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…]
Or more of the story, anyway.
Most of my wardrobe is thrifted. While I love to find things that fit perfectly in the perfect color and perfect cut, it’s rare. And for some reason, not quite as exciting to me as discovering diamonds in the rough…clothes that seem irrelevant but have untapped potential (like a dress that could be a skirt, or a blouse that would look great as the bodice of a dress). Or clothes that are way too big. Sometimes, the bigger the better. Bigger means more fabric to play with (think yardage), more wiggle room. Which was the original state of this shirt (“AND YOU! Friendless, Brainless, Helpless, Hopeless. Do you want me to send you back to where you were, unemployed in Greenland?”—Vizzini to Fezzik, The Princess Bride). [continue reading…]
This is not a Secret Recipe, nor even Deliberately Exclusive, but a recipe til now enjoyed by just a few. The “few” being a remote, obscure clan of hillbillies , plus a smattering of their friends and relatives and random passers-by. Julia Child missed this one. I’m pretty sure.
Aside: This clan, an intelligent, caring, mostly responsible bunch, reluctantly conceded to our sister Mara Lee’s assertion that we are hillbillies. None of us are typically willing to file into any category at all without a struggle, and most of us dismiss the notion of stereotyping altogether (personally, I think it’s abominable). Nevertheless. After my sister enumerated a long list of qualities universally accepted in our culture as Hillbilly, and showed us all with her usual savoir faire how we moved in that groove, we (the clan), were disinclined to further argument (especially after relishing a generous helping of Nana’s Swiss Porridge). Agreed. Yes. We are hillbillies. What is more, we aren’t (not one of us) Swiss. Further proof. [continue reading…]
I was feeling nostalgic today, missing my sisters…feeling grateful for them in a kind of homesick way. So, I’m posting paintings of one them. Andrea Jane. Here is a short series of studies I painted with oil on canvas, using Andie’s wedding photos and my amazing memory (= as references. Photos taken in bright sun; Andie is either glancing down or squinting (I call it gazing pensively).
Nora spilled through the front door in a frosty gust yesterday. Snow had found its way into her boots and was clinging to her leggings; her mittened hands were cold-nipped and her cheeks apple-red. We warmed her up by the fire. She calmed down and mellowed out…and was so darn cute (albeit a little soggy) that I had to capture the moment while her cheeks still glowed. [continue reading…]
EveryDay Bloom: Journal of an Attempt at Creative Living, Dappled & Imperfect. Possibly Ridiculous. 
