And then there were nine.

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We are down to nine chickens, from a dozen last fall.
 Kramer, of the criss cross beak went first.  We were surprised she lasted as long as she did.  As she grew, her beak got progressively worse and there was really nothing to be done about it.  She was half the size of the others, but definitely had the strongest personality.  She often wandered away from the rest of the flock, just doing her own thing.  She was quite fearless.  Ultimately though, she just wasn’t getting enough food to sustain her.  
 Butters, the large Buff Cochin rooster, was sent to the farm to live after he started turning a little ornery and chasing people.  
 Cuddles, aka, Rosebud aka Ruby aka Diana, the little soft grey chick that struggled along, then turned into a big, beautiful, white fluffy White Cochin, passed away after taking sick during that bitter cold stretch we had in January.  
She was everyone’s favorite, hence all her names.  When Brian came over to tell us, he was a little upset.  Edie was upset too when we finally broke the news to her.  Not as upset as when she learned about Kramer, but still sad. 
I suspect Ozzy misses her too.  I got a whole set of shots of those two snuggled up just a few weeks ago, as they appeared to be chatting under the back porch.
Well, maybe not chatting as much as Ozzy walking over and resting her head on top of Cuddles, appearing to console her.  Looking at these now, I wonder if Cuddles was ill back then and Ozzy knew.
Owlface appears to be our best layer, laying at least one green egg a day for us.
Although Ozzy isn’t too far behind.  Ozzy continues to be our funky chicken, with her lopsided crest that hangs over one eye.  I think she’s a Houdan breed, which is originally from France.  She is hands down, Edie’s favorite chicken of them all and with the loss of Kramer & Butters, she’s now the first chicken to come running out to greet whatever human she sees.
Their house is down at Brian’s, two doors down and yet they wander over to our yard daily.  It’s uncanny how they know who feeds them. 
During a warm spell last week I tried to capture the sights of the front yard – Edie plopped in the front yard, talking on the phone while supposedly doing her homework, meanwhile the chickens wandering about.
Just another day in the neighborhood.

That kind of day.

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I thought the yoga class started at 9:15.  It started at 9.
I thought it was an hour long class. It was an hour and a half.
It was yoga – I thought it would be like the “Easy Does It” class I regularly attend.  HA!

While I did stretch out some of the soreness from the workout the day before where I totally had my ass kicked by an instructor old enough to be my mother, I woke up this morning to all sorts of new sorenesses (I don’t care if that’s a word or not.  It’s perfectly describes how I feel.) thanks to that class.

It’s one thing to get your ass kicked by the perky little 20 & 30-somethings at the gym, something else altogether to get it kicked by someone’s grandmother.  

I futzed around at the gym afterwards, chatting with the friend that convinced me I should give that yoga class a try.  By the time I headed out, it was well after 11.

I ran some errands, came home and started cooking meals for the week for the families that I’m personally cheffing for.  (Another word I may have made up.) Spent the afternoon alternately trashing and then cleaning the kitchen.  Went to the garden to pick some herbs, was spotted by the chickens, most notably Ozzy, who came running at me, babbling away. She followed me all around the yard, chattering away.  She may have been looking for food, but I like to think she was telling me about her day.

I ran a quick delivery, came home and plopped down for a few minutes to just breathe.  Thought I should double check the address of the meeting I’d been invited to attend at 7:00 that evening.   As I pulled up the email, I noticed it started at 5:30.  The clock on the wall said it was 5:12.  I was still wearing the clothes I’d worn to the gym.  Which actually were the pants I had slept in the night before.

Muttering a string of expletives similar to the opening scene of “Four Weddings and A Funeral”, I took a shower, got dressed, ran out the door and made it to the meeting on time.  I think the universe stopped time for me for a few minutes to enable this.  This is the only explanation I can come with how I showered, changed and drove across town in 18 minutes.

I came home at 7:30 to find there was exactly one glass of wine left in the very last bottle of wine in the house.  I was so tired and sore it was all I could do to stay up past her bedtime, but I made it.

Thank goodness that day is over.

Weekend Project No. 2

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I made a skirt.
I made a skirt from a pattern I drafted myself.
I made a skirt from a pattern that I drafted myself that was not an elastic waist.
I made a skirt from a pattern I drafted myself with a zipper(!!).
With sweet orange lace at the hem, which picks up the hint of orange in the leopard print fabric.
I know from experience that heavier fabrics do better with proper enclosures versus elastic waists.  I tend to shy away from zippers, although I have gotten decent at putting them into clothing.  I realized that until this weekend, I had never used the zipper foot or the button hole function of my 3 year old machine. I am definitely a lazy sewer. Both are incredibly easy to work with – you can actually lock the proper buttonhole size in, which is a function I have never had in any of my old Singer sewing machines.  I cannot tell you how much easier this makes the process.  
I’ve made my own skirt patterns before, using elastic at the waist, which means the only thing that needs to be precise is the length of your elastic. I read a few tutorials about drafting my own A-line skirt pattern, both online as well as in some of the sewing & clothing design books I have on my shelves.  It’s a fairly easy process, one that if anyone would like me to share, I will. Otherwise, I will spare you the details and just let you admire my cleverness. I added a little too much ease into the waist and had to take it in.  It is still just a wee bit too big in the waist, but that’s fixable.  And bigger is always better than too small. I think my next skirt (because there is a small pile of fabric laying out on top of my ironing board right now, with several skirts planned because did I mention I’m sick of my wardrobe and have been sick of it since last October?  Well I am). I’m going to try using some darts to see if that gives me a little bit better shaping in the waistline, which I’m going to make smaller.
While I’m at it, I think I finally gathered up the courage to take this in:
Yes, I made that too, a number of years ago.  And it’s now far too big. This pattern actually served as a model for the new skirt.  I need to take it a few inches, but then it should be wearable again.  Which is good, because it’s awfully cute.
See?  Cuteness. 

Weekend Project No. 1

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Friday afternoon I broke into my fabric stash – notably the big trunk at the bottom of the pile that is chock full of winter fabrics – the wools, the fleeces, the corduroys.  (I not inclined to show you the pile either, as it’s not really a nice, neat pile, more like an corner that is piled and crammed and overflowing with ‘supplies’ for all my crafty endeavors that could be mistaken for a hoarding house.)  The shot I posted Friday is really not even a drop in the bucket – that was just what was speaking to me that day as far as wardrobe makeovers go.
This purple plaid has been kicking around in the stash for some time.  I think I got it at either an old SPCA rummage sale or Focus Flea Market (both of which are no longer to my great sadness.  More than half my house and wardrobe came from those two places over the years).  I’ve never seen anything like it.  I think it’s a wool fabric.  It’s woven and two layers – the plaid on one side and a solid purple on the other.  It’s a funky size too – a 35″ x 37″ square.  For years I’ve wanted to do something with it that would show off both sides, but couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer.  Until Friday.  I was playing around it, bemoaning to Edie that it just wasn’t big enough for anything fun, that I didn’t particularly want to put a seam in it, but maybe that was just what I needed to do when it hit me.
I cut a 6″ strip, hemmed the raw edges, added a very large button hole and voila:
 A fabric cowl.  Instant gratification.
And it’s reversible.  I pull one end through the button hole on the other end and it’s attached.  I’m utterly amazed at my brilliance.  Needless to say, I’m absolutely loving this.

Something New.

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I’m sick of my winter clothes, so I thought I’d make myself something new. And I’m trying out this blogger app on my new iPod touch. All sorts of new things.

That would explain the weather.

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The other day as I was puttering about, listening to music via Pandora on my ipod, a song came on that I didn’t quite recognize.  It sounded an awful lot like The Police, but the chorus was too poppy to be them.  Pat called down, inquiring what was I listening to.  I checked the artist name and called back.
“Bruno Mars”
“What?”
“Bruno Mars”
“You listening to Edie’s station?”
“Apparently so.”

I’m not sure what threw me more – the fact that my child had just inadvertently introduced me to new music or the fact that our music tastes have become similar enough that I can tolerate listening (albeit unknowingly) to her music for a lengthy period of time.

We have long prided ourselves on Edie’s musical education.  I steadfastly refuse to listen to her music in the car or over any sort of speakers that belong to me.  When we created the den and moved the entertainment unit into the back bedroom, she was finally allowed to play her music on the big stereo.  Up until that point, her music stayed in her room, on her boombox.  I played her Sonic Youth as lullabies, she has tolerated Smiths marathons on the part of her father & myself, our neverending debate as to which was the better Pink Floyd album, Dark Side or The Wall, was what taught Edie to just go put herself to bed already to avoid having to listen to that One.More.Time.  She came home from second grade, rapturous about a song her friend played, “Crazy Train”, had we ever heard it? prompting Pat to reach into the CD drawers and hand her the Ozzy Osbourne Randy Rhodes tribute CD to listen to. She can recognize The Clash as Muzak at the grocery store.  She can recognize The Grateful Dead playing both Bob Dylan AND Pink Floyd songs. You can never play “Won’t Get Fooled Again” too loud for her ears.

We thought we were raising her right, but there came the day where she wanted to listen to what her friends were listening to.  She’s developed quite an appreciation for Taylor Swift.  Pat is kind and humors her in this.  He’ll even listen to her music in the car. Okay, that happened because as they were driving somewhere one day, sitting there with her headphones on, singing along to her music, she sang louder than he could play Slayer.  Eventually, he gave it up and caved.  (And I’m sure that as he reads this, he’s thinking I’ve misrepresented him.  I’m sure he would say something along the lines of he’s listening along with her as to not entirely turn her towards the crap (okay, he wouldn’t call it the crap either.  He’d be much nicer about it, but since I’m the one writing this, you get my synopsis.), and it while it gives him a chance to check out what she’s listening to, it also allows him to show interest in what she’s interested in.  Yes, he’s a great dad.)

I’m not at sure how I feel about her introducing me to new music.  Really, it’s not bad, after all, I thought it was The Police.  Follow this link and watch his SNL performance last fall. That’s good shit.  That band is tight.  And full of energy and clearly having a good time doing it.  This may replace Justin Timberlake as my favorite guilty pleasure. 

However, I’m pretty sure me taking Edie up on her offer to borrow her ipod for tunes is exactly why it was 74 degrees two days ago and snow is forecast tonight.   

Found.

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Saturday afternoon as I was standing in my friend Rieman’s kitchen, I looked out and realized there was a great photo opp sitting there.
Despite the fact that it was snowing and cold, there was something beautiful about the day.  I actually woke up the other night at 2 am  mourning my MIA creativity and wondered how was I going to go about getting it back. For someone who’s goal in life to is to live creativity, this was troubling.  
I understand these things have an ebb & flow, but the last few weeks have completely and totally sucked it out of me.
I was really hoping that after the holidays, we’d get into some sort of groove again.  You see, since before Halloween, someone in this house has been sick.  That’s also about the last time Edie had a full week of school.
Holidays, sick days, snow days have all had a turn as to being the reason why she’s home from school.  This past week, she had a holiday, was ill with strep throat, had a snow day and then, when she finally went to school on Friday, was dismissed early. 
Part of why I do what I do – attempt to live life creatively, free lancing my way through life, juggling multiple projects, is so that I have the freedom to take off when she is sick.  Or on school holiday.  Or has a snow day.
I just didn’t think they’d all occur the same week. 
Over the last 10 days, thanks to all of it, she’s had exactly one half day of school.
She’s alternated between velcrobaby moments, where she wanted me nearby, holding her and moments where it would absolutely kill her to be nice to me, thank you very much.  At 11, she is starting to get very close to those teen years.  I remembered today that she started practicing her terrible two’s the day after her first birthday and it wasn’t the terrible two’s, they were just a warm up for the truly terrible three, which was promptly followed by four, which starts with F for a reason.  If it’s true that the toddler years are a glimpse into what the teen years hold, then we are screwed. 
And if she started practicing being two the day after her first birthday, then it would make sense she’s doing the exact same thing this time around.  After all, she’s been 11 for a week now.  Time to get cracking on that teen angst.
All of this regrouping and last minute changes mean that I have to had to regroup every week for months.  And this last week, this week of no school, well, it’s about done me in.  I’ve had some great ideas of projects I have been wanting to pursue, that keep getting pushed to the back burner because life keeps popping up.  And popping up.  And popping up some more.
On one hand, I’m grateful that I have the flexibility to scrap everything at the last minute.  On the other hand, scrapping everything at the last minute for months on end has had a disastrous effect on my creativity, productivity and inspiration. Among other things.
So feeling inspired yesterday to wander about the farm and take some shots?
It felt good to get those creative juices again, knowing they were there.  It felt good to be able to work on something without being interrupted, without having to stop and fix anyone a snack or water bottle or dinner.  It was nice not having to ask anyone to please keep it down, please can you not see I’m working or have anyone (everyone) sit in the same room as me and talk at me as I attempt to get something done.
The camera I have is a point and shoot- and while I’ve gotten quite good at manipulating it to take some great shots from time to time, it’s a point and shoot.  It’s not capable of doing some of the things I want it to do, that I know a nicer camera would do.  It doesn’t do well with low light at all.
But the black and white setting is quite forgiving.  Especially on a grey, snowy January day.
When I happened to find my creativity hidden amongst skulls on a picnic table in the snow.

January is anything but boring around here.

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A hawk got itself trapped in the chicken coop this weekend.  The girls were out eating bugs in the yard, so there was no harm done really. And I got some close up shots of a hawk.

Edie’s birthday meant a dinner/slumber party for more girls than our house can reasonably hold. And there were still some friends she wanted to invite that I put the kibosh on because well, our house is only so big. 

Our dining room is almost the exact same length as our table with 2 leaves in it. The chair at the head of the table is actually in the hallway. And you can’t pull out the chair at the foot.

When inviting 8 girls, it helps to include your daughter in the final head count, which is actually 9.

There is a high pitched roar when you have 9 girls in your house.  It stops for exactly 10 seconds when they eat.

How can they eat and talk at the same time?

When a cake recipe says it’s perfect served with milk, that means 9 eleven year old girls will drink an entire gallon of milk with the cake.

9 girls at a slumber party don’t sleep.  Neither do you really.

11 year old girls are more than happy to have Martha’s Moist Devil’s Food Cake for breakfast too.  I used some strawberry jam as filler in between the layers, so therefore, it counted as a fruit serving.  Or so I told them. I also told them they had to eat that entire cake so that I could bake another one for Pat’s birthday the next day. 

One can only have so much cake lying around.

I love how good Pat looks in his sweater.

Peach Pound Cake also makes an excellent breakfast.

Edie managed to find a way to upstage Pat on his birthday, two days after hers, yet again. It’s always something, starting with when she was born and came home from the hospital on his birthday.  This year it was strep throat.  So while we didn’t get a date night like I’d hoped, we still managed to find some time to celebrate.  And I made him a fantastic dinner – Lamb Curry from my More with Less cookbook and a peach pound cake, with the lamb coming from our friends the Roystons, no doubt some lamb that a member of our family helped bottle feed at some point, or at least we imagine so.  We’ve bottle fed a number of lambs at their farm over the years.  And enjoyed eating them.

And with that, our holiday season that started with my birthday in October just before Halloween, is over.  I am not baking another cake until at least March, so help me.

DONE.

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Two years ago next month, I blogged about how I had started a sweater for Pat.  Over the last two years, I’ve occasionally posted on the progress as it’s happened.  I threw out his birthday as a goal date to have the whole thing finished this past summer, half jokingly.  Then the other day, I realized I could actually make it happen. Yesterday afternoon when I stopped to do a stitch count, I realized I was rows away from being done, really done. So I sat and knit until I bound off the last stitch.
I still can’t believe it.  All those piano lessons.  Soccer practices.  Roadtrips.  TV show marathons.  Movies.  College football AND basketball games.  Bowl season.  Everything I’ve sat through but felt guilty about sitting still for, I picked this up and kept my hands busy.  Everything I’d had to sit through and wanted to use the time to be productive.  This is what I have to show for it.    I’ve not felt so proud of an accomplishment in I don’t know how long.  I set a long term goal and hit it.  Pat’s birthday isn’t until Monday, so I even have time to block it and properly wrap it.
Last night, as soon as I bound off the last stitch and cut the yarn, he tried it on.  At some point yesterday afternoon, it started looking too big.  A few months ago, I worried the arms were too short.  All worry for nothing.  It fit beautifully.  I snapped a few shots of him wearing it last night, but I managed to combine the photography skills of both my grandmothers and so I have a few blurry shots with his head cut off.  No matter. It needs to be blocked before he wears it anyway.  
I want to shout from the rooftops that I’m done.  I did post a shot of it to Facebook last night as well as emailed it to a few friends not on there or known to not check it regularly, which I suppose is the modern day equivalent of shouting it from the rooftops. I keep high-fiving myself.  I finally finished the sweater.  
The pattern is from Elizabeth Zimmerman’s Knitting Without Tears, with an assist  from this Knit by Numbers article on Knitty’s website.  Once I got over my math hang-ups, it was easy.  It’s knit in the round, from the bottom up – so there were no seams, just weaving in ends.  I’ve knit scarves more complicated than this sweater. It just took time and patience.  Lots of it.

They don’t like the rules either.

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I wanted to follow up yesterday’s post with what happened at our Girl Scout meeting yesterday.  The whole reason I continue to be a scout leader is because of the girls.  They love being Girl Scouts and that is completely and totally thanks to the experience I have created for them. Me.  Not the Girl Scout Organization, who get the credit for our name and some of the guidelines we follow, but me, myself and I.  I still do it because they ask me to do it.  And I’m a sucker like that for those girls.

So, my girls.  I do consider them mine, at least partially so, at least for a few hours a month. I knew the girls wanted to earn the Playing the Past badge because of what it looked like – pink with a purple castle.  I knew they thought that name implied they could do skits.  My girls love skits.  They do a brilliant job of them too, I might add.  When I started telling them in our meeting exactly what the girl scouts thought they needed to do the earn the badge, they didn’t even let me finish.  “Is this history class?”  “This sounds like homework.  You’re not going to make us have Girl Scout homework, are you?” “I have to build a model?”  And so on. You get the picture.  My own daughter threatened to drop out if I was going to make them play by the rules that this organization that is supposed to be all about them as girls doles out.

Needless to say, we once again threw the plan out the window and worked up our own.  The purpose of the Girl Scouts is to empower girls, “to build girls of courage, confidence, and character, who make the world a better place”.  I’ve been told time and again by those within the organization that our troop is supposed to be girl led.  Well, my troop certainly has that.  My girls don’t do anything they don’t want to do.  I love this and even encourage this in them, even if it does sometimes mean I come home and cannot wait to have a glass of wine.  Well behaved women rarely make history after all. But as I said yesterday, shouldn’t an organization that’s all about girls actually be more tuned in to what the girls of today are like?