One day during breakfast, Rush said, “Tate spilled his milk.” But I didn’t see any milk, so we went along with our day. Later in the morning I moved the chair, and realized that the milk had spilled under the booster seat and pooled with an orange maker that was also hiding under the seat.
Then Panther tasted it.
People around here are really into accessorizing these days. From big, shiny, green poster board crowns to headbands and other people’s shoes-
-to dollar store glasses with the lenses popped out and bracelets and watches.
And I recently obtained real life glasses, because it turns out I wasn’t just being dramatic, I really can’t see at night. Here’s an actual post-post-glasses conversation between husband and wife:
Trent: You know who you look like right now, with those glasses and that cardigan?
Me: Someone awesome! Kate? Tina Fey? Michelle Obama?
Trent: No- [Name of someone from our church who is about 20 years older than me]
Super. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to do 300 push-ups so that next time I have that conversation with Trent, he might be distracted by my arms and get the answer right.
For years I have been nagging –yes, nagging- Trent to find something to do while he watches tv. If I could force knitting needles into his hands during football season, we wouldn’t be buying anyone Christmas presents because everyone would be receiving a handmade queen sized blanket. Trent has resisted all my ideas for keeping his hands and mind busy, but recently came up with an idea of his own when he turned this-
into this-
The safety ropes that people use when working on elevators can only be used once, so Trent intercepted this rope its way to the dumpster. He turned it into a door mat in one evening using instructions found in one of his sailing knot guides. It’s more proof that anyone in need of craft or home improvement supplies should periodically stop by a construction site and see what they can get for free.
I suppose I shouldn’t recommend that people stop by a jobsite, OSHA regulations and whatnot. So call ahead, maybe?
My sister, mother, and I have been excitedly working for months preparing for our craft fair booth. We had so much fun making designing and producing our products over the past few months. We named our booth Motley Fridays, after the two cats, Motley and Friday, that we had for 18 years when Casey and I were growing up.
Early Saturday morning, we noticed that some people would glance at us and walk right past our booth. It was kind of strange. I got up to walk around and see what was up, and after seeing our booth in the context of the other booths around us –hair bows, yard signs, Tupperware- it was clear that we were the hippies.
Fabulous hats knit by my sister!
A veritable orgy of Moomsters, the amazing monster dolls made by my mother!
Baby quilts, which could have been priced for $5 and would not have sold, because people did not look at them! (Shout out to Kate, who made the two white quilts.)
Once we realized that we were being seen as hairy legged tree huggers (and I had shaved my legs the day before- come on!) who would dare try to sell something like tea towels, we realized that we weren’t really going to sell anything. Even if we weren’t fitting in, we were being viewed accurately – we love trees. I made some of my items out of vintage and/or recycled material. That gave up the freedom to relax and spend the day people watching and making small talk with the people who did visit our booth.
After I came back from my stroll and reported to Casey that we were the hippies, she looked around, burst out laughing and said, “Oh my God, your Advent calendars!”
I made them and it may sound cocky, but damn, I love those Advent calendars. If they aren’t the style of our customers, well, okay. I still love them.
Then I looked at Casey and said, “You’re eating seeds!”
It’s things that are totally normal, like eating a delicious mix of cayenne pepper toasted pumpkin and sunflower seeds, that will make you a complete werido in the wrong crowd. What are you going to do? Basic life lesson: Be Yourself.
I had been to this craft fair previously, so I’m a little surprised that I misjudged the crowd so effectively, but I guess things change year to year. And people weren’t spending money; they would try on hats and rave, then walk away. Kids would hug and squeeze and beg for Moomsters, and parents would say no. From what we saw, I don’t think anyone bought very much at the whole sale, so it wasn’t just us. In the end we all sold a few things, at least earning back the cost of our booth. And the people who purchased items will hopefully be very pleased with their products.
But also, it was us. I’m not at all ashamed. We’re still proud of the things we made and we wouldn’t have made anything differently. We couldn’t have made anything differently. If you’re not using a pattern, you’re making what’s inside you and you can’t fake that.
Our only regret is that when we loaded up at the end of the day, we didn’t drive away in an old VW van.
Yonanas is an almost too good to be true machine that takes frozen bananas turns it into soft serve ice cream. It’s a delicious miracle, because I watched our friends make it and all they added was fruit, no cream, no sugar, and it tastes just like ice cream. We don’t have a Yonanas. Nor do we have a blender, as it recently smashed into a thousand pieces on the kitchen floor. But we did have a Ziplock full of frozen fruit that was intended for smoothies pre-broken blender and it was quickly gathering freezer burn. So I dumped it all in the food processor, added a little yogurt, and we ate ice cream –sort of- for breakfast.
Initially, before the yogurt was added, I filled the food processor way too high. I had to scoop out about two cups of little ground up bits of fruit and throw it back in the freezer. We ate that as desert a few times because Trent dubbed it “kind of like Dippin’ Dots.”
Somewhere my dad is horrified that I just compared frozen fruit to ice cream. Sorry, Dad.
Three baby squirrels recently ventured from their nest in the palm tree to the fence.
So tiny! They peeked over the fence and watched the boys for awhile before their mom rounded them up and got them back home.
One stretch of our fence has a number of symmetrical knotholes and it was almost impossible to look at them and not see faces. All it took to make that more obvious was a little paint. I think Jim Henson would expect nothing less.
Even after we kept our July 4th decorations up through the end of the Olympics, it seemed like a long, empty stretch of a house without decoration. But, similar to fog, fall decorations come in on little cat feet, or at least with little cat feet.
I found the bag of bats that I cut out of poster board a few years ago, so they’re back up and taunting Panther. Jetty is old enough now (5) that she’s too content sleeping 23 hours a day in our room to worry about anything dangling from a string that might need to be pounced.
Shortly after finding Bolivar, our first pet together, Trent and I learned that black cats are the least likely to be adopted from a shelter because people still associate them with superstitions and scariness. That’s crazy, they’re wonderful, sleek, and tantalizingly aloof. Well, aloof unless they’re kittens, in which case they like to sleep right on your shoulder and bite your arms. But I like to let my mind wander in October and start wondering what they’re cooking up, what witchy plans they are making…even though the reality is that they’re too busy sleeping on my bed (Jetty) or shredding every piece of upholstered furniture in the house (Panther) to be casting spells. And also, that’s not real. But, on Halloween night, when they’re locked up in our bedroom to keep them safe on the most dangerous night of the year for a black cat, I have to wonder: what are they doing up there…?
It’s a great month for imagining.
I’m working on finishing a few more crafts for the upcoming craft fair, but sometimes after I make something, I can’t seem to let it go. I made these spiders during the bits of the Democratic National Convention that I watched on tv (I’m sensing a pattern involving election year and my bag of felt scraps.) Now I’m attached and can’t try to sell them. They’re in love.
And I made a wreath. There’s not much to say about that, so, ta-da.
I’m dedicating this post to all the black cats I’ve loved and lost: Friday, Thursday, and Bolivar, shine on.
