house wren studio

topiary

from the nursery.

from the train.

so close

Our Erin lives about four hours away from us. Sounds close enough that we would be going to visit all the time, but she works long hours and the weekends tend to fill up quickly. I want her to enjoy life with John Paul, friends in Boston, have that down time that will recharge her for work. We don't go up there very often- feeling like we will use up that space.

I'm always going on about Mo as if she were an only child. She's the baby, it's easy to focus on her life still playing out in our home- or nearly so. All three girls are special, precious, remarkable, so dear and so different. It gets harder to tell funny little anecdotes about them as they grow up and head off to worlds of their own making. Kind of not my place somehow. I can't even describe what it is that Erin does now. Her work at a not-for-profit boggles my mind, and I would not do it justice trying to explain it. Her compassion and intelligence, her determination to be a caring daughter, sister and partner, her sincerity about her place in the world- I do know about that- and yes, we are proud of her. And we miss her as much as that little Mo, off to another year of college. Thank heavens that Maggie can still be reeled in for an occasional dinner at home! 

This morning Erin called me and then her dad out fishing to say that she was in the NY area at a memorial service for a colleague. Feeling the proximity, just wanted to check in and say hi. How odd that in his boat twenty minutes earlier, her dad had been less than 200 yards off shore from where she was at the service. He could have waved- she could have looked out the window, picked out his boat and waved also. But he was already farther away back toward home. How strange that seems.

In this photo she waves the way she did as a little girl, walking backwards into kindergarten, never taking her eyes off me until she had to open a door and go in. That never changed. I was worried about it when she was young, I am grateful for it now. I wish I had been close enough to wave today. Sometime very soon, sweet girl. We're there.

a pin for everything

Thanks so much for all the enthusiasm about the tea-mice. They seem to be finding their way quite happily from Amy's guest house to new homes. So on to the next project. Though just when I think I have everything figured out, a new wave of to-do's comes in to take the place of the old. Always something to consider in the middle of the night. Sometimes I think it would be better to work all night (as mice often do) and then sleep all day- or part of it anyway. I'm a great napper.

Don't you love this little vintage pin cushion? It's a teensy- super tiny, teensy- crocheted, tatted or knotted hat embroidered with ribbon roses and filled with a cork. Simply adorable. I keep 7 hatpins in it and when I am overwhelmed, I take them out and rearrange them one at a time like the days of the week, the things to do. Not sure why, but it makes me feel like I'm on top of it all again. Mistress of my very small, doll-sized universe once more. Little by little. Pin by pin. I can do this. And all that, too.    xoC   

mice and nice

Never even met her, but I do love Amy....Amy Powers from Inspire Co. She is so genuinely kind-hearted and well, so nice. I made these little sweeties for her and her darling shop. They look like they just woke up- quite happy to greet the day, ready to get out and make some playful mischief. Maybe one will come to your kitchen and smile at you when the sun streams in and the tea kettle is singing....hoping you'll go over and see if one strikes you as kind of nice. {Be sure to click on the name of each mouse and read the brilliant and clever bio's that Amy gave to each one. Thanks so much, Amy!}

I am flattered that a few kind souls nominated me for that award, Nice Matters. Yes, nice really does matter- it makes a difference. I think all the bloggers I've connected with are that way- which is what has made this so much fun. So, I'm giving the award back to you...all of you, each so nice and then some. xoC

still summer

Today was spent making holiday designs and looking toward the fall, then winter. Tomorrow I am going to play with my new thrifted sewing trims and go back to enjoying summery things.

Like the Farmer's Market! Tomatoes, corn, basil, cilantro, homemade chutneys, jams, and maybe still some cherries. The two of us polished off a perfect blueberry and peach tart that I made from last week's visit. I think we should go with Gazpacho this time. (And then maybe a cherry tart.)

Happy summer Saturday to you too. xoC

sock kitty

Every once in a while I open a box of things that I packed up to save for whatever reason. There are lots of those boxes. I really want to downsize, but don't know what to do with all the things I think I should save for the girls. Today was not a good day to look at baby treasures and toys, but this one always makes me laugh more than cry. I made it in 1978 for Erin from an old sock orphaned in the wash. Sock Kitty has had a hard life from the beginning- although she was and is loved. But seriously, it took some imagination to play with this sad-faced little sock kitty. Who would have picked her from the mass of sweet colorful toys begging to be played with every day? She looks so dingey, so forlorn- not a speck of pink or a ribbon anywhere. I can't imagine a child thinking, O, kitty! let's play! And I can't remember how much Erin or her sisters cared for her when they were little, except that she's still here. Probably more my attachment than anything else.

A friend recently sent me that book Sock and Glove to reference for a new project we were brainstorming. (I still want to do another book.) It is a darling concept, creations from cast-off socks and gloves except that those charming softies are so bright and clean. Someone needs to cart them around town a little, take them into the garden or the playground, show them some real kid-lovin' like this adored storybook toy. Sock Kitty sure had enough of that, now all grey-on-grey, pilly and smudgey, but she's still doing her bit making us smile. So she's out of the box, perched on the studio shelf today. Queen of all the other handmade cuties beside her. I'd say our dear Sock Kitty's definitely earned her keep-ing.   xoC 

drifting into blue

Somehow this summer just drifted away like it was floating on endless, rippling days- slow and lazy. Now it's nearly the end of August. She's packing. And then she's going back.

This is my postcard from the edge of Blue. Won't stay here long, should be a short stop on the annual tour. Lots of kisses and hugs and tears tomorrow. I'm one who wishes it was a big yellow bus that would bring her back again at the end of the day. And then we could make frames with that bag of shells still sitting on the porch or sit on the couch and watch the Yankees play or..... really, anything at all, just be here.   

slices of yellow and orange

Looking around, cutting, pasting, time wasting. Fun though. Revisiting adventures to Cartagena, Chinatown, New York and New Jersey. Oh- and please don't forget to vote. xoC

kantha

I love textiles and am always drawn to quilty things, fabrics with intricate or floral patterns, beautiful colors. When I was in college I worked in a neighborhood shop that sold handmade quilts to order. My job was to choose, measure, cut and assemble fabric collections for the special order quilts. I'd put the crisp bundle into a box and send it off to one of the quilters in the Ozarks. There would be a note about the requested size, pattern and quilting design. A month later, the box would come back with a lovely handstitched quilt inside, sweetly fragrant with the scent of the quilter's home. Sometimes a note would be included from the maker. She might write about her garden, what she was canning, a neighbor who came by to help with the binding, a baby that kept her from her quilting, whether or not she liked the colors and pattern chosen by someone else. 

These are Kantha quilts, handmade in India from pieces of vintage sari. There are 5 layers of sari sewn together with a long running stitch, sometimes patched in worn places, often with shadowy glimpses of interior prints revealed through the tissue-thin top layer.

The years of wear and washing create a softness that feels very much like the arms of a child or maybe a grandmother- I can't decide which. The makers are women in rural India, practicing a traditional craft and sharing it with those of us opening boxes so far away. They use what they have been given, have stories to tell and lives we can only imagine. Recycling these worn though revered bits of history for the gift of comfort and pleasure .....draped on my couch, in my hands, around my shoulders on a cool summer night. Like those Ozark quilts, each one so beautiful, intriguing and inspiring, the stitches run like cursive lines across the pages in a secret diary. Written in a language I have learned to understand and adore.

stacks

Thank you each and all for the many votes, kind words and good wishes sent my way. I am so grateful. Really, just so touched that you took the time and thought to stack up those votes. Safe to say that it's OUR cover now. So hope it wins - for you, too. xoC