And found that yes….a requiem might work as a melancholy retrospective. Still, I was also interested to learn that “requiem” has a longer history as a Mass for the Dead, or better yet, a Mass OF the Dead (repose of souls, amen). [continue reading…]
glazing everything in its path with a beautiful, high gloss. Sunday afternoon, the next storm dropped a new, thick layer of snow. As I drove to and from Salt Lake in the breathtaking mess, I searched for words to describe the size of the gorgeous snow globs hitting my windshield. Brain-stunned by their sheer mass, I could only come up with “hamburgers”.
(As shown in last Friday’s Wool Skirts and Leggings refashioned from Wool Sweaters)
1) I bought three wool sweaters at a thrift store. The bigger the better. Cotton or cotton/ramie would work too, but it’s winter, and besides being warm and tough, wool is classy.
2) I washed & dried the sweaters in my washing machine/dryer. In lingerie bags (mesh), to keep fibers smooth. This shrinks them, yes, but it also tightens/thickens the fibers so that my final product will be sturdy…and machine washable (but probably not dryer-dryable).
3) Using a favorite skirt from my closet as a template/pattern, I made sure there actually was room for a skirt in each of the sweaters before I cut the necks and sleeves off. A straight/pencil skirt’s shape is almost square, curving subtly around the hips. (I didn’t make a skirt out of the white sweater. I did use the arms for my leggings; the body waits for a later project).
(Unless you’re a guy, and you’ve got enough whiskers growing in just the right places).
So I’d refashioned wool skirts and wool leggings out of wool sweaters, like my friend Steph did so beautifully. I was tickled at the outcome; pleased as punch that I was finding so many things in my closet that would go with. Excited to show off my adventure. [continue reading…]
Inspired by my friend Stephanie’s beautiful wool skirts made from thrifted sweaters, I played with her concept. My refashion was fun that day (yep, the two skirts and one pair of leggings took one afternoon, the end). And the leggings and skirt kept me warmer than you’d think when we took the pictures…I’m so excited to show them off.
In all the conversations I’ve had today, the cold weather was the leading topic. We’re all cold. Some of us are happy there’s snow (I am), and some are just plain freezing (that’s me too). Seven degrees today–I wondered about the likelihood of frostbite this morning when I went for a quick run. My nose is extra long; perhaps it would be extra vulnerable? Apparently not. It’s still there.
Cold is both beautiful and terrible to me. I love what snow and frost do to a landscape, and I’m grateful that they are so reflective, since I’m missing summer’s light. But. When it is this cold, and I stand outside alone in the night, I am overwhelmed by the coldness and vastness of the universe. My seven degrees is a comparative (but very thin) safety blanket.
Besides crystalline beauty, cold also means isolation to me. Loneliness can overwhelm like a night alone with the universe.
And so, of course, I crave warmth. And company. In winter especially, I like to bake. Especially if I’m cold. Especially if I’m feeling disconnected . Why is that? [continue reading…]
Once upon a time this winter, Nora wanted snowman pancakes. I was happy to oblige, conditionally. They also had to be healthy pancakes. We both got what we wanted, with a bonus:they turned out purplish (thanks to a key ingredient: black rice). Juvenile dream come true: We are officially Purple Snowman Eaters. Great times in the dead of winter. The pancakes were delicious (Frank ate 6), and really fun to make with Nora.
I thought I’d call this post Winter Whimsy, but really, if I’m reaching for whimsy, it’s because I’m on the cusp of crazy, and I’m reaching for hope and light.
Hazardous, yes… We keep hearing the crash of icicles as they randomly fall around the house. And today, while Nora and I ran and sledded in the bright, frigid afternoon, we found a bunny trail ending in the middle of a field, with feather swoops marking the spot, and not a drop of blood. (Theory: people with scientific/pragmatic/hunter-gatherer minds are apt to call these animals “rabbits”. Girls who are sad that they’ve just been annihilated call them “bunnies”). [continue reading…]
EveryDay Bloom: Journal of an Attempt at Creative Living, Dappled & Imperfect. Possibly Ridiculous. 
