For pretty much the whole of 2009, my stuff has been spread out over the surface of our house’s nicest, newest room; “The Addition”. Fancy room, fancy name, I know.  We actually tried to come up with other names for “the Addition”. The only one I really remember is “The Lido Deck”, after that area on the Love Boat where it seemed like all the action was always happening. “The Lido Deck” never really stuck. I probably don’t have to tell you that.

Anyway, no one else really seemed to mind, but after a while having such a large part of the common area of the house overtaken by batting, and cutting tools, and vinyl and fabric and machinery gets old. It’s hard to create and really dive into crap when you have to stop and clear the table for lunch and dinner. It’s a distraction from the process when you know that you have made it so that the rest of the family could sustain injury, either from accident or “interruption rage”. (The phenomenon that occurs when the perfect storm of extreme concentration and frustration mix with the unreasonable request for dinner from an outside party).

We throw a fairly large Christmas extravaganza here every year (to be honest, these parties were the excuse for building the addition in the first place) and that pending event, coupled with the exodus of my oldest son from his basement domain finally inspired a change.

Jordan’s former room in the basement is bright and roomy- our house is an ancient battle ship whose foundation rises high off the ground and affords us larger than standard windows. Its semi finished, meaning that there are paneled walls, with lots of newer plugs for the sewing machines and iron, but more importantly, for the laptop and the iPod dock. I am able to have all my fabric in open view, thanks to an awesome Ikea storage unit that Jordan left behind. There is also room for a permanent cutting area/place to drop stuff when my mind is distracted and my arms are full. I list these features only semi jokingly, because I think it’s super important to know yourself; the practical things, like room enough for organized storage and an uncluttered view, but also you need to cater to yourself. If you are the kind of person who is going to need Hulu streaming, or music playing at inappropriate volume level to get you through your process, allow for that. If you know that you get so immersed in what you are doing that you can’t clean and organize as you go, give yourself an area to pile crap, and make the commitment to not let said crap to get out of hand. If you need a series of booby traps set up to signal and slow the progress of approaching children or spouses so that you can slip through a secret door into a panic room…but you get my point.

I know that a lot of you are limited as far as space. I am lucky that I was able to drive out one of my young and reap this paradise for myself. Barring my opportunities, you might try and carve out a dedicated space to work with what you do have. Figure out what you need to give yourself the peace to get into the zone, and give it to yourself, whether you have the room to make it permanent or not. Allow yourself a little luxury; it helps your mind relax and makes crafting more the escape it was meant to be.

That… or that perky tramp Julie just informed me that yoga follows the shuffle board tournament in 15, up on the Lido. Now that there’s room, that is.

-This post is insanely overdue, but one cannot control the timing of when she remembers what folder she put the photos in. So pretend this was posted a month ago. Thanks!

Megan and I went to Michaels to buy supplies for Holiday Shirt Making Party when I found these amazing cards in the dollar bin. I am not sure if I had ever seen such ugly holiday cards, so of course I had to have them. The rub, however, was in deciding what to do with such monstrosities. After discarding a number of stellar ideas, we decided that we’d write really bizarre holiday wishes in them, leave them unsigned, and stick them in the doors of some of our neighborhood friends.

In each card we wrote a message that ranged from sweet to completely vulgar. Then we ran around the neighborhood in the rain, delivering our little nuggets of holiday cheer. While we were being sneaky, Megan slipped and fell down a driveway. Thank god she did so quietly so we weren’t busted, although my hysterical laughter almost gave us away. As a result, she got to hobble around with a holiday-induced thigh bruise for the next week.

Over the next few days we heard stories from people about “this weird card someone left me” and we were so proud of ourselves for creating a Christmas Mystery. Then we heard that this couple friend of ours were having a massive fight when they found our card, and it made them so confused and distracted that the fight was forgotten. A Christmas Miracle! Yes, we are Angels, making the holidays bright and more than a little bit weird.

Here are some of the messages we wrote- I left out the really nasty ones, but trust me when I say that they were pretty genius. Below are just some of the silly ones we created. Wouldn’t you be so happy if you found one in your mailbox? Click on the photos below to see the bigger version.

Last week, I got laid off from my job of 13 years. It was a long time coming- the company has been struggling in this economy and I had already taken a pay cut earlier in the year. Plus, since they didn’t really have work for me, they had been outsourcing me for the past seven months to a colleague whose company needed help. So, getting officially laid off did not come as a shock at all. (And don’t cry for me yet; most likely I’m going to take a job with the company where I’ve been helping for the past several months).

Even though I knew it was coming, it was still a little sad. I’ve been there for a long time and change is always hard, and being told you aren’t needed is a blow to the ego. I mean, how dare they think they can get along without me?! With decision making like that, no wonder they can’t afford to keep me. Hmpph.

When my boss instant messaged me on a Friday, at the end of a pay period, telling me we needed to “have a talk” that day, I knew what was about to happen. And while I was getting this information, my Pandora “Poison” radio station decided to provide the most perfect soundtrack to getting canned.

First up was Skid Row’s “I remember you.” While this played, I saw a crazy happy montage in my head featuring some of the best adventures my boss and I have had together. I saw him getting pushed by a warehouse worker, remembered the time we picked out socks for him at Banana Republic during a convention, saw him giving his cabernet-fueled inspirational speeches, and of course saw us running and laughing on a beach, because that’s an important component of all good montages.

So of course, that sent me into hysterical laughter. Just as I started to settle down and feel the sad/worried/panic part of being laid off come on, Pandora then played “Bringing on the Heartache” by Def Leppard and the laughter started all over again. Then to make it even more hilarious, the next song was “Don’t know what you got until its gone” by Cinderella. Just when I started to think our Human Resources department had somehow hacked Pandora to mess with me, Scorpions came on to assure me that “there’s no one like you.” At this point I was laughing so hard that all my bad feelings started melting away, and by the time Guns N Roses chimed in with “Don’t Cry”, I was a-ok and ready to face my next challenge.

At my neighborhood grocery, they know about easing the pains of recessionary economy. They also, apparently, have distribution contacts in Israel.

Buyer for Denny’s: Ahmed, the people of Flint are very hard hit by the turndown, how can you help us out?

Ahmed, Israeli Monday cereal distributor: Monday Cookies?

Hub brought this most excellent box of cereal home the other night, absolutely beaming with pride. This is something we occasionally have done in the past; buying groceries and cereal in particular, for the sheer entertainment value of the packaging. Once we drove up to Canada during the Winter Olympics to collect cereal boxes adorned with the faces of NHL players who were representing Canada in the games. Shanahan Crunch, Yzerman O’s, Messier Munchies- oh, and did you know that in Canada, milk comes in a bag? Yeah, so we bought some of that too, obviously. We also have a two box set of Gordie Howe cereal, with a full color rendering of the old Olympia, where the Red Wings played back before there were helmets, or instant cereals, for that matter.

Denny’s brings us a lot of joy, actually. I never shop there, but occasionally go in just to see what they are up to. They take lowering overheard to amazingly pride-less extremes. You can buy black bananas there, 8 cents a lb, if you are willing to cut a swath through the fruit flies to get to them. Denny is the master of selling the outdated gems of world, things that are so old that by law they cannot be sold to the public in their original packaging, and so have been stripped of their labels to avoid litigation. There will be a pyramid of brownish yellow saucy something in bottles, accompanied by a scrap of the original shipping carton and a sign that trumpets “Sweet and Spicy Mustard!!!- Outdated, But still GOOD!” Every sign in Denny’s has been amended with the “outdated, but still GOOD!” mantra, and the phrase itself has wormed its way into the daily language of my family.

Me: “Sammy, why didn’t you FLUSH?”
5 year old son: “Outdated, but still GOOD!”

Want some outdated, but still good milk? Check the freezer! It’s next to outdated, but still good frozen sandwich ham.

Oh. Snap.I just let Sammy eat a fist full of Monday Cookie, assuming (for some reason) that the Hebrew (and Kosher!) cereal was quirky only in its twisted blend of chocolate chip ethnic-ness. But is it still GOOD?

Oh, crap!

New Year, new focus…. I’m not exactly sure that this is a good idea, but the fact that it scares me to death and makes me wish I had never thought of it makes me think maybe it is. I’m thinking I would like to try and get a book published…and no, not a staggeringly brilliant work of fiction so eloquent and insightful that it reshapes the hearts and minds of the world… (Can you just see me, swearing on Oprah?) No, I just want to try and get a book of patterns published.

You all might not know, but the majority of the purses that I make and sell for Made with Luv are things that I have designed. When I first started making bags, it was with a How-To book that I bought at Barnes and Noble. (The Everything bag that we sell is adapted from said book: No Rules Sewing.) I always felt slightly stupid making money off of something that was someone else’s work, so I started trying to design my own bags.

Inconveniently, my creative process seems to work the best when I am ridiculously busy doing the most mundane but relentlessly important work. It’s sort of like shopping; you always find tons of cute shit when you are broke, but let your tax return come and all you see are granny panties and Naturalizers. While trying to build inventory of the old stand-bys for Stef and I to sell at our Christmas craft shows, I got a lot of ideas for new bags. Now that the Christmas rush is over, I am turning my attention to transforming a collection of ideas into workable patterns, and from there, hopefully accumulating enough successes (30 successes, to be exact) to get a book proposal together. Scary, but exciting.

Over the next few months, I would like to have your help in choosing what ideas you think are interesting, and which are clunkers. I will post a description and pics of the new bags as they are born, and invite you to bring on the brutal honesty. If you are nice, and a book deal comes from this, I will credit you in the acknowledgements and bestow my undying gratitude upon you ever after. If you are naughty, you may become the evil villain in a staggeringly brilliant work of fiction so eloquent and insightful that it reshapes the hearts and minds of the world.

November 22,1981

Dear Diary,

            Big day today! Went to church, then mom’s bowling meeting, then to Arby’s, then to Aunt Bev’s. Isn’t it weird the way everybody [sic] name fits them? We are mad at them again (Marie and Jamie). I mean really mad! Didn’t sit with them at lunch. Mom tells my nieces and nephew that if they don’t put their shoes away she is going to burn them in the furnace. With clothes I weigh 76 pounds, w/o 74-75. I’m going to get a haircut soon. I’m growing you-know-what’s hardly, and I haven’t had it yet. Isn’t 11 old enough?  No maybe 12 or 13. Maybe I’ll write a book someday.

                                                  
Love, Pickle

BTW….still waiting for those “you-know-whats”- Editor

I’m currently reading the Sookie Stackhouse books, the books on which the show True Blood is based. The books are kinda terrible, but also very entertaining. I guess you could say they are the literary equivalent of Doritos.

My favorite part of the books though, are the ridiculous sex scenes. The scenes are written so dramatically, with a lot of swooning and liberal use of the word “throbbing.”

The best part? The books, and therefore the sex scenes, are written by this woman:

This is a woman you just know has feather boas in many colors, who goes out for nights with the “gals” dressed to the nines, and that probably includes a jaunty hat and strings of beaded necklaces. She is fabulous.

Now I have to go, and rejoin Sookie as she is currently taking a break from searching for her missing brother in order to enjoy a set of “talented” fingers belonging to a handsome vampire. Thanks Charlaine, you kooky ol Southern Belle.

Yes, the blog has been dead lately, busy with the holidays, etc, got a Wii and a Wii fit so I am busy with that, blah blah blahbety-cakes.

Focus.

This is a very Important Question- If I were to go on The Bachelor, where on earth would I shop to find so many satiny, sequined gowns? Each one of these girls seems to have an ample supply. I personally own two decent dresses and they are both plain cotton. I am missing out! Do they get them at a prom shop? Are these bridesmaids gowns? Does Joan Collins loan them her personal bedazzler? Someone tell me!!!

One of the most creative people I know in the Flint crafting community is Steph Bills. She is one of those people that make you say “Why didn’t I think of that?” the first few dozen times you see her work. Thankfully, you eventually get exhausted by the idea of having to do what she does and are just glad that she keeps doing what you never would have been able to do in the first place.

I don’t know how her mind works, and I don’t want to know. She is like an awesome song that you hear in a foreign language- don’t mess, just eat it up. She creates monster after monster, non stop. She is a wonder, okay? A wonder.

My kids love her monstas too, and I never stop them from buying them. I wish I could replace my toaster, my fridge, my hairdryer with her stuff, and live in a “Peewee’s Playhouse” reality. A couple of years ago, my most twisted child fell in love with this little guy, named Eye-O Rama…and we have taken many more home since that fateful day.

Then, last winter we heard that Steph was creating a new monsta…in her uterus. Imagine our excitement! And jealousy, because what would you have given to grow up surrounded by stuff like this????

So my very good friend Crystal came up with the perfect baby gift for impending baby Olive; commissioning me to make an Eye-O-Rama bib for Steph’s shower. I have to tell you, even with the design right in front of me, it was intimidating to try and craft something for Steph. Her style is loose and funky and unabashedly fun, whereas I tend to be anal and uptight about precision, which doesn’t always leave a lot of room for funky, but this is what we came up with…

Someday, when Olive is bigger, it won’t look so much like a blanket, I hope!

If you are as in love with Steph’s creations as I am, please go directly to Facebook Fan page for her company- Frankenstitch Productions.

You are welcome in advance.

I don’t do shots. Well, that’s something of a lie- a more accurate sentence would be that I *shouldn’t* do shots. Because I am old, and shots don’t work well with old bellies and old heads. Oh I’m super fun and interesting and more beautiful than ever when I drink, don’t get me wrong, but there is a price to pay when it comes to shot-gunning a variety of liquors and I just cannot afford it.  Hangovers cannot be cured with food stamps.

Now, that being said, when the opportunity to be in possession of the world’s most fabulous shot glass comes along, I am not going to pass it by. My buddy at the local Diet Mt. Dew store got these amazing promotional glasses from Jagermeister and gave one to me. How can you not love this?

I know you are thinking, “wow, how elegant! What a wonderfully ornate base. It’s practically art!”

Well my friend, look what happens when you pick the glass up: 

Oh yes. This is the epitome of class. I shall be sipping thimbles full of wine out of it, if you’d like to join me for a night of refined delights.