Tuesday, July 27, 2010

more kitchen

Well, for anyone who was wondering if I ever got the outlet covers put up in my kitchen...














Yes, yes I did. Of course, you may note, it was not as simple as it "should" have been. First I had to remedy my design flaw (gasp! a mistake! surely not!) and knock out some of the little glass tiles and replace with bits of subway tile, so that the covers could lie flush. Some of it was fun--I do like to tile. But I do not like recutting the same piece three times. Oh, well. It's done.














Here's some action footage. On this outlet I just had to lay a new piece on the top edge. It was pretty simple. Except it broke when we were tightening the outlets back up, so I had to do it again. Sigh. The second time, I slid little bits of tile under the bottom "ears" as well, which helped a lot. Then I had to mix up an absurdly small amount of grout. Hence the use of the baked bean can. Which I thought was awesome.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

ever wonder?

You can tell a lot about someone just by studying their hands.
At least, I think so. Ok, so perhaps it's not entirely accurate--no one can change how big their hands are, for example. But otherwise...well, it's interesting to think about.
As it just so happens, I have a pair to study. Mine. (Of course, the sample size is a bit low, and biased, but cut me some slack. I'm ruminating, here.)
I have big, strong hands--for a girl. A dairy farmer would quickly put me to shame, but mine are good enough to open 89% of all jars on the face of the earth and that's something.
My nails are short but not ragged or gnawed, and my cuticles are the victims of benign neglect. They've never seen a manicure and would probably laugh at the very idea. Several of my nail beds have clearly been jammed in at one time or another, which you can see if you compare left to right.
Small scars from nicks, and cuts--all minor--and one pale streak on the back of my left pointer finger from my first experience with a chisel. Most of the women I know have smoother (and smaller, but that's beside the point) hands than I do. A little beat up, a little used. As they should be. What are hands for, if not use?
However, you can tell I'm not that tough from my lack of real calluses. My most pronounced callus is from writing. But it's on my ring finger because I'm weird like that.
So, what does all this say? I can draw conclusions because I know the answers. I know I work in an office and write a lot and...well, what else? You tell me.
Are these hands of mine special? Unique? Or all too ordinary? Yes to all of the above?

On a tangent: thinking about hands makes me think about handshakes. I got nothing but respect for my male counterparts...but I've shaken hands with a few "scholarly type" guys with hands like silk, and I just can't trust man hands like that. When I'm afraid I've hurt the guy with a healthy handshake...there are issues. Sure, you work at a desk...but does that mean you never, ever wield a shovel? A canoe paddle? Anything?
Hmm. That's a whole 'nother ball of wax. I won't go into that today.
And if you are a smooth-handed man, don't fret. We can still be friends. But...you may want to apply some sandpaper or something before asking me out on a date. I'm just sayin'.

Monday, June 28, 2010

the name game

Finally, after months of talking about it, I have committed myself to... (drumroll)

Opening my own store on Etsy!  (insert cheering here)

Yep, that's right. We're taking the crazy fun online. But I need YOUR help to do it. Really. I need help coming up with a name for my store. Who doesn't like to name things? C'mon, jump on in with a suggestion!
I'll be starting with a small inventory, until I can see how things go, focusing mainly on items made from repurposed fabrics. Namely, awesome purses made from vintage tablecloths and scraps of old upholstery fabric, and even more awesome necktie skirts.

Name ideas I've had so far:
Cherry and Dill: Peace, Love, and Repurposed Fabric (getting a little groovy, baby)
The Button Box (who doesn't like alliteration? but this might be too cutesy)
Spools! (if it ain't broke, don't fix it, right? but I'm kinda bored with it)
[blank] Salvage Co. (this one I like...if I could find a word or two to fill the blank)
Good Morning, Glory (does this scream 'grandma'?)
The Old Bag (makes me laugh, but not sure if everyone would get it)

Please, jump on in with an idea! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

a thoughtful thursday

You know that feeling, when you’re just trucking along through life and then something…crumbles. And just like that, things fall apart. Not everything. Just something—enough to make you feel off balance and aware of your terrible fragility. A bad news story. A relationship gone awry. An accident. A death.


I hate that feeling. I wish it never happened—or at least, only happened every once in awhile, like during an F-5 tornado. No one would feel wrong for falling apart after a friggin’ F-5 tornado. It’s simply what happens. And it’s not your fault—seriously, blame the giant life-sucking whirlwind of doom, man. There would be something wrong with you if you didn’t lose it.

But…that’s not how it works. We’re crumbling at the corners nearly every day. From things both small and large. I am beyond wishing never to crumble. Sure, it sounds good, but sister, that just ain’t gonna happen. I’m human. Everyone around me is human, too. Perfectly wonderful (wink) though I am…I’m a disaster area. Just like everyone else.

And here’s the rub for me, as a Christian. Logically, I know that I’m supposed to be ok with falling apart. I know that I can’t hold myself together, and I know that I’m really not supposed to, even. Broken is supposed to be ok. I’m supposed to live all messy and let things hang out and trust in the grace and mercy of God—that he’s got me in hand, and all will be well. Whole in my brokenness, saved by the paradox of Christ. Right?

And when trouble comes, and I feel part of my heart crumble like a stale cookie, I wish…I wish…

I wish that I truly could be ok with it. I wish that I could really let go. I wish that I could stumble through life not caring in the slightest if I have all my crap together.

Is that so strange? Am I wrong for thinking this?

Friday, June 4, 2010

the bedside notebook

The blank page beckons,
waiting to be filled with everything
I couldn't say,
all the half-formed phrases
tearing at my heart.

All the fluid, semi-shapeless dreams
and desires--
ambition without legs, genius without arms.
A mind without its own melody.

     And once again,
     I stood beside you
     and could not speak.

My heart is bleeding.
Patch it with paper;
stitch it with pen.
Rock it to sleep with this lullaby of looping, curving
letters and words and lines and

Monday, May 17, 2010

may and I

slow to wake, this
body of mine. slow to catch
fire
after cold solitude, all energies turned
inward for survival. no
more.
and it feels good to feel
good.
and it's impossible
to feel impossible.
here, now, when I cannot speak in
words,
when I can barely
move a
muscle, my only
hope of an interpreter
is the vigorous
pounding of my heart.
this moment is
everything.
and nothing.
slow burn. blue fire. hazy
day.
leaves unfurl. the cherries
blossom.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

deep thoughts and one-liners, v.4

I spend half my time lost in my thoughts...and the other half finding myself in them.