teeny tale: no rules

she asked him why he was just standing there. because I don’t like hiding in the dark he said. then don’t hide in the dark she said, just find someplace that’s not dark to hide. But then you’ll find me easily & it will just turn into a game of tag. oh. how about freeze tag then, she asked. & he said he didn’t like standing in one spot for too long. so they decided to just chase each other around & found it was better than any game with rules they had ever played before.

teeny tale: how much i love you

he asked me where the sunshine was & asked where i had been hiding it. i told him i wasn't in charge of the sunshine, or at least mine. he didn't understand. & i told him he was the one in charge, because, he is my sunshine.

teeny tale: magic trick

she wondered why he decided to wear only white shirts & he told her it was because he and the rainbow weren’t getting along these days, besides colors are frilly. & then she reminded him that white is a color, it’s actually the combination of all colors, you just don’t see white. he said he had to go & when she looked up she couldn’t see him.

Finish & Hang

teeny tale: green wishes

when i asked her why she wished on straw wrappers she said because she was running out of eyelashes, but then she told me that she's never been one for 50/50 chances. & she decided to go back to blowing her wishes away instead of throwing them out. she said it was a more green way to wish, & besides, her eyelashes always grew back pretty fast anyway.

Birdie Curtain Update.

It was nearly four months ago, in my grocery store thoughts revisited and a few iLikes post that I made mention of my sketched-birdie print fabric I swooped up at IKEA. I'm embarrassed by the amount of time that has lapsed since then and now. But, I am happy to report that this little project is underway at last and nearly finished: I have only a few steps left.

My procrastination ended with the very first step of throwing this hunk o' fabric in the wash: Washing the fabric and drying it on the highest temp. possible ensures that if I am to ever wash my curtains, the fabric wouldn't shrink and throw off the original measurements and ruin my creation. Washing the curtains: Completed. The next set of obstacles that stood in the way of really getting this project going, were measuring the window, then cutting the fabric (which I had purchased as one ridiculously long, cumbersome piece of fabric) into two identical pieces that would sit together quite perfectly. That step: Done. Then it was off to iron my giant squares.

(Note: It's helpful to pin with the ends pointing toward you to pull them out quickly and easily when you're cranking out your A lines.)

My crisp linens now were to be backed up to one another (good sides facing in) and pinned. My trusty Shark Pro was threaded and ready to go. A press of the foot pedal and I was off to make, what essential is, an over-sized pillowcase. Although a very easy task, an abbreviated moment of terror and insecurity washed over me: I didn't want to mess up my pretty little birds. I got over it quickly. Besides, I had made boxers and a drawstring bag in middle school, why wouldn't I be able to handle sewing three, eventually four sides of fabric together.

I decided to fold and iron the bottom and stitch up and

finish off my mighty pillowcase, ahem, curtain.

One fine rectangle if I do say so myself...

Next step: Sew a pocket for the rod and adhere the ribbon (a.k.a. "the finishing touches" noted here: staple guns, chicken-head wine and zippers) to the front and back to complete my tweety tie-up curtain.

Want to do the same? I pretty much just went ahead and did this without consulting directions or much advice, which is typical. But if you're the direction type this may help: How to Make Tie-Up Shades.

Final results to come...

find your pulse.

My days of late have been void of sun (as you may have picked up in another one of my recent posts). Sun seems to have a magical effect on people. No, they don't grow taller or become He-Man--She-Ra for the ladies--strong, but they do grow smiles, and that's magic enough for me. (Magic, vitamin D, it's all the same.) So, when the sun decides to take a vacation during summer, faces fall, pleasant greetings drop to the gutter, and the living pulse around town falls flat. 

Exhibit A.

This morning brought a pleasant change. If you've ever lived in an old home, you know what it's like when your abode is straining, giving all of the power it has until it falls, slightly, flickering every light, rebooting, calling your attention for just that moment. As I stood in my hallway and looked to the spare bedroom I witnessed the outdoors doing just that: rebooting, regaining its pulse. Light. Dark. Dim. Light. Inhale. Exhale. Pause. Inhale. It's as if life were being blown into that room, then sucked back out. It began to breathe. An invigorating breeze woke the sheers and asked if they'd like to play. I couldn't get enough of it: morning breath, alfresco. Today, the air is more alive, the trees are dancing and life outside has regained its pulse. And so have I.

p.s. Plus, I had the best morning pony in the world (Please reference Exhibit A. above). Today is going to be one fine day.

have a seat.

faded reverie

It’s been a very drab summer, uncharacteristically so. Today may be the first time I’ve seen the sun shining for more than 20 consecutive minutes this week: I believe it’s going on a few hours now. As the sun made its hesitant, mid-afternoon reveal, my music selection did a little quick-change in response: Noah and the Whale, M. Ward, Sea Wolf, Wilco, The Shins, Calexico & Iron & Wine, Arcade Fire and even Modest Mouse came to visit. Sun + Sweet-tea music = a delightful reverie:

Boy and girl speed down a tree-lined dirt road bike-bound. Untamed and unruly fields of grain fall steps behind the sweeping willows. Boy chases girl on bike. Girl chases boy back. Bikes drop in the field of tall grass and the two run clumsily toward a babbling brook. Boy pushes girl in water. Girl pushes back. Each wander knee deep. Splashing ensues until each fall completely in. Soaked head to toe, there’s no care for the clothes that are now completely drenched, and they laugh out loud. Bending over, water drips from the tips of the girl’s longest lock. The boy helps the girl navigate the stone-filled brook bottom, and with a weighted step they find the tall grass they had abandoned their wheels in. Hand in hand, they lie down, motionless and in silence to dry in smiles and sunshine.

Lauren Dukoff (again, I can't get enough of her shots)

You have a red jar of cedar chips. Why do moths miss the forest?

I decided to see what "random question" I would be presented with to answer on my Blogger profile. The above was it. I was incredibly excited about this question and wrote the following as my response:

It was my very first insect-catcher: A hand-me-down Mason jar from my great uncle. As a kid, the jar was my backyard-adventure sidekick, capturing grasshoppers, crickets, ladybugs and anything else that would crawl inside. After the death of my pet ladybug, Ruth, I learned a valuable lesson: insects need air, too. My father poked holes in the lid for me with an old rusted nail and hammer. I spent most of my time catching bugs back then, hoping I could create a small little universe within that glass container. I recall the evenings sneaking up on me much quicker with the new life extender my father had given my little jar. It was then when I discovered the beauty of fireflies. I'd catch all that I could and place them in my jar. Once I was sure I could keep them alive, I decided to have sleepovers with them; they were nature's nightlight, and now they were mine. After countless times of the same routine, I realized that the illumination was too bright: I was losing sleep. So I asked my mother to help me paint the jar red to dull the radiance of my pet flies (although I preferred to call them fairies despite what my brother said). The new color change helped. And life continued on.

I've put my bug-catching days behind me, but my affinity and connection to the outdoors has never faded. I keep my red jar on my bed stand. It's brimming with cedar chips: It reminds me of the raw beauty the world around me contains. I still have the lid, punctured with holes; it makes the perfect scent dispenser. With my eyes closed and a sweet breeze pushing through the screen, bloating the curtains, the scent of cedar twirls around the room until it hits my nose, and I'm brought back to the days when a simple jar allowed me to hold the universe in the palm of my hands.

As for why moths miss the forest: They're sick of dying in Mason jars. The End.

I then went to submit it and was warned that it must be "at most 400 characters." Ha! I'm well over that. As you may know, I'm not one for abbreviated answers.

p.s. In case you were wondering, this story is not real. It's just a fictional answer to this random question, which I decided to do in story form.

leave the skull and crossbones on the bedroom floor.

I begin by saying my dwelling has an abundance of reading materials. For instance, right now on my coffee table are the following: Say It In French, Say It In Italian, Design Your Life, ReadyMade, Real Simple and Wired magazine. The problem is not that I never have anything to read, it's that I never have the time to read. But, with that said, I did find some time to enjoy the latest issue of Wired. I'll be honest, I seemed to be attracted to this one for some particular reason. Could it be that the picture of BP on the cover is the sexiest shot I've ever seen of this man? Not necessarily. Yes, I was allured by the squinting eyes and furrowed brow, but that freaking contraption in his ear had me furious. Why ruin what would otherwise be the perfect photo? Ahh, I took the bait. Rule No. 52: "Ditch the headset. He can barely pull it off--and you are not him." And so the adventure within the matte cover began.

The reason I'm getting into this now is that I just returned from the co-op where I noticed a girl in the line over from me. She wore a pair of white boxers designed, oh so fashionably, with skulls. On top was an over-sized plaid flannel of reds and tans, tamed by a leather wrap belt with metal studs. To top it off, a trucker hat pinned down the blonde low-hung ponytail. She was a cute girl, slim figured...but really? Just because you saw Nicole Richie or some other celeb splashed across People with a similar getup doesn't mean you should too. Do not mistake these individuals as fashionistas: Gain some common sense and become your own. Can't you see yourself in the mirror? I just couldn't imagine that she saw her reflection and thought, This outfit is killer. What's more, that was probably just her I'm-going-grocery-shopping look. My final bit of banter: The worst part about it, is that in all its misery, the "look" seemed to be thought out. It's one thing to run out of your house to the grocery store in skull boxers and a flannel because you're about to eat your own arm due to starvation, but it is quite another to consciously do so.

I leave you with some new rules you should consider applying to your everyday life routine:

• Friend your boss. But not your boss's boss. Follow them both on Twitter.
• Don't use a photo of your child as your profile picture.
• Don't lie with your Facebook photo. 
• Balance your media diet. (FYI: "Shuffle" is not a cocktail party playlist."
• Don't Google-stalk before a first date.

Want more? Your wish is my command: How to Behave: New Rules

overkill.

that's what all these photos are. time to be selective. time to start using words again. maybe time to introduce words to images. it could be a pretty union. maybe they'd get along well. maybe they'll fight like crazy. maybe they'll fight but have great make-up sex. or maybe they'll never fight only because they're too afraid to really get to know one another. so they walk through life side- by-side. sometimes bumping into each other, only to say "excuse me or "i'm sorry." too timid. too worried about getting too raw. too real. not knowing what they're giving up by not giving up enough. silence kills me. not knowing kills me. i hope my two passions can live together in a kind of deconstructive-constructive kind of way. build each other up. break each other down. and then become better because of it. and repeat. i guess we'll see how things go...

That's Amore.