to not need ironing after the first few washings. I chose to make dresses because I was double majoring in religious studies and spent a lot of time in places where a woman appearing in pants would have been disrespectful. (I couldn't think of anywhere wearing a dress would offend anyone). I designed the dresses to have large pockets so I could forgo carrying a purse, and I calculated the size of the bodice and neckline so the dresses would slip easily over my head simply because I hate putting in zippers. Because I would be wearing aprons much of the time (very practical) I chose checked and print fabrics rather than plain colors to avoid being taken for a member of our nearby Amish communities.</div>
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Not that I'd be offended to be thought Amish, but that I would be going places Amish women do not go, and I didn't want to cause any confusion or undue curiosity about them.</div>
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I did actually learn quite a lot from The Plain Dress Project, about the properties of different fibers, about commercial clothing construction, design and marketing. I learned a bit about how clothing functions as an identifier for groups. I learned about clothing styles in different countries, and about how various cultures view concepts such as modesty, propriety, stylishness, vanity and humility.<br />
I learned things about myself too. I learned I honestly prefer simple handmade dresses to any other type of clothes (and believe me I've tried them all).<br />
I learned by buying and wearing some that actual Amish/Mennonite style dresses are Not for me. They're too structured for my taste, too complicated to construct, and are these days generally made of polyester which must be a godsend to a mother with 8 or 10 kids to clothe as it's so easy-care, but I just really hate wearing polyester. (My poly work shirts are bad enough, I'd hate to wear the stuff from neck to knees!)<br />
I learned that I dislke having anyone else tell me what to wear and what not to wear. Muleheaded, what?<br />
I learned that I'm happy making clothing. For my family. I can't imagine wanting to take up doing it for the general public. I prefer to just be my very own sweat-shop.<br />
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I learned that with a dozen or so types of clothes to choose from each day I kept reaching again and again for the same few dresses, the ones I made in the summer of 2007. Consequently when it came to decluttering, that is what I opted to keep. The plain dresses for my personal wear, and the work uniform for when I'm "on the clock".<br />
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As I'm in my current job most likely until I retire I won't be needing office clothes EVER AGAIN for office wear or for job interviews. No more Dress For Success, from here on people can just take me as they find me. What a Huge Relief! (for me anyway, I don't know how 'people' feel about it.)<br />
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With only the plain dresses I of course could easily part with all the pairs of shoes of various styles and heel heights that don't go with plain dresses. All the stockings and undies of a style to not work with plain dresses. All the coats and jackets and sweaters that don't work with the dresses.<br />
Box after box filled up and my smile got bigger and bigger.<br />
My closets have plenty of breathing space between hangers now. I still have enough of an assortment to play around with a little (blue dress with aqua apron? purple dress with pink flowered apron? brown striped dress with brown flowered underskirt?) This pleases my artistic inner child without taxing my frustration level. I like having more wiggle room between things.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvJSVz-D5Bd1ePUsxEcMdAGUqXiq4zekU5X0oGecA54XZjFo8h2OWkzxmKivPBU2iUhRXBu998sXn6IkRr2Ds_6lWqG4YomlHzKHOV9icfuK3bsztF9yEsXYWfe-aFf7t01QDtVwF0HBT1/s1600/closet+2+full.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvJSVz-D5Bd1ePUsxEcMdAGUqXiq4zekU5X0oGecA54XZjFo8h2OWkzxmKivPBU2iUhRXBu998sXn6IkRr2Ds_6lWqG4YomlHzKHOV9icfuK3bsztF9yEsXYWfe-aFf7t01QDtVwF0HBT1/s320/closet+2+full.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Second closet. Behind these clothes are boxes of stuff that 'came with the house' which I therefore cannot get rid of. Not my stuff, not my perogative to jettison it. I compromise and hide it from myself for now.</td></tr>
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So here are my two closets jam packed with many many kinds of clothes. Too many.<br />
As I am now employed in town as a humble custodian I wear to work the required uniform of a pair of jeans (I own 3 pair) and a pocketed polyester smock (the company supplies us with 4). I wear these clothes in rotation day after day. Actually although I own 3 pair of jeans I don't like wearing jeans, so I've been wearing the 1 most comfortable pair day after day (washing as needed) and haven't gotten around to taking the other 2 pair off the shelf in 12 weeks now.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE3IZsYBZ1jA_-lxW5SctdCRDVXLjd3LWW0qYhkHTrfV-5VLuk1ai1Am7hW-w9UtQX_LM_QyTN2GWOxP3utcB_sFzfhNtoaJglMDSOqIIQII81JSaI8sn5IrKFbN10kvGRyOKAUVfwS6YE/s1600/boxes+from+early+freshmen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE3IZsYBZ1jA_-lxW5SctdCRDVXLjd3LWW0qYhkHTrfV-5VLuk1ai1Am7hW-w9UtQX_LM_QyTN2GWOxP3utcB_sFzfhNtoaJglMDSOqIIQII81JSaI8sn5IrKFbN10kvGRyOKAUVfwS6YE/s320/boxes+from+early+freshmen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
My work is as custodian in a "quad" of university dormitories. This past week we had some early students move in. It is a program for inner city kids, they come to campus 3 weeks early to get a head start on living away from home and having a drastically different lifestyle.<br />
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As I'd been threatening to seriously declutter the loft, hauling empty packing boxes down from the upper stories of the dorms put me in mind to let these boxes serve humanity one more time before being recycled.<br />
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I got my co-workers to help me accumulate a few decent sized boxes, bit enough to hold a good deal, small enough for me to carry when full. When The Manimal picked me up from work I hurled them in the back of the pickup truck and I spent my two days off this week sorting out a large bookcase and one and a half closets. I am not yet decided what to do about some of the not-mine things in the back of the second closet. I may address that issue on my next days off.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLwSG0kp96ooC5QmOCTbDm3iwodp-2dCyDXeAc2N0aHBu0YGocLMvSP_1UdUPi__g3yhLOfcWayM1p2CkDDvF9ehaIbIt0cMo3XlXDY16CgetWab0TUDhFuBN0kVaZhTGXU5TwnUZkOMz/s1600/closet+clean.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLwSG0kp96ooC5QmOCTbDm3iwodp-2dCyDXeAc2N0aHBu0YGocLMvSP_1UdUPi__g3yhLOfcWayM1p2CkDDvF9ehaIbIt0cMo3XlXDY16CgetWab0TUDhFuBN0kVaZhTGXU5TwnUZkOMz/s320/closet+clean.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's the first closet again. My work clothes (ho-hum) hang on the door here, but I later moved them to the second closet when I'd emptied out the unworn stuff in there. Behind these rows of clothes the mouse-proof storage containers are all sorted out. Lots of clothes, shoes, blankets, sheets, and craft things packed up and ready for the charity shop and the "free" shelves at our local recycling center.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0US5Izy5ErUnbhDqoW_Yd43VvWJ8sDF9x1oHRd1RG2seBNnBEgAultApRtqPTXhxSb2nUCuhqM-9Y4uABU2-hajrPbaStfBZu32LjryGYBV7h4sbze-XCMkBpUsBYpw7L_VMhRGddyOpb/s1600/books+to+box+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0US5Izy5ErUnbhDqoW_Yd43VvWJ8sDF9x1oHRd1RG2seBNnBEgAultApRtqPTXhxSb2nUCuhqM-9Y4uABU2-hajrPbaStfBZu32LjryGYBV7h4sbze-XCMkBpUsBYpw7L_VMhRGddyOpb/s320/books+to+box+up.jpg" width="240" /></a>As I have a zillion (estimate) too many books I;ve decided to only keep the ones I really read/want as reference books, and my favorite of the children's books for reading with grandchildren. The rest of them can go to the library book sale where they can make someone else happy. I've had my turn.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I've taken the books from a large bookcase (to move it, it weighs a ton)</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiD4wtkEx631sEviRUIED7Eyo0ZjWUJeGbtSwYPv2gBFqoj1b-Yo5aAUpFJUHaaPnX_qQDTiIMA9FFvPr68USnOY3kzkhSUVQM03t4Tk49nijr3aBV6odD4ml8IQIAy1vPNM3kWIjMLLjj/s1600/boxed+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiD4wtkEx631sEviRUIED7Eyo0ZjWUJeGbtSwYPv2gBFqoj1b-Yo5aAUpFJUHaaPnX_qQDTiIMA9FFvPr68USnOY3kzkhSUVQM03t4Tk49nijr3aBV6odD4ml8IQIAy1vPNM3kWIjMLLjj/s320/boxed+up.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here the books are all in boxes, as is 85% of my previous wardrobe.</td></tr>
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The secret of the success of this decluttering project is that The Manimal will be traveling soon. Due to his collecting nature it is tricky to get an unwanted object of any description out of the house without him pointing out that <br />
A-we may need it someday<br />
B- we have another one alike and we shouldn't break up the pair<br />
C-they don't make them like that anymore<br />
D-we could use it for parts if something breaks<br />
E-we might know someone who needs one and if we keep it then we'd have it to give to the future imaginary person<br />
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and while I understand the logic (ha!) of all these points, my answer in this case is It is MY STUFF and I AM GETTING RID OF IT. PERIOD.<br />
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To avoid un pleasant conversations therefore I am secretly plotting to haul these boxes of goodby things to their various destinations while my beloved is in France enjoying the bread and wine and cheese. We each shall thereby have our own favorite pleasures.<br />
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Like any large project the Loft Clearing is looking a whole lot worse before it will look better. That seems to be the nature of life. Fixing often looks like disaster for a brief while.<br />
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I'll post you some after photos when it gets to looking better.<br />
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In the meantime, look at these:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Ovbgohr0DElafa4fmxio90q3HQHI39NFLtE0jJwPFjdmJel-IyWnuOzBTCEGekJC_wUc9SSls3kFdlc7k42MC2ednsGvHJ_nIfn4K0i266a1cD8eIpB7GnQEPDsoQ3i03hjwB3InsF8Q/s1600/eggs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Ovbgohr0DElafa4fmxio90q3HQHI39NFLtE0jJwPFjdmJel-IyWnuOzBTCEGekJC_wUc9SSls3kFdlc7k42MC2ednsGvHJ_nIfn4K0i266a1cD8eIpB7GnQEPDsoQ3i03hjwB3InsF8Q/s400/eggs.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And lastly here's a picture of eggs because the girls lay such pretty eggs and looking at them mkes me smile.</td></tr>
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</div>Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-75734564132964184672012-07-24T16:21:00.001-05:002012-07-24T16:21:16.382-05:00Here Lately<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The nice thing about Facebook is it allows us to keep up with some of the doings of our friends and family. This can, of course cause us occasional jealousy and consternation, but I suppose overcoming such difficult emotions helps us build character.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIVAy0cku2oD7RnW71xA8ZYzmbgjat_0BNf8uHoOPFML4S4GtqZrVxz4sh0BLlZTUjPzdOaC3T-3-iZBZwn3kjwHE2O_sDxzsx9y2_Suaif1DRxHPns7M5IGn1RzyqcTK00lDEHIHvBig/s1600/mary's+shelves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIVAy0cku2oD7RnW71xA8ZYzmbgjat_0BNf8uHoOPFML4S4GtqZrVxz4sh0BLlZTUjPzdOaC3T-3-iZBZwn3kjwHE2O_sDxzsx9y2_Suaif1DRxHPns7M5IGn1RzyqcTK00lDEHIHvBig/s320/mary's+shelves.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Recently Cousin Mary moved again. Her husband Adam is in the military so they are obliged to move about every time she gets unpacked. Kidding really, Mary's a very motivated wife and mom and she gets her house settled in record time. She posted a picture of her basement storage space, which I swiped to post here. There are three occasions for greeeeen jellybeans here.<br />
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1-She actually has a basement.<br />
2-She has food storage shelves to die for. Front-loaded canned goods shelves that automatically rotate your cans. I aspire to such shelves myself, but have no idea where we would put them. <br />
Plus, when I spoke to The Manimal about it a year or so ago, he thought it was a dumb idea. He stood the position that :<br />
A-they are pricey.<br />
B-we don't eat much in the way of canned goods. <br />
C-he could build shelves of wood that would be cheaper and work well enough.<br />
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At the time I accepted his arguments because it's his house, he built it and I am dumb at least part of the time. So we've been going right on as usual with the green pantry cupboard and a bit of kitchen shelf space, and with no plan or rhyme or reason to our food system.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3U8tBHYyLgQ-gLrVHtve6BdCviTjRtj_meyczRtCgBocsVKHwxA3xaNpwlUb5tFwin9Na7370Y93K9n06j_FYeBhP7Yxvl1S9Pvlr0M0POXZrfEV-9RPTStqmjyA6lY7KfGqpvNnnrUYB/s1600/pantry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3U8tBHYyLgQ-gLrVHtve6BdCviTjRtj_meyczRtCgBocsVKHwxA3xaNpwlUb5tFwin9Na7370Y93K9n06j_FYeBhP7Yxvl1S9Pvlr0M0POXZrfEV-9RPTStqmjyA6lY7KfGqpvNnnrUYB/s320/pantry.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I have now had a full year to think this over and have formulated some reponses to the arguement that has been continuing in my head this whole long time.<br />
To wit:<br />
A-Yes, the shelf system is pricey, but I have a job now and can buy them with my own money and for that matter fill them up with my own money too, so it will be no strain on his budget, all he'll have to do is eat the food.<br />
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B-In the pantry right now we have in the way of canned goods: Beans, six different kinds. Fruit, three kinds. Pasta sauce. Tomato paste. Coconut milk. Canned veg for soup making. Plum tomatoes. Diced tomatoes.<br />
Artichoke hearts. Black olives. Cranberries. Tuna. Canned chicken.<br />
No, we're not an 'open a can and heat it up' family, we do actually cook for ourselves. But cooking implies ingredients, and in our temperate climate much of the year there is not a lot in the way of ingredients growing out our back door. We have a freezer, but the space there is limited and they take electricity/cost money to run. Plus if the power goes out for any length of time the food is ruined. (I don't mind this so much if it's mushrooms from the forest, I don't like them anyway and there will be more next year)<br />
Clearly we use more canned goods than he realizes. The canned items we do eat would be better used if they were neatly organized and were used in order of purchase rather than our current situation which involves everything being shoved onto the shelves higgeldy piggledy and things occasionally going bad because they were lost somewhere in the back.<br />
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C-He could build more shelves, but he hasn't in the 25 years this house has been here. It seems unikely to rise to the top of his mile-long project list anytime soon. Were a big carton of shelf components to arrive at our door I could put it together myself, and then we would have it. This year, not in 2037 or beyond.<br />
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So. Thinking about it. Thinking about it. <br />
The canned goods moving to a nice rotations shelf would free up the whole big green pantry cupboard for home-bottled fruits, gallon jars of pasta and such. (I put the pasta in jars or tins to foil the wiley country mice) And the pantry shelf height is more suited to quart, pint and half-gallon canning jars than to cans. With cans some of the shelves are a half inch to an inch short of the space needed to stack two cans, so there is a lot of wasted space. Of course if you double stack cans that multiplies the effort to get to things in the rear, so mostly you don't bother.<br />
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What has got me interested in food storage? <br />
Well, my stalward Mormon upbringing for a start. Being a people of isolated mountains and deserts the Mormons figured out long term food storage generations ago and have consistently taught its value to the membership. No, they don't believe obeying the principle of storing a year's supply of food will get you into heaven. Quite the opposite....in times of disaster and hardship a good larder of food may just keep you from knocking on heaven's doors ahead of schedule.<br />
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When I was a child my parents had a good food storage system going. Nice shelves my daddy built in the kitchen, closets fitted out for cans and jars, and my bed frame was built to accomodate 50# bags of wheat beneath a deep girly frill of polished pink cotton.<br />
Our Catholic neighbors thought we were daft, as did my daddy's Protestant family members. They could see nothing but goofiness in following the counsel of church leaders who "taught hoarding". Despite their opinions we went on daftly storing up food, a bit extra in the grocery cart week by week.<br />
Then one day the national truckers union went on strike. No trucks laden with groceries were leaving California or Georgia or Idaho. No food was speeding its way to the midwest. Within four hours of the strikes announcement the grocery store shelves were being cleared out. By morning there was nothing left in the stores but bubblegum and bug spray. No food. Not a can of soup, not an egg nor a loaf of bread.<br />
My mama shared our food with the neighbors until the strike was over. Our little neighborhood caught the vision of preparedness. Extra shelves began to pop up in the kitchens around us, and the weekly grocery ads were perused more carefully and the housewives planned out their purchases, "one for myself and one for the shelf".<br />
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Years later I was a housewife myself, and I happily embarked on working out a food storage system of my own, working it out all over again each time we moved. On one occasion, when we lived in Warsaw, your good dad was Home Teaching a young man new to the town and the church and on a suspicion/inspiration he peeked into the young man's kitchen and found there was no food at all except half a can of sodapop. The young man had just started a new job, and payday would not be for two weeks. We were a week away from payday ourselves and had no money, but we had food on all those fine shelves in the basement the Millers had built before they sold us the house. Your dad came home and "shopped" in our food storage for enough food to tide the young man over till payday. It felt good. Food storage is meant to be for times of need, and not specifically OUR need either.<br />
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When "the little girls" and I were in Loogootee at the height of single-mom and kids- too-young-for-jobs poverty we survived for several weeks one winter on food storage. I had a job, but the gas company had given an 80% rate increase, which we could not afford. Unable to use the furnace or cookstove we heated with a kerosene heater and cooked in a crockpot and electric skillet. The Methodist Church, where I worked as custodian, allowed me to borrow the kitchen there to bake our bread a couple of times a week. Between our 5 gallon buckets of wheat and our canned goods we got through the winter. It would have been a much darker winter without our well-stocked pantry.<br />
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The LDS idea of a year's supply of food of course stems from the time when America was primarily agrarian. Growing your own food was what you did then, and when Autumn came and you harvested your crops you "put by" as much as possible to hold you over until the next year's harvest time. <br />
Because flood and drought and other natural disasters were not uncommon if you had enough land to grow more you would put by a supply of food to last two years, to allow for the possibility a year's crop failures. So when "The Brethren" began counseling families to be prepared with food, clothing and other needful things they weren't suggesting anything weird, or anything most people weren't already doing anyway.<br />
What was weird was that our culturen changed, people started moving to cities and not growing food. Our enormous highway system was built. Trucking food thousands of miles across the country became the thing to do. The population became food-dependedt primarily on a small group of people we'd never met, running agribusinesses we could not comprehend, so far away from home we would never even see the plants our vegetables grew on or see who slaved in the sun to pick the food and pack it in crates for shipping. <br />
What was weird was generations of kids growing up thinking of strawberries and tomatoes as sturdy red nearly tasteless year-round even-in-winter foods instead of tender flavorful summer season foods.<br />
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There is wisdom in being prepared to eat, as long as we plan to keep alive. <br />
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Having not given my attention to serious food storage since I moved here four and a half years ago I am now calling my guilty self to repentance. Winter is on the way, although with temperatures in then high 90's to low 100's it doesn't feel like it yet. I am fixing to get us into a better position of preparedness before the cold winds blow. A years supply is too much for me to tackle at one go, and a years supply of say wheat and cooking oil but nothing else is not practical. I'm aiming to get together a 3 month supply of basic foods first. When I've got that I'll aim at another gathering another three months worth. When I've got a six month supply of basics I'll begin to add in extra non basic items.<br />
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What are your food storage/preparedness related memories? What are your favorite foods to have on hand? As always, any good advice is much appreciated too!<br />
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XOXO<br />
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<br />Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-77982425377603080642012-07-18T21:32:00.001-05:002012-07-18T21:32:21.354-05:00Random Pleasures Having been gently reprimanded by half my children for completely neglecting my bloggery I have come here to repent. My lame excuses are three: Firstly, I am very slowly adjusting to having an actual 40 hour a week job, which means there are 40 hours each week when I am not writing, nor even thinking about writing. Secondly, we have had three weeks of temperatures in the high 90's to 100's range and it is too darn hot to think at all. Thirdly, I forget what the third excuse was. There may have been something about not remembering where the camera is.<br />
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I have been specifically requested to tell stories about Aunt Madeline and Aunt Marian. I will do that when I can remember some.<br />
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In an effort to give my adoring audience something to look at and think about in the meantime, I herewith present some pictures and some explanatory text of original and extemporaneous thought.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGv3UDr6-we6SXjVJnmuLCo6oJxbmca80LMUJdk7jumtA3PZSy0qMWOufrRhFM8c9Z0PXR6XtdGD8Lzlj8_rsUitTYBTCWd3sPDona2E1WShM9FMDOPttTWW3wXxqpQTp45xYUNi9ffDr/s1600/fave+book+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGv3UDr6-we6SXjVJnmuLCo6oJxbmca80LMUJdk7jumtA3PZSy0qMWOufrRhFM8c9Z0PXR6XtdGD8Lzlj8_rsUitTYBTCWd3sPDona2E1WShM9FMDOPttTWW3wXxqpQTp45xYUNi9ffDr/s320/fave+book+cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the cover of what I call my colorbook. It began life as an interior decorating book by Dorothy Rodgers who was the wife of Richard Rodgers the famous songwriter. No relation at all to my father and his sister of the same names. It is a thick book with lots of illustrations one or two of which I like. It also has hundreds of pages of lovely heavy paper, suitable to be colored or painted on and pasted to.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFP4efGmsH4qBPfSLamMAtJJVIJzAmZmp7b-IliiWEaNZRlpuFItJIa4QXe1wGK784MsZIRPZu_puV28KSyrgn8VOGAwf9b5ME6_ftY9NwBySt2gB_wT64HnpPzLDIc4z9EuQ8aA8vv_3G/s1600/music+leaves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFP4efGmsH4qBPfSLamMAtJJVIJzAmZmp7b-IliiWEaNZRlpuFItJIa4QXe1wGK784MsZIRPZu_puV28KSyrgn8VOGAwf9b5ME6_ftY9NwBySt2gB_wT64HnpPzLDIc4z9EuQ8aA8vv_3G/s320/music+leaves.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Which naturally brings us to leaves cut and colored from a stack of dilapidated choir music for the purpose of pasting them into my colorbook. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7s7bxcwxd-ktZwnKn2hzgl1ndRCRxbsf66w8rpxyPh4uzXrmUXt5rBsrLqgBiI1KFGL2uQZF7TkRXflfzc6ON3q61Iin9DKutHAFj69bANTjHyrmnLWnwucjjjc2rtQ6IycOfSZLLjWyK/s1600/fave+book1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7s7bxcwxd-ktZwnKn2hzgl1ndRCRxbsf66w8rpxyPh4uzXrmUXt5rBsrLqgBiI1KFGL2uQZF7TkRXflfzc6ON3q61Iin9DKutHAFj69bANTjHyrmnLWnwucjjjc2rtQ6IycOfSZLLjWyK/s320/fave+book1.jpg" width="320" /></a>this is as good a time as any to open the book and show the entry page to this odd volume of randomnicity. It is not a book with an overall scheme, it is just a place to play with images, colors, and anything else that strikes my fancy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPPXwLmw29zShP6l1r1kicltWSqA6x7qSeMbVMLLnC7jRGS3hn8D9OC6_tmn5FLG4QNyjsjboLc66ZViPoqmbcJiGixT1gAqB2ZCyHAvh_Bk2i0djf3vTWDwJurxyJeUB2RxgmD9iiao6/s1600/woven+page.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPPXwLmw29zShP6l1r1kicltWSqA6x7qSeMbVMLLnC7jRGS3hn8D9OC6_tmn5FLG4QNyjsjboLc66ZViPoqmbcJiGixT1gAqB2ZCyHAvh_Bk2i0djf3vTWDwJurxyJeUB2RxgmD9iiao6/s320/woven+page.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This included cutting out an entire page I didn't care for, slicing it into strips and weaving it into another page I wasn't keen on. Probably this was more fun to do than it is to look at. Lots of things are like that. Making soup and giving birth come to mind. Also dog washing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxbxUKYvm5Y8-SWQkGNtcZboRUid-KICXkvry0xNLGC2lMpSKuIROVi7Rl8CDmHDbAnWuaej7cYct-lFqmpzEtz9uWzGvgXX0ybTteLGO85oqmUNgSYzmCZTQoniukHZiVF435Airs-eK/s1600/$(KGrHqF,!oEE9ggNEJjwBPm1HLpd-!~~60_58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxbxUKYvm5Y8-SWQkGNtcZboRUid-KICXkvry0xNLGC2lMpSKuIROVi7Rl8CDmHDbAnWuaej7cYct-lFqmpzEtz9uWzGvgXX0ybTteLGO85oqmUNgSYzmCZTQoniukHZiVF435Airs-eK/s320/$(KGrHqF,!oEE9ggNEJjwBPm1HLpd-!~~60_58.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awhile back some nice person on Ebay sold a vintage Sunshine Family,although not to me. These were Mattel Toys nod to the back-to-the-land movement of the 60's-70's. Papa Steve seems to have lost his burgundy turtleneck sweater, olive trousers and stout brown boots. Doesn't he look cheerful in wife Stephie's little apron? Reminds me of a scene from the romantic comedies of my childhood. As a current back-to-the-land person I confess my wardrobe bears a strong resemblence to Stephie, but The Manimal clothes himself not at all like this particular Steve. For which the Saints be praised!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqXSqfue5wew9p8gQ_-VycXaxIjgwjWK255TGXpoCoiFtt-d7ag7x6UbrFwnTQIcMGaYJcHuAp13OKo9gNIAdyVZSRjCEmPhkocEN-lglP08IMm9p_EDTVWHolzRQeNjJw-L4XmYsPWma/s1600/$(KGrHqV,!q0E88giI)HwBPcyvNSEK!~~60_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqXSqfue5wew9p8gQ_-VycXaxIjgwjWK255TGXpoCoiFtt-d7ag7x6UbrFwnTQIcMGaYJcHuAp13OKo9gNIAdyVZSRjCEmPhkocEN-lglP08IMm9p_EDTVWHolzRQeNjJw-L4XmYsPWma/s320/$(KGrHqV,!q0E88giI)HwBPcyvNSEK!~~60_3.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
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<><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9lyv9Sp06IQ0THAU4uNMFZeCNnCspU4ILFT6XcBKqS1ULOzAmOQ_ML_GXggkuCUu2DL7UnGYm-bWt_ijwXjjk2u1b2PDaQ-Zmb7GUMG1qvVPV97rYvu_aVogs2Cq1I1z2aa3IcVyEcjr/s1600/393517_2559034449242_1055434766_2718627_218550035_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9lyv9Sp06IQ0THAU4uNMFZeCNnCspU4ILFT6XcBKqS1ULOzAmOQ_ML_GXggkuCUu2DL7UnGYm-bWt_ijwXjjk2u1b2PDaQ-Zmb7GUMG1qvVPV97rYvu_aVogs2Cq1I1z2aa3IcVyEcjr/s1600/393517_2559034449242_1055434766_2718627_218550035_n.jpg" /></a> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9lyv9Sp06IQ0THAU4uNMFZeCNnCspU4ILFT6XcBKqS1ULOzAmOQ_ML_GXggkuCUu2DL7UnGYm-bWt_ijwXjjk2u1b2PDaQ-Zmb7GUMG1qvVPV97rYvu_aVogs2Cq1I1z2aa3IcVyEcjr/s1600/393517_2559034449242_1055434766_2718627_218550035_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9lyv9Sp06IQ0THAU4uNMFZeCNnCspU4ILFT6XcBKqS1ULOzAmOQ_ML_GXggkuCUu2DL7UnGYm-bWt_ijwXjjk2u1b2PDaQ-Zmb7GUMG1qvVPV97rYvu_aVogs2Cq1I1z2aa3IcVyEcjr/s1600/393517_2559034449242_1055434766_2718627_218550035_n.jpg" /></a></div>
</><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This lovely lady is my new computer screen background. She's also my fashion icon. I admire her carefree hairstyle, her colorful dress and her perky and functional apron. She shares my fondness for colorful socks and simple flat shoes as well. I do think she needs a pocket.<br />
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It is time to feed a certain puppy and get some sleep before dawn. Another fun filled day of custodial work awaits me. I will use my scrubbing time to try and remember stories. Ok? <br />
OK!</td></div>
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Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-6592778832134174262012-03-23T15:31:00.000-05:002012-03-23T15:35:47.947-05:00An Orderly Life. ( Ha! )<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
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Like Jules Verne's Passepartout I adore ze tranquil life. I adore it the way I adore Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin...in a far off, timeless, we-never-met and it-ain't-gonna-happen sort of way. Magical and impossible. Meanwhile in our ramshackle valley I am feeling slightly victorious about the spring cleaning of the back deck and the front porch.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBzJFRgBKRu7-Kh-hcfhvLNdWgHYj8YF_77BZlabw8TsvsY3lly8CRrrcid511_YlyyIP6LRQi2m9g4SCgRtbx3zn7twr2aDTLw7oPlIIWL-eD9PWeBLUb6Ai2spNrguoudlI82EoXIDR/s1600/porch+progress+long+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBzJFRgBKRu7-Kh-hcfhvLNdWgHYj8YF_77BZlabw8TsvsY3lly8CRrrcid511_YlyyIP6LRQi2m9g4SCgRtbx3zn7twr2aDTLw7oPlIIWL-eD9PWeBLUb6Ai2spNrguoudlI82EoXIDR/s320/porch+progress+long+view.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The porch was once buried in tools, various equipment, a couple of fancy stove ovens, and a few ricks of firewood. Plus all the random junk that accumulates on porches during the winter when no one wants to haul stuff further than the front door.</td></tr>
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Now after a week and a half of work nearly half of the floor is visible. This is real progress and we're not done yet. Good things have been hauled to the newly built workshop. Yucky things have been burned. Recycleable things have gone to the recycling center.</div>
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I propose to make this a habitable porch, since a few days working on the sunny back deck convinced me I'd rather have a shady place for mid-day.</div>
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<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXWfbswIYK841zJwIq4-iVcUJ9gLZ4-zZHfR_P4a2Z_ROu-8rev7Pybets9Krcaaocdr_E-6PAom4ltdiZJVg782ouQtG1iv3JRcd9OVzWF8vA9YViBtoAbVD6tNPfydIyRWkftr2-fIhB/s1600/hutch+and+flour+table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXWfbswIYK841zJwIq4-iVcUJ9gLZ4-zZHfR_P4a2Z_ROu-8rev7Pybets9Krcaaocdr_E-6PAom4ltdiZJVg782ouQtG1iv3JRcd9OVzWF8vA9YViBtoAbVD6tNPfydIyRWkftr2-fIhB/s320/hutch+and+flour+table.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This kitchen hutch belonged to The Manimal's grandmother. For twenty years or so it has held a hodge-podge of oil cans, small tools, and such. These are soon to be relocated to the new workshop. Then I'm going to "steal" the hutch and also the charming little baker's table, and use them in my porch reclaiming project.<br />
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What I have in mind is something akin to my Mamaw's front porch, which is where we did a lot of visiting and stitching when I was a child. There were windows on three sides of Mamaw's front porch, and a nice glider to sit on, plus a couple of rocking chairs. There were shelves along the fourth wall, with calico curtains hung across them to keep sunlight and dust off the books and magazines stowed there. Reader's Digest Condensed Books and National Geographic featured heavily in the collection along with Papaw's many cowboy novels. He was a big fan of Zane Grey and Louis L'Amour.<br />
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. Mamaw and the aunties would sit and mend or embroider on pleasant afternoons, enjoying a nice breeze but safe from the burning sun. My cousin and I would sit on the floor where we could spread out our work. We hand stitched outfits for our dolls. We stacked together book-pile furniture for them. We also overheard fascinating conversations of which we understood very little.<br />
If you are a child it is useful to developed the ability of being very quiet. Despite what they think this is not for the grown-ups benefit. When you are very quiet sooner or later you will become invisible to the adults in the room. When that happens you are bound to be rewarded with fascinating adult facts and fancies from which you can puzzle together a charming misunderstanding of the world.<br />
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Well then. Our porch is not windowed or screened, but it is big, and I'm a good scavenger so I imagine I can make it habitable without too much trouble. I haven't a glider, but we have plenty of chairs and my Mama's little rocking chair can go out there. It isn't upholstered, so being outdoors under roof won't harm it. I think I'll put the little child-sized rocker out there, too. Grandbaby has finally grown into it. If I can't ever have a truly orderly house, perhaps an orderly porch will suffice.<br />
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ORGANIZATION: THE DREAM THAT WILL NOT DIE<br />
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I have spent (invested, wasted) a big chunk of my life organizing things. I find this to be great fun. I like to sort things. I like to create tidy systems for storing things. The one thing I'm not good at organizing is TIME. Many and many a year ago in a kingdom by the Ohio River I got my first Planner. I was married, housewifing, and mothering a brood of four precocious offspring at the time. It seemed to me that a planning system was just what I needed to make family life more orderly. This was partly sensible and partly a pathertic attempt to control the uncontrollable.<br />
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Over the years I've had four or five variations on the perfect-your-life-via-paperwork theme. This picture shows about 1/3 of the pages and forms available for my Franklin planner, which is typical of the genre.<br />
Yes, an organizing planner helped to a certain extent, when I was up to my pretty little ears in family life. Yes, it was also useful post-mommyhood when I was awash in a sea of academia for several years (although it did constitute one more ghastly heavy thing to lug around in my bookbag. It is abundantly clear to me that the whole planner idea would have been much more useful to me if I had a more planner friendly personality.<br />
I like creating systems, but I don't like living a highly systemized life. <br />
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The story of Rapunzel and planners runs like this:<br />
With a hearty heartful of excellent intentions Rapunzel buys herself a lovely planner complete with monthly calender pages, weekly calender pages, chore sheets, goal-planning sheets, car mileage sheets, meal planning sheets and a zillion forms for tracking everything else imaginable.<br />
She sits herself down at her desk reading the instructions and filling out forms to create a unique and workable system for running her life and her household. She becomes terribly, terribly organized and runs her home like a well-oiled machine for about two months, then she wearies of writing things down then whole darn day, wearies of looking things up before she can decide anything, and her enthusiasm begins to lag. Then it dwindles. Then it is gone. And she is left with a great supply of task-specific paper that only fits a particular binder.<br />
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Perhaps there are certain personality types who really take to having a well-planned-down-to-the-last-moment life. I am not one of those personality types. I am a see-what-the-day-brings person. I have finally come to realize I do not want to know today what I'll be having for supper two weeks from Thursday.<br />
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For awhile now my latest and fanciest planner has been sitting on the desk open to the same single page absentmindedly unused whilst life chugged on all around it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The La-di-da Planner</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Free IU Alumni calendar</td></tr>
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Meanwhile I have been using this, the IU Alumni association calendar that arrives for free in my mailbox, unasked, every stinkin' year. IT weighs aproximately nothing, and fits into a pocket or purse. In my new drastically simpler life this is all the planning I really need. The lack of structure suits my flighty temperament more too. I could even use a smaller one, but hey-this one is free. When I tire of the picture of the front of the Alumni Hall I can cover it with pretty paper.<br />
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Since I have a great lingering affection for my old planner, and also have a great honking stack of paper and forms for it (not to mention a purpose-made seven-hole punch and a huge storage binder for extra pages) I've decided to reincarnate the planner as a playbook. More commonly known as a sketchbook or artist's journal. However inconsistent I've been over the years at using planner systems for my daily life I've been very consistent in my inconsistent way at jotting down ideas and inspirations in my sketchbooks.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a small sample of my years of jottings</td></tr>
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The drawbacks of regular sketchbooks though is that all they are is bound paper. They're either plain paper or lined paper or graph paper, but not all three. You can't add or remove pages, and there's no place to put your pen or pencil. They don't fasten shut either.</div>
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My playbook on the other hand has the superior virtues of being user-friendly to persons of an artsy nature. It is a ring binder, and the pages are half of a letter-sized sheet, so it was easy use my 7-hole punch to add pages of drawing paper, graph paper, colored papers, etc. I can add or subtract pages at wil, rearrange to my heart's content. It has plastic sleeves to hold other papers, cards, etc. It zips shut against inclement weather, and the gusseted outer pocket easily holdspens, pencils, scissors, a set of watercolor pencils and a glue stick. Portable art kit. What could be a better resurrection for a languishing planner? No longer consigned to the shame of desktop disuse, it now gets to go places and do things.<br />
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In going through my stock (overstock really) of planner pages to set up my playbook I observed that the Task Sheets for January, February and March are all quite blank. I also observed that in all these years I haveset very few goals and have never Formulated A Mission Statement. I think this speaks volumes about my Committment To Excellence.<br />
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I have read a good deal on the subject of goal planning and success in life. What does it mean that all really successful businesses have a mission statement to guide their decision making, and that marvelously successful persons in every walk of life have a mission statement to keep them on course, and I little Rapunzel have got no mission statement at all, nor have ever had such a thing?<br />
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It means that I have been seriously remiss.<br />
And I truly do repent.<br />
Clearly I cannot go on with my life without properly defining what I am about in this world. I have thought about this for days. Thought and thought and thought some more.<br />
And then in a true Eureka! moment it came to me that I DO Have A Mission Statement. I have had one since I was a very young girl, since I first heard Rick Nelson sing Bob Dylan's "She Belongs to Me" and thought he was singing about myself.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">SHE'S GOT EVERYTHING SHE NEEDS</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"> SHE'S AN ARTIST</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"> SHE DON'T LOOK BACK</span>.<br />
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<br /></div>Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com3Bloomington, IN 47405, USA39.1714266 -86.518602239.1652716 -86.528472700000009 39.177581599999996 -86.5087317tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-75022190923777602982012-02-20T12:54:00.000-06:002012-02-20T13:03:10.522-06:00Embracing the Freegan Ethic Awhile back The Manimal's friend started a little restaurant on the town square. You would think one more restaurant is the last thing this town would need, but this one is doing well. It is a soup restaurant, they have several freshly made soups each day, along with hearty breads. They've cleverly located their shop smack in the middle of downtown where a lot of people work and where most all the restaurants are spendy out-to-dinner places. Working people are happy to get a hearty lunch at a reasonable price, or a warm and comforting supper before they make the long trek home.<br />
Straight away The Manimal thought making all those large pots of soup each day with all fresh ingredients would result in a certain amount of onion skins, potato peels, carrot root ends and such.<br />
Knowing his friend lived in town and had no place to keep a compost bin, and knowing the two of us don't produce much veg waste, and knowing our large and ever-increasing garden could happily absorb as much compost as we can produce or procure for it, The Manimal offered to carry away the restaurant's veg scraps as an ongoing project. The friend happily agreed. In our hippified college town anyone who does not compost at least has the good grace to feel guilty about it. The chefs were actually delighted to have us take on composting their trimmings.<br />
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We have come to call it his SoupWalla job. We supply clean five-gallon buckets with tight lids. Each day on his return from work The Manimal stops by the restaurant to give them clean buckets and carry away the full ones. On a slow day this will be a bucket not quite full of scraps. On a busy day it has generally been 2 completely full buckets, often it is 3. Fifteen gallons.<br />
Our compost bin quickly filled up. Then a second compost bin. We now need to build larger bins. Much Larger. Our laying hens have benefitted from especially good bits in the buckets. They don't care for onions, garlic, or mushrooms, but they're pretty keen on carrot tops, kale, lettuces, and they just love tomatoes.<br />
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It could not long escape our notice that the buckets we haul home contain food as fresh and clean as we would get at the supermarket. This is not garbage folks, it is not plate scrapings or the stuff from the sink strainer. This is lovely, colorful, fresh food. Occasionally it seems a potato or tomato will roll off the countertop and land in the bucket as well, I can think of no other explanation for the random appearance of whole unblemished vegetables in the buckets. They're a welcome find.<br />
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The chefs at the restaurant are in a hurry. Rather than spend a lot of time scrubbing they lop off the lower 3-4 inches or so of the root end of celery where the grit would collect. They also lop off about 5 inches of the tops where the leafy branchy bits are. This means their soups have the straightest most easily rinsed center of the celery, which makes lovely uniform slices.<br />
It also means our buckets receive nearly half of every stalk of celery. Not being a chef, and not being in a hurry, it is no problem for me to trim the root end and rinse the good old fashioned garden dirt off the celery. We like the leafy and branchy tips in our soups and stir-frys as well.<br />
The chefs cut off the tips and root ends of the carrots in a similarly generous manner. I would say wasteful, but since we're benefitting from it I'd be foolish to suggest the chefs trim more carefully wouldn't I?<br />
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Onions. They use huge onions, bigger than my fist. They seem to prefer the center third, perhaps to make rings of a uniform size? We get an inch or more from both tapered rounded ends of each and every onion. They use only the green leaves of scallions so we get the bulbs. </div>
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Last night the Manimal planted some, having read they'll take root and grow more greens. The rest I put in the stockpot. We've realized it's a sin to waste food this fresh by just chucking it on the compost heap. Both of us love soup, and we make it at least weekly, sometimes more often. So when we brought our buckets home last night I sorted and trimmed veg and put two big stockpots on the woodstove to slowly simmer. The smell is heavenly.<br />
Often I've read of the old-fashioned tradition of keeping a stockpot on the back of the stove and tossing the odd bits of veg into it, producing an ongoing ever-ready flavorful base for soups and stews. I never thought I'd be rich enough in vegetables to have such a thing.<br />
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Not far from the soup restaurant is a grocery store we call Ghetto Kroger. This is to differentiate it from Fancy Kroger on the South side of town, Very Fancy Kroger on the far West side, and La-Di-Da Kroger on the East side. Ghetto Kroger is the oldest of the four by many years and is in my old neighborhood downtown (which is not a ghetto, but is an old neighborhood where residents must survive the stringencies of only one bathroom per house and no garages). Many poor grad students live there.<br />
The best thing about Ghetto Kroger is the dumpster out back. Unlike other grocery stores in town the dunpster behind Ghetto Kroger is not fenced in. The grocers there hate waste, and they are well aware of the bin diving contingency of this town. They do have health law mandated rules they must abide by, but they are user friendly. If an orange is bruised or punctured in a bag of oranges law forbids the grocer from opening the bag and removing the damaged fruit. The whole bag must be thrown out. If even a single berry in a box of berries has gone bad the whole box must be tossed out. If a watermelon gets dented it is illegal to do anything other than throw it away. Although it is not said aloud, (for reasons of insurance I suspect) the persons in charge of taking things out to the dumpster do it with panache. Loaves of day old bread are stacked neatly beside the cooking oil receptical. Dented bakery items will be laid carefully on the lid in plain sight. Boxes and bags of fruit and veg are often stacked rather than just dumped in. The Ghetto Kroger dumpster is a grand source of swag.<span id="goog_1484783976"></span><span id="goog_1484783977"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This weekend the Ghetto Kroger swag involved huge apple boxes filled with many bags of clememtines, one bruised or damaged fruit per bag, And also nine or ten bags of limes, and an more avacados than we've ever had in the house at one time before.</td></tr>
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The hens turn their grain, the veg we bring them and the bugs and things they scratch up while free-ranging into the most lovely eggs with wonderful flavor and deep orange yolks. They make grocery-store boughten eggs look insipid. </div>
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It is the oddest thing that the more I search for a job, the more I study the enmployment ads, and update my resume and send out job applications, the more things present themself for The Manimal and myself to do <br />
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that prosper us and benefit us (and others) that Do NOT involve me having a jobby job in town. The more I fret that I'm not doing my part around here because I'm not bringing in cash money the more ways I am blessed with to save us money, to make the homestead better, and so on. Perhaps I need to dislodge from my head the idea that Making A Living = Making Dollars and Cents, and re-aquaint myself with the nearly pre-historic concept of spending time making a life,rather than spending money trying to buy a life.</div>
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I'm not willing to claim that it is The Mandate of Heaven that I remain forever unemployed for some etherial Higher Purpose. But I am beginning to suspect that the agenda my education so thoroughly drummed into me is perhaps not the agenda that matters in the greater scheme of things.</div>
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I came into this life just a bit to late for the Back To The Land Movement of the 60's. But I'm back here now, and trying to learn what to make of it. </div>
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<br /></div>Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-45092098444993887352012-02-18T15:30:00.000-06:002012-02-18T20:54:09.256-06:00Precious Tender Angelic Belligerent Ballsy Pixie-Child with FangsToday is the Birthday of Smallest Child.<br />
She is the last of the litter, and she hit the ground running. I believe she was born believing she could catch up with her older siblings no matter how much of a head start they had gotten by being born 2, 6 and 7 years sooner than herself. <br />
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Here are a few of my favorite things about the Lovely Mrs. S.<br />
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1-She does pretty things with her hair. Unlike many redheads who think "my hair is red, therefore it is pretty, lucky me" and leave it at that, Smallest Child has taught herself to expertly coif her hair with twists and braids, unusual wedding-cake layering of curls, clips and jewels and bows. Pretty, pretty.<br />
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2-She cooks. And bakes. She loves good food, rejoices in the bounty of the harvest season and has a proper and grateful respect for a well supplied pantry and a nicely turned out dinner table. Her family is in no danger starving or of suffering the dreaded diseases caused by a fast-food lifestyle.<br />
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3-She's the most hard-working person I know. She was a relatively slovenly child and a messy pre-teen, but somehow she grew up to have an amazing work ethic. This was not the result of maternal nagging, I am far too lazy to nag. Those who employ Mrs. S are fortunate indeed.<br />
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4-She's pretty on the outside, but she is not vain about it, is well aware of her "flaws" as she calls them, and is prettiest of all on the inside where it counts the most.</div>
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5-She's smart enough and ballsy enough not to let people push her around. This includes drunk idiots in the French Quarter during Mardi Gras and other people's spoiled children who believe grown-ups are to be disobeyed and ignored. I need never worry that she will put herself in serious danger anywhere in the world. I need never worry that she'll give me a fat lot of rotten, ill-bred, ill-behaved grandchildren. Mrs. S steps up to the plate and handles things.<br />
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6-She has excellent taste in men and her husband is an absolutely ideal match for herself. Even better she has wedded her way into the most terrific family imagineable. And they think they're lucky to get her ; ) <br />
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7-She's funny and good natured. I gave my kids a rather bohemian upbringing. She's been met with more challenges, odd decisions and ruts in the road of life than many her age, but she laughs in the face of disaster and smiles her way through whatever fate chooses to present itself, perpetually using her vivid imagination and nimble fingers to spin straw into gold.<br />
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Happy Birthday Smallest Child-it's been a lovely quarter of a century!Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-30578240358795609122012-02-15T16:55:00.000-06:002012-02-16T21:43:57.888-06:00Stitching and Digressions More mending to do today. It's still snowy out, with a promise of rain this afternoon which will lead to seventeen acres of winter mud, so being in the loft with my hand sewing where I can see the weather but not feel it is lovely. The view out my windows is entirely sky and treetops, so it is a bit like working in a treehouse. The wood fire in the stove downstairs keeps it cozy up here, there is good natural light from the windows but lamps aplenty if I need them. and obviously the wireless laptop works up here as well, or you would not be reading this.<br />
The dogs, the rabbits and the cats are all draped around the furniture napping. (Except the rabbits, who are actually snugged away in their secret corner and I have no idea what it looks like back there because I respect the privacy of their hutch-space. No doubt when we build their outdoor hutch and I clear out that back corner I shall be appalled.)<br />
In the kitchen below me there's citrus peel gently simmering for a batch of mixed citrus marmalade. The warm summery smell is coming up to me between the floor boards. <br />
One of the things I love best about this loft is the floor.<br />
The Manimal built this house twenty-some years ago and slapped a quick "temporary" coat of protective paint on the upstairs floors. Somehow "proper" flooring never got to the top of the priority list or fit into the household budget. No carpet, no linoleum, no tile or parquet flooring. None of the things he and his then-wife dreamed of doing. All we have up here in my big room that was once the two family bedrooms is the long boards original to the build. They have a 20 year old coat of paint on them, plus everything that has happened up here floor-wise in two decades, so they look like this:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two different colors of paint and the jucture where the common wall and the doorway between the rooms used to be.</td></tr>
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This is truly my favorite floor of all the floors in all the twenty-some places I have lived. I love the fact that is is just what it is. I love that there's nothing about it I am likely to hurt with my sometimes messy artistic endeavors. Deep in my deepest heart of hearts I do not much care for fancy things. I prefer things to be simple and straightforward. Which may be two words come to think of it.</div>
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When I first moved to the valley there were boxes and boxes of parquet flooring tiles in the loft closet and more in a storage unit in town. Beautiful hardwood flooring, if you are into that kind of thing. Expensive too. The parquet flooring was the idea (insistence might be a better word).of The Previous Girlfriend, whom I think of uncharitably as Girlzilla. NICE flooring was part of her endless and ever-increasing list of requirements to make this house Good Enough for her highness to deign to reside in. (Note that before she came along it was quite good enough to raise three kids in.) </div>
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What can I say? Women who require a man to remake his entire life to suit them have a tendency to fade away, and rugged life in the hinterland is unsuited to ersatz royalty. Girlzilla did not reside here after all. When she faded away the ton of parquet flooring remained in her wake. Ok, not a ton. I am probably exaggerating for dramatic effect. Let's see......oh, it's more like 2400 pounds. Sixty pounds a box. Oy.</div>
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It was a very happy day for me when I was able to (after muuuuuuuch discussion) convince The Manimal that rather than install the flooring up here (which would have been a hideous amount of work) and begin the long process of turning this space into a fancy room it would be better to let his oldest son (the Wild One) take the 40 boxes of floor tiles to his land in the next county for a house he was rennovating. I was happy to see the flooring go. Happy not to have the loft turn into a place with shiny polished floors that need "taking care of".</div>
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I've been mending The Manimal's jeans. Happy work, this. They start out very stiff and very black, gradually become softer black, then dark grey, then dark grey with worn spots. Eventually they are medium grey with holes. They have never gotten to light grey, they fall apart long before that. When the holes start to appear I add patches and reinforcing stitches here and there as needed. When we get to where all his trousers are patched it is time for a new pair. I think the next time he gets new jeans I'll embroider the date inside the waistband so I can see how long they actually last. I'm curious.</div>
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Having grown up in the hippie era The Manimal is both allergic to formal clothing and quite fond of patches, so I don't have to try to find matching bits of cloth or exact matches of thread for the hundred grey tones the fabric devolves into with time. In fact his color preference for patches is "the more the merrier, but no pink."<br />
This is a pleasant thing for me as I was raised by a large matriarchal tribe of stitching women, and nothing pleases me more than a bit of freespirited darning and patchworking. <br />
I do not remember ever visiting any of my aunties houses without there being some bit of sewing going on, whether it was pillowcases being embroidered for a church bazaar or a wedding present (it was always His and Hers in those days), a dress being made, a blouse yoke being crocheted or a pair of dungarees being mended. At Mamaw's house most often it was a quilt top being patchworked or appliqued or else the quilt frame was up and a half dozen women were gathered for a quilting bee. <br />
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This matriarchy of my grandmothers, mother, aunties and adult cousins were mostly married with children. They loved their menfolk dearly, but it was quite clear to me that the men were not the center of anyone's existence. Despite the theoretical patriarchal structure of our churches the women and men lived in separate but slightly overlapping worlds, and regardless of physical geography the women's realm was the larger one. As a child and most especially a girl child, I was part of the women's world.<br />
Men allegedly ran the world in those days I am told, but they weren't running the world I lived in. There were Big Men In Washington who did something or other. Men In Town did important things too, although important is a very subjective term and cousin Charlie the candy-maker in town had a far more elevated place in my child mind than the mayor, the president of the country or the bishop of the church.<br />
My uncles and grown-men cousins were variously sailors and truck drivers who were at home sometimes but often gone. My Papaw was retired from the coal mines and was usually outside, tending the garden and orchard, building things, teaching my brother and boy cousins.<br />
Papaw had built the house itself a long time ago, and added on rooms as the children were born. One by one as his daughters married he built houses for them on his land. I beleive there was not one level floor in any of the houses. They did however have charm. <br />
The whole unpaved road in front of Mamaw's house led uphill past aunties' houses straight to my cousin Pattycake, who aside from flaming red hair and an adventurous spirit had the added virtue of being my age. <br />
By 'my age' I mean just younger than me.<br />
The cousins older than me were sort of lumped together in a groups, as we'd all managed to be born in something almost like litters. When I was four or so there was a batch of cousins all grown up and moved to town or further, several more of high school age, a handful of not yet teens and a handful of gradeschoolers. Since there was a 4 year gap between me and my brother I qualified as "little". Those my brother's age saw me primarily as a little pest to be avoided. Being OLDER is a big deal in childhood, although not for any good reason that I could see. My parents were both the youngest children of large families, so as their baby I was forever destined to be one of "the little cousins".<br />
There were three of us, all girls. Me-the Chatterbox with my lank sandy dishwater hair, Pattycake who was named after my red-haired mama, and Merrycat with her thick dark tresses who was the youngest (I think) and also very much the prettiest. We three were the end of the cousin line. Younger than us there would be no more first cousins, only second and third cousins, which is something else indeed. You could marry second and third cousins, although I could not see why anyone would want to.<br />
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(Let us take a moment here to ponder the myseries of genetics. My mother was a redhead as were two of her older sisters. The rest of her sisters and all her brothers had black hair. My father's hair was black, like most of his siblings, one of his sisters was a redhead, all his nieces and nephews had black hair. <br />
My brother and I, with our ash-blonde hair looked suspiciously like we'd been heisted from a passing baby carriage. Why did we not get red hair or black? I have no explanation for this. Life is a mystery. My black-haired father had been born white-blonde but as he grew his hair slowly darkened. I waited hopefully for years for my hair to darken to glossy black like his. I am still waiting.) <br />
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My Uncle Dick had a garage across the lane from Mamaw and Papaw's house where he fixed big trucks. He would stop in to see if Mamaw needed anything, so he was the most present and most 'real' of my uncles. <br />
Daddy was the glass tank specialist in town, where they made liquid glass from sand then poured it out and cooled it and cut it into windows. He liked to tell stories to us children, and when he was with us at Mamaw's house cousins would pile on the couch around him to listen to the stories he made up about us. They were impromptu serial stories, our favorite themes being The Deep Dark Jungle, Homesteading in Alaska, Meanwhile Back on the Ranch, and Outer Space. The cast of characters would be whichever of the cousins were present for the telling, and the themes overlapped so that Pattycake might be landing her spaceship to visit Merrycat and Chatterbox on their ranch, and she would bring strange and delicious exotic foods from far off worlds. <br />
It occurs to me that the one thing all the men of my family had in common was an extraordinary fondness for children. As young couples they double-dated with their young wives and brought their babies along just to add to the fun. Truly, what could be more fun than taking the whole extended family to the Frost-Top for hot dogs and root beer? What could make the evening memorable more than a slightly feverish baby projectile hurling up his rootbeer in an arc across all those lucky enough to be sitting in the back seat with him? <br />
In our era parents did not waft about throwing out "I Love You"s like they do now, but they were present and attentive parents, happy to have us about, pleased to teach us about life, and we knew without a doubt that we were loved. There were no "career oriented" adults in my family. I don't remember even hearing the term. People we knew did not work to prove they were special, or to be wealthy, or to change the world. They worked to make a living so that they could have a home and children and grandchildren. Family was the point of life, and what we little cousins wanted from life was to grow up and have more family. <br />
In this day and age I suppose that sounds really odd. Back then it just sounded happy and fun.<br />
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Somewhere in my addled little brain I think I thought my life would be much like Mamaw's. I'd have a house full of children, and they would have lots of babies. They would all live around me, and we'd visit back and forth and have huge Sunday dinners together. As it happened I got four dandy offspring (one ash blonde like me and three redheads if you're wondering) and 75% of them live far away. The Manimal and I get periodic visits from my Oldest child, who lives closest and has 1.3 children,. <br />
We have occasional visits from my others, Middle Child in particular can be counted on to stop by as she and her Honeylamb move back and forth across the country. We love these visits. The Manimal's three bachelor sons stop in now and then, usually unexpectedly and on the fly. They are busy conquering the world. Our home is not (not yet?) the scene of huge family dinners as we have not (yet?) a huge family.<br />
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Which is ok.</div>
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Life is what it is, and I'm not complaining.</div>
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If I, like my Mamaw, had 35 grandchildren constantly dropping by, when would I find the time to mend The Manimal's jeans?</div>
Or blog? <br />
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Or design my own fabric and make a bunny?</div>
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INSIGHTS:</div>
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1-Rapunzel likes grey-haired men who build their own houses and who incline towards pack-rattery. </div>
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2-Rapunzel prefers unpaved roads. They keep the riff-raff away.</div>
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3-Rapunzel is NOT genetically predisposed to becoming house-proud.</div>
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4-Rapunzel loves black hair and does not understand why she did not get it. She thinks people who think blue-eyed blonde girls are the prettiest must be at least half-blind.</div>
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5-Rapunzel does not much worry her pretty head about What Men Do All Day. She knows if they want to they will tell her, but she's not going to pry it out of them. </div>
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6-Blogs with less text and more pictures are more fun to look at, but blogs with more text are more fun to write. This may be partly because when one's head is going-on 56 years old not everything in it is available to be photographed.</div>
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Ze Life, she iss Good.</div>
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P.S. My other grand accomplishment of the past few days has been to entirely organize and file neatly ALL of The Manimal's household and business bills, receipts and bank statements by month and by category.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because The Manimal is the sort to cram things higglety pigglety into his many pockets all the day long the receipts looked ghastly and were hard to read. So in a cheery effort to be a good helpmeet I got out my iron and pressed them into tidy smoothness. I suggest you do not try this at home.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actually I only pressed three of them. When I flipped them over they had turned entirely black. Apparently receipts are now being made of something other than real paper. Sheesh! Of course I did not proceed with the several hundred remaining receipts in the pile, I just smoothed them as well as I could with my fingers and called it good enough.</td></tr>
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This annual ritual of paperwork took approximately forever, or in real time two whole days. He is now prepared to do his taxes, should such an odd thought occur to him, which it probably won't this soon as the deadline is not until April 15th.. The following day I did my taxes, which took less than a whole day, and I'm happily awaiting my tax return. He's a last possible moment guy and I'm a file early girl. Opposites attract. </div>
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<br /></div>Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249867850350388127.post-54635902857434609322012-02-13T15:37:00.000-06:002012-02-13T15:37:14.055-06:00<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pGUwAAt0OD9NRoCfjZAKEkK_TfvadU5KHH9ZiefNoDTTm92TRqQVirguGimgQKfhDffjEbpbF6RILy5eJZkPZI-ZQR_kqZUv0IdDLZmDV6vgGBubdb95CDiPB2EovcCZ46VaOafnRzJe/s1600/COLUMBIAN+Print+Patty+Jo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pGUwAAt0OD9NRoCfjZAKEkK_TfvadU5KHH9ZiefNoDTTm92TRqQVirguGimgQKfhDffjEbpbF6RILy5eJZkPZI-ZQR_kqZUv0IdDLZmDV6vgGBubdb95CDiPB2EovcCZ46VaOafnRzJe/s640/COLUMBIAN+Print+Patty+Jo.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">According to the internet this is a Columbian Lithograph. I could not find a date for it, but it is like the one that hung in my Mamaw's front room just above Uncle Charlo's chair. As Uncle Charlo was blind I assumed he did not know it was there. It was Uncle Charlo who nicknamed me Chatterbox, after what was to him my most notable characteristic. By notable I mean the thing that made me stand out from my 35 cousins. If he had not lost his eyesight in a coal mine explosion long before I was born, he could have just as easily dubbed me Bruisy or Bedhead or Stickyface. <br />
When I was a chattery little mite I firmly believed this little girl in the litho was a photograph of my mama as a child. This in spite of the fact that I had seen actual bona fide photographs of my mama as a child, her extremely curly hair was never longer than her earlobes and certainly not long enough to braid, and the phoptographs were all in black and white while this child is clearly rendered in some old-timey semblence of living color. Logic was never my strong suit. In her later years Mama and I got on the subject of Mamaw's house one day, and she told me, "There was a little picture of a girl watching a bird, which hung on the wall over Uncle Charlo's chair. I imagine it was cut out of a magazine, but when I was little I always thought it was me, and Uncle Charlo said of course it was, look at that red hair!" <br />
<br />
From this story we may surmise that:<br />
1-Chatterbox had no grasp of the historical development of the art of photography or lithography. <br />
2-Chatterbox and her Mama both fancied themselves the center of the known universe. <br />
3-Great Uncles tell charming fibs to little children.<br />
4-Our Irish ancestry lives on in the form of flaming hair generation after generation.<br />
5-Clearly someone had told Uncle Charlo there was a picture of a little girl hanging above him and he felt no objection to this because either he felt very secure in his manhood or he didn't give a flying fig about cutesy-poo baby art.<br />
<br />
Discuss this amongst yourselves.<br />
<br />
(I love saying amongst.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Rapunzelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18381797135241461102noreply@blogger.com4