The Wild Child Returns

The Wild Child stopped by today on her way back to Tahoe from the Bay Area.

Earlier in the week, she called me to see if I could check something online for her, and by the end of the conversation, I had placed an order for her for a ticket to a concert at the Shoreline Amphitheater in Mountain View that showcased a ton of bands. Remember me talking about my tendency toward the hermit thing? I have no problem spending quality time in the company of myself. I'm fairly independent. Still, I don't think I would ever have considered traveling four hours to a somewhat distant city to attend an all day concert by myself, but to the Wild Child, it's no big deal and that's exactly what she did.

She had a wonderful time and met some interesting people, although she said she had the most fun just watching everyone. I can't remember their names, but she spent quite a bit of the concert with this couple:

That photo at the top? That's the Wild Child on the left; her new BFF is the gal on the right. They also met up with this guy, Lars Petrus:

Lars revolutionized Rubik's Cubing by inventing some method for solving the puzzle quicker, and he held the Swedish national title at one time--or something like that. How do I know? Believe it or not, you can find him in Wikipedia. Between the Wild Child, Lars, and the couple, they had two Rubik's Cubes with them. Is Rubik's Cube big again or did my daughter just fall in with a bunch of nerds?

One of the reasons the Wild Child stopped here today, besides soaking in the familial love, was to download some photos from her camera--which is why mom (me!) has all these photos to share with you.

Last weekend she went, again by herself, to hike Yosemite. Beautiful photos of that adventure. Here's one of Half Dome:

Now if you look real close, you can see a darkish line traveling up the rounded back side of the rock. See that just above the one bush on the left? You should be able to click on the photo to enlarge it. That's some kind of cable railing system (because the darn thing is so steep) with people climbing up it. I was pleased to hear that the Wild Child had decided she was a little too tired to attempt the rest of that climb up the rock. I was, however, somewhat dismayed and slightly panicked to hear that she's going back next weekend to make the climb.

If you've read my earlier posts about traumatically scary stuff like driving over bridges, you'll understand that the idea of the Wild Child climbing up Half Dome scares the heck out of me! But I've decided to forget she said anything--I don't know anything, I never heard her say it, and it's just not going to happen. Humph. No, instead, I'll think happy thoughts about rainbows . . .

and rushing streams.

After the Wild Child left, when I was fixing my hair, I thought for a minute that my hair was getting a few highlights in it from the summer sun. When I looked closer, though, I realized it's just a few more gray hairs.

I think I'll go back to my happy place now, taking my iced latte with me. There I'll feel comforted by the nice, pretty fabric surrounding me, and I'll look forward to something slighly more calming, like the finale of the Sopranos.

The Evening After . . .

By Friday, Manager Man's parents had gone home, so there were just the four of us.  As a last minute thought before getting on the road to the Wild Child's house for Thanksgiving, I'd grabbed a bag of decorative candies left over from last year's gingerbread houses, and I packed them along with everything else we were bringing.  Later, when the Wild Child and I talked about what we wanted to do Friday evening, we agreed that decorating gingerbread houses would be a great idea, so she and I picked up a couple gingerbread kits while we were out and about that day.

In past years, the Wild Child and MM had collaborated on decorating houses and Hubby's never had much interest in participating at all.  Based on those experiences, we thought what would likely happen this year was that we'd park Hubby in front of the TV while I decorated a house and the Wild Child and MM shared another.  Boy were we wrong!  The Wild Child picked out a Christmas train kit to decorate and I picked out a house kit.  By the time we "glued" the pieces together and were ready to make a quick run to the store for additional decorating candies, MM had pulled a package of graham crackers out of the kitchen cabinet and Hubby sat down to watch.  And by the time we returned from the store, they were both happily building their own . . . projects.

First, I'll show you MM's creation--a taxi cab with two chocolate covered marshmallow Santas in the front seat--wearing seatbelts.

The taxi actually started out as a Humvee, but somewhere along the creative path, it morphed into a taxi.

And Hubby made a graham cracker outhouse.  With a very happy gingerbread man with huge eyes.  I think maybe Hubby hasn't participated in the gingerbread soiree in past years because his creativity has been stiffled by gingerbread KITS.  I'm not sure, really, whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.  I'll have to give it some thought before next year.

And here's the Wild Child's train--driven by Santa, of course.  We found Santa at the store when we went to grab more candy--along with his blue penguin friend, who is riding in the coal candy car.

And here's my happy and conventional gingerbread house.

But what you can't see from that side is evidence of what can only be a rather disturbed and twisted mind.

Can you see the house come alive with window eyes and a mouth where the door should be?  And that's a poor little gummy bear there in the doorway, about to be eaten.  So sick, so sad.

If someone was to psychoanalyze the four of us by our gingerbread creations, I think the Wild Child is probably the only one who wouldn't be recommended a long course of therapy.  It's been suggested that eating turkey makes a person sleepy; I wonder, though, if eating turkey also makes a person slightly disturbed.  Someone should study that.

The Wild Child

My Wild Child came home for the weekend, bringing her camera with her and asking me to download her photos. She lives in the Tahoe area and has enjoyed a wonderful winter of snowboarding. Although the snow hasn't been as heavy as they would have liked AND it arrived late this year, she was finally able to take advantage of one of the ski resorts and get her share of time in on the slopes. Unfortunately, last year she didn't have a snowboard, but I'll tell you a little bit about that later.

For her birthday in February, her boyfriend took her on a drive south to the Mono Lake area. They did some hiking and relaxed in pools fed by natural springs. I think she does pretty well with photography, particularly given the fact that she has a fairly inexpensive camera. We had given her the camera for Christmas; my husband had picked it up through his work in connection with a manufacturer's promotion. I'd love to see what she could go with a better camera, but I'm afraid she'd lose it. She's gone through two cell phones in the past year: the last one was lost somewhere in a snowbank and the one before that ended up at the bottom of Lake Tahoe. The photos below were taken on that trip. I won't share with you the photo of her topless in the natural springs. Or the one of her mooning the camera on a snow-covered slope. She says she thinks that one would make a good Christmas card. I just hope grandma's not on her Christmas list!

We've been keeping a close eye on this boyfriend, and so far, so good. He's about ten years older than she is, and although he's definitely the adventurous type, he seems to take good care of her and treats her well. Quite a change from the Boy From Hell who brought her to Tahoe in the first place. I think she started seeing him on the rebound from the boyfriend before that. I'll go back a little, so it makes some sense.

When she was a sophomore in high school, the Wild Child began seeing Justin. They spent most of their time together except when she was working as a waitress at an ice cream parlor and when Justin was working in his dad's motorcycle shop or off with his buddies, messing around with cars. The Wild Child is a very emotional being and their relationship was very tumultuous; she's not one to suffer in silence. Over the years, they broke up several times but always got back together again. Two weeks before my daughter's 21st birthday, Justin lost control of his motorcycle, hit a tree, and died. It was particularly traumatic for my daughter; they were broken up at the time, although she and the rest of us thought they would resolve their differences and resume the relationship eventually. Now that would never happen.

Within four or five months of Justin's death, the Wild Child met the Boy from Hell. Although this kid seemed very nice and respectful, over the course of time, we learned he was anything but. In November of that year, he and my daughter moved to Tahoe where he had grown up. We later learned that he had a problem with drugs and alcohol, although we--and she--didn't realize it at the time. My daughter has always been good about managing and saving her money, and when they moved to Tahoe, she bought a new-to-her 4WD SUV. She still needed a few things to set up housekeeping, but with our help and a few cast-offs, she was able to furnish a small, one-room cottage. She got a job waitressing at a nearby casino, and things were going fairly well. The BFH got a job at the same casino but lost the job after two weeks. Because he didn't have a car, he would use hers, driving her to and from work. Before long, there were several times when he failed to pick her up after work, and my daughter was forced to get a ride from a friend or walk home late, late at night. Eventually they began arguing, and one night, he stranded her at work again. When she got home, she found he had taken all of her things--TV, snowboard, cell phone, car, and anything else he could carry. Some of the things were sold by him--including her snowboard--and some she was able to recover. A month or so later, he persuaded her to take him back. I guess we're all gullible at some point in our lives, and this was her time. Within weeks, the same behavior occured again. This time, not only did he take her things, but he spun out in the snow, scraping her SUV over rocks and boulders and abandoning the car on the highway. By now, he was driving without a license, so he fled the scene. Then he called her at work and told her where she could find her car. The car had to be towed and was not driveable. Through an insurance snafu, it was uninsured as well. It took my daughter a year to save up the money necessary for the repairs and to put her life back in order, but I think she learned a valuable lesson. I know this boy has tried several times to convince her to take him back but she's not buying it. One of his most memorable attempts was when he told her his father had been decapitated in an automobile accident and he had inherited half his father's business and his house in the Santa Cruz area. The Wild Child was less than impressed and told him that money had nothing to do with why they weren't together. A few weeks later, the boy's father called, looking for his son--this is the guy who was presumably decapitated. Oh, did that provide endless material for jokes! The Wild Child has a wonderful wit and a dry delivery. And at least she can laugh about it now.

In any event, this BFH is now out of her life and she's moved on. Both she and her current boyfriend are hesitant to commit to any long term relationships; apparently he's also had his share of unfortunate experiences. But they seem good for each other for the time being.

It was nice to have the Wild Child at home. There were times over the last few years when I hoped she would move back, but she insisted on standing on her own two feet and rebuilding her life. For the past year, she's been talking about saving up money to travel around the country with her dog, Rocky, beginning sometime in 2009. This child is the one who turns my hair gray, but she's also the one who's doing the kind of things that I didn't have the courage to do back in the 70s when I was her age. Yes, she's wild and I worry about her, but I love her and admire many things about her too.

I still owe you all one more thing you didn't know about me, and that's coming soon--I didn't want you to think I had forgotten!

The Wild Child Grows Up? Maybe a Little?

Remember my daughter, the Wild Child? She came into town last night from Tahoe to spend the night before leaving with her boyfriend for Maryland today to visit his family somewhere near, I think, the Baltimore area. The boyfriend is about 12 years her senior and has commitment issues, which is just fine with her because she's been burned a couple times and is hesitant to get involved too. But we sense things might be getting a little more serious if he's taking her home to meet his parents. AND he's asked her to live with him.

Now the funny thing is that they've been more or less living together for the past year, first as roommates in a house and then later as . . . well, it's a little hard to explain, but I'll give it a shot in a second. But, anyway, I guess in his mind, those experiences don't really count because they weren't "living together"--as in no commitment, not even to a lease. Okay, whatever! All I know is that he seems to be good for her and treats her well, and she's happy and healthy, so we have the important things covered this time around.

So, back to the weird living situation. That house they were roommates at? Well the owner was an absentee owner who had hired a couple to manage the house. It was really a four-bedroom house with a cottage out back where the managers lived, and they rented out the other four bedrooms. According to the Wild Child, the managers were tweakers--literally, as in meth users. As such, they were undependable and volatile. They failed to maintain the house, and when anything needed repair, the husband would do some cheap patch job. You have to wonder about the owner never checking on his property, and if all the Wild Child told us is true, the managers are surely turning a decent rental property into a hovel. After several months of putting up with these managers, my daughter and her boyfriend got fed up and moved out in April. But they had nowhere to move to, and rentals--at reasonable prices--are hard to find in Tahoe. So, for a month or so, they were sleeping on friends' couches and living in their cars--often parked side by side. Is that living together?! My daughter rented a storage unit for all her things. For a couple weeks, they rented a room in a hotel connected to the casino where my daughter worked--this was when they were having some late season snowy weather up there.

In late May, the campsites opened, and the Wild Child and her boyfriend camped. My daughter thought it was great fun. And her brother refused to speak to her because it was his opinion that she was being stupid and she wouldn't see reason when it came to her safety. My husband and I did what we could to let her know that we were concerned about her safety, but since she's an adult, we couldn't very well "put our foot down"--something our son didn't seem to understand. As you may imagine, this has been an uncomfortable situation for our family over the past few months.

Imagine, then, my joy when she told me last night that she's tired of not having a place to come home to after work where she can collapse on the couch and watch TV; a bed to sleep in; a kitchen to cook in; and a shower and/or bath to bathe in. You see, the Wild Child has to learn things for herself--as we all do to some extent--and this was one lesson she finally seems to have learned. Now all they have to do is find somewhere to live--another big hurdle in an area short of rental properties compared to the demand, but one that I hope they'll solve soon after they come home from Maryland.

A Turkey Tale

I know what I was trying to remember to tell you the other day! Remember the Wild Child and the Drooling Dog were coming to stay for several days and we were going to have our Thanksgiving early? Well, as it turned out, the Wild Child's friend Liz needed to return a vehicle to Colorado. Liz doesn't have a driver's license, so she offered to pay all of the Wild Child's expenses if the Wild Child would drive. Unfortunately, it meant the Wild Child would have to miss our Thanksgiving celebrations. Now to tell you the truth, the prospect of NOT HAVING THE DROOLING DOG here was pretty darn appealing. So, much as I miss my daughter and am sorry she can't be here with us, I'm not quite devastated by the news.

We had planned an early Thanksgiving specifically so the Wild Child could be here and not have it interfere with her work as a waitress/bartender. By the time I learned of this change in plans, the turkey was already defrosting in the refrigerator, so we went ahead with our Thanksgiving on Monday.

Since I've been desperately searching for lime green ornaments, I got the turkey ready and put it in the oven before heading out on yet another shopping expedition. I carefully instructed my husband to check the turkey in two hours and cover it if it was looking pretty brown. I also mentioned that he should be very careful about brushing up against the oven dial since the bird needed to cook at 325 degrees for about four hours.

Three hours later, I came home to find that my husband had accidentally brushed against the oven dial and turned the oven up to 425 degrees--presumably when he covered the turkey. The funny thing is that when he looked at the dial to make sure he hadn't changed it, he saw it was set at 425 degrees and thought that was what I had said. So, needless to say, the turkey was done. Okay, actually the turkey was overdone. And it was still over two hours until dinner. So much for multi-tasking. I guess it wasn't a good idea to think I could shop and cook a turkey at the same time, huh?!

Everything turned out okay though. We spent a lovely evening visiting with my son and his girlfriend. I didn't cook too much food and I managed to send a lot of the leftovers home with the kids, including the half of a chocolate mousse cake. (Hey, I know it's not quite a traditional Thanksgiving dessert, but if I'm only going to have ONE dessert, it sure as heck isn't going to be pumpkin pie when the chocolate mousse cake was calling my name!) So, back to the diet tomorrow--more or less. I'm sure we won't be quite as good at sticking to it during the holiday season, but at least we'll try. Or I'll try. My husband, on the other hand, will probably moan and groan and whine every time I do something like send a chocolate mousse cake home with my son.

I took one last photo of my Thanksgiving decorations in the dining area since they'll be coming down Tuesday.

Oh, and these are my Thanksgiving plates--a pattern by Johnson Bros. called Frozen Up from the Historic America line. I dearly love these plates--I'm just sorry I can really only use them once a year, but that makes it kind of fun to bring out the "special" plates, don't you think?

And what do I have to show from shopping while the turkey burned? (Okay, a slight exaggeration, but it sounded good.) Here are my green things. I still didn't find plain old glass balls, but these will do. Target had some green ornaments that I nearly bought but they were glittery, and glittery wouldn't go so well with the rest of my stuff for that tree. Anyway, I thought maybe this green garland and the green bells will add that color I need to the tree and blend okay with what I already have.

And then Kari left me a comment with a link to Amazon. They had some green ornaments and some turquoise ones too, so I placed an order--hopefully they won't take too long to arrive. And thank you all for your suggestions on where to look. They were helpful, but I didn't find quite the right thing. However, if I ever want pickle ornaments or Green Bay Packer ornaments, I certainly know where to look now!

Oh, and I guess I should explain my need for this green--I don't think I really said, did I? It's that darn Holly Jolly fabric and the Christmas Past fabric I used in Marcie's Trees on the Table pattern. I'm making one of the two "Trees" tops into a tree skirt and I want to make a wallhanging using the Holly Jolly fabric. Both of those lines have a lime green in it, and I'm trying to coordinate the decorations for my kitchen tree. Makes sense? Yes, doesn't EVERYONE have a kitchen tree that they coordinate with fabric for quilts they haven't even made yet? And may not get made if they don't stop shopping and stay home long enough to plant their rear end in front of a sewing machine and get some sewing done?

And okay, so yes, as a matter of fact, I AM a bit obsessive when it comes to Christmas decorating, and yes, I certainly will subject you all to photos in the coming days--I just wish my photographic abilities and/or camera were a bit more adequate.

Time to head into the Sweat Shop. Yes, it's midnight, but I'm on vacation, I've had two (or three?) cups of coffee tonight, and I quite clearly have projects to finish now that I've found green ornaments. "See" you all later!

The Wild Child

In my blog, I almost always refer to my daughter as the Wild Child. Why? Mainly because she's such a free spirit. Not long ago, she said, "Mom, I don't know why you call me the Wild Child. I'm really not all that wild anymore." And in some ways, that's true. At the ripe old age of 24, she's settled into a routine of sorts. She has a steady job and a steady boyfriend. She's responsible with her obligations, and has a good head for budgeting her money and making sure her bills get paid. Still, in many ways, she's a Wild Child.

In my world, quilting is about as extreme as it gets. In her world, . . . well, the sky's the limit. She's constantly engaged in one outdoor activity or another, many of which in my mind involve at least some element of risk. Surfing, hiking, kayaking, snowboarding--the list goes on and on. In fact, she and her boyfriend will be spending a week kayaking around Lake Tahoe soon. Last summer they had no formal residence, unless you can call the occasional campsite a "residence"--and that was largely by choice.

She's not bound by conventional thinking, although she is a deep thinker and always has been. Once she's thought something through, there's no wishy-washy-ness about her opinions and she's not afraid to express them, although she is open minded and listens fully to what others have to say about what they believe. If something strikes her as funny, she'll say it or do it no matter how outlandish it might seem, although she's rarely cruel in her humor.

She's a throw back to the hippie era. Make up and hair styles don't occupy much of her time. What she wears isn't all that important to her, and her style of dress is more a matter of comfort and utility than the latest trend. Although her clothes are clean, wrinkles don't bother her much. If she had no mirrors to look at herself in, I doubt she'd miss them.

On Saturday, she called to ask if she could come down and spend the night Sunday because she had a court appearance on a traffic ticket this morning. She told us she and her boyfriend planned to get into town around mid-day. They wanted to drop her stuff off and then leave to run some errands. They would be gone all afternoon, and after that, they planned to go out to dinner, so we needn't worry about feeding them.

Right on schedule they arrived around noon, chatted with us a little bit, and left, promising to return in the early evening. Sure enough, they came home around 8 p.m., bearing leftover Chinese food. And those errands she had to run?

Of course, she knew better than to tell me ahead of time, although Hubby knew what they had planned. I would have been a nervous wreck! The last time I told her not to tell me something was when she planned to hike up Half Dome--I didn't want to know until she was down again. So what did she do? She called me at my office from her cell phone when she was at the top!

And you might appreciate the email she sent me today along with her photos:

"A note from Wild Child:

I, as most people, have been greatly influenced by my parents. They inspire and encourage me constantly. My father's limited mobility has given me an appreciation for the experiences that he cannot share with me. My mother, on the other hand, inspires me with her irrational fears. Yesterday was no exception. For some sick reason I enjoy the disapproving looks and disdain in her voice almost more than the act which causes it.

Love you mom talk to you soon."

I don't know where she gets her wry and twisted sense of humor. Must be her father.

The Dog Mansion

Some years ago, Hubby built a dog house. I can't remember now if it was built for one of our dogs who have since passed away, or if it was built for the Drooling Dog, the Wild Child's boxer, but it's the house the boxer lived in for the past few years until he (and his human owner) moved up to Humboldt about a month ago.

When the Wild Child moved, she didn't have enough room to take the dog house with her, but Hubby had big plans to disassemble it and make a trip up to Humboldt to deliver it himself--whenever he started missing the Wild Child too much and needed a little two-day excursion away from home to visit her. But as he started taking the dog house apart one day, it occurred to him that he could make the dog house much, much better. So began the building of the Dog Mansion.

I asked Hubby if I could take some photos of the Dog Mansion, and he asked whether I wanted the photos because I thought the house was that good or because I wanted to make fun of it. "Well, . . . ." I thought for a minute. "A little bit of both, I suppose."

The basic structure of the original dog house remains the same, but the interior is better braced for structural integrity. After all, they have occasional earthquakes in Humboldt.

The pet bed is old(ish)--nothing new there. But notice the fine moon door opening? That's new.

The front "porch" is old, but the Dog Mansion is sporting a new roof. Kind of like Spanish tiles, but different--probably the doggie equivalent though.

And did you notice the raised bowl holder mounted on the side of the house? I told Hubby that if it had been a TRUE mansion, it would have been a double holder, but at least the Drooling Dog doesn't have to bend far to get a drink of water.

I noticed, though, that the roof is angled to drain onto the side of the house that has the bowl. That could be a bad thing if you think about the poor Drooling Dog trying to get a drink of water in the rain and having water pour off the roof onto his head. On the other hand, he'd have fresh rainwater to drink. It's one of those bowl half full/bowl half empty problems, isn't it?

The Dog Mansion could use some new paint. When Hubby first built it, he painted it to match our house--as you can see from the outside wall of the house in the background. Frankly, I'm not sure if he did that so it would look more natural taking up a quarter of the patio space or if it was because he had a lot of that color paint leftover, but I can tell you that paint HAS shown up on quite a few projects.

For now, though, I think Hubby will hold off on the paint. Maybe he'll wait until he gets up to Humboldt and paint it there, to match the Wild Child's house. Or maybe he'll save the painting for another trip to Humboldt when he's again missing the Wild Child and the Drooling Dog.

Personally, I think it could use a window, a curtain, and some nice wallpaper. I may need to take my own trip to Humboldt one of these days.

Coincidence or Connection?

After visiting the Avila Barn on Friday, the first full day of our vacation, we went back to the beach house where I left Sandy to rest while I went out and did the remainder of the grocery shopping. We also found when we arrived at the house the evening before that it had not been cleaned very well, if at all, after the previous tenants left, so Sandy arranged to have the rental agents come in and clean the bathrooms while I was gone. (I also spent a little time dusting and cleaning the other living areas while Sandy rested--I can't say I'd recommend this particular vacation rental company!)

Although we didn't have a direct view of the ocean from inside our house, the common rooms and master bedroom were located on the upper floor, and there were decks on either side of the house with beach and ocean views. Downstairs were two more bedrooms and a bathroom--we didn't spend very much time down there but to sleep. The living and dining areas were one large room, and we were able to set up cutting, sewing, and ironing stations around the room. The dining table was large enough to seat the four of us comfortably, and that's where we spent much of our sewing time.

The other two quilters, Imelda and Irene, arrived Friday evening around dinner time. Since Sandy was ill, rather than go back out to eat, I made a pot of clam chowder for dinner, and the four of us took a walk down to check out the beach.

Our rental was actually in Oceano, just south of Pismo Beach. Oceano is the one place where cars can drive down on the beach, and I understand there's a campground that's only accessible by that means. Although I'd heard about the beach "highway," it was still an odd sight to see so many cars driving parallel to the ocean, nearly bumper to bumper. I didn't take my camera down to the beach, so I can't share a photo of the sight with you, but here's a photo I found on the internet--obviously there was a lot less traffic in this shot than what I described!

Coming from Sacramento where the temperatures had been over 100 degrees each day, I wasn't really prepared for the chilly beach weather. The daytime temperatures were nice--probably in the high 70s or so--but the nighttime temperatures were downright chilly, and I didn't have very warm clothing or bedding, for that matter. The other ladies I was with were happy to sleep with open windows and the heater turned off, but I was bone-achingly chilled and had a difficult time sleeping comfortably. I also found that the downstairs, where I was sleeping, was at least 5 degrees colder than the upstairs living areas. Brrrrr!

A little later in the week, I visited a thrift store and picked up some warmer clothing to sleep in, but sleep was difficult those first few days, and I had some weird dreams. Friday night/Saturday morning, I had a particularly disturbing dream that the Wild Child had a bad cold; we soon learned that it was more than a simple cold. Whatever it was struck fast, and within a few hours, she was dead. A very upsetting nightmare, right?

But here's the weird thing. On Saturday afternoon, I talked to Hubby, and he told me that on Friday evening, the Wild Child and the Drooling Dog were out taking a walk when they were attacked by two dogs belonging to a neighbor--a Shar Pei and a Pitbull. The Wild Child tried to beat off the attack and was knocked to her knees and bitten; in fact, her cell phone was destroyed when one of the dogs bit through it. The Drooling Dog took most of the attack before the owner of the other dogs arrived and pulled them off. The Drooling Dog was pretty chewed up and needed stitches and a night at the vet's while the Wild Child required a trip to the emergency room. Now, a week later, both are doing alright and it looks like the owner of the two other dogs is taking care of the financial arrangements. I can't help but wonder whether my dream about the Wild Child that same night was somehow triggered by a mother's intuitive connection, or was it just a coincidence? What do you think?

Up until this point, my vacation tale doesn't sound like a very happy one, does it? A sick friend, a less-than-clean house, disturbing dreams and uncomfortable sleep, and a daughter who was injured and miles away. But it got better, I promise! Tomorrow I'll tell you about some of the fun things we did, like shopping and sewing. "See" you then!

Tails and Tales

The Wild Child and the Drooling Dog have come to visit. That's Rocky, aka the Drooling Dog, up there. The Wild Child says he's my grand-dog. Hummm.

Our two cats are terrorized. They run away and Rocky gallops after them. He spends time intently surveying the tops of book cases looking for cats. The Wild Child tells me his eyesight's not the best, which was obvious when he thought a ceramic rabbit that sits on the livingroom floor was one of the cats until he could get a few good, deep sniffs.

When I got home from work tonight, the older cat greeted me in the front yard. Well, "greeted" isn't exactly the right word. She WAS out there and moved to the center of the yard when I pulled in the driveway, but after that, she just glared at me for allowing this invasion to take place. Rocky's been out in the backyard, and since that's the route of choice for the younger cat, we haven't seen hide nor hair of her. The Wild Child goes back to Tahoe on Wednesday, so we expect the cats will be throwing her and the Drooling Dog a going away party--after they've gone away!

Okay, now about that soup. You all have to understand first off that I'm not real experienced at beef soup. Chicken soup of any kind, yes. But beef? Not so much. So when I was at the grocery store, I picked up a package of beef bones for flavor and was staring at the rest of the cuts of beef when the butcher asked me if I was finding everything I needed.

You all have to understand second off that I'm not really one to ask for assistance much. There's just no way I would have asked the butcher's advice if he hadn't been standing there, asking if he could help. So I said, "What beef do you have on sale or at a decent price that would be good for soup? I have these beef bones, but I need some meat." So the butcher pulls out a package of oxtail bones or some such and said they would be excellent. I dubiously eyed the package, which pretty much looked like more beef bones to me but with a little more meat on them, and asked the butcher if there was enough meat on those things. "Oh, yes," he said, so into my cart the package went.

Now you all know I mentioned having this soup in the crockpot yesterday, so I'll fast forward this tale to around 7 p.m. last night when I pulled all the bones out of the crockpot to separate out the meat. Nope, no meat really. I had to cut through a bunch of gristly, tendony stuff on the oxtail bones to get to tiny bits of stringy, tough meat, and after working on that for about a half hour, I tossed them all in the garbage and ran back to the store for some tri-tip steaks that were on sale 30% off. I think you'll understand that dinner last night was scrambled eggs and English muffins while the soup simmered away another couple hours.

I wonder, now, if that really WAS a butcher or whether some random guy just felt like putting on a white apron and hanging around the meat case, 'cause this guy sure didn't know what the heck he was talking about! And this, of course, is one of the reasons I tend to not ask for assistance a whole lot.

The soup, you'll be happy to hear, was wonderful even if it was a day late. No, I didn't get a photo and I don't really have a recipe exactly, except that I took THIS recipe and pretty much followed the basic directions except I added the veggies in THIS recipe as well. I also added about a tablespoon of minced garlic at the browning-the-meat (or bones!) stage where the first recipe says to add garlic salt. I also had some liquid concentrated beef bouillon and added a bit of that (maybe a couple tablespoons?) as well as about a 1/4 cup of red wine toward the end of cooking. Or what I FIRST thought was going to be the end of cooking. And some salt, garlic salt, and pepper to taste later on.

And it's a good thing that soup turned out well in the end, because I think we'll be eating it most of the week! At least there will be more time for quilting if I don't have to cook. That providing my husband and Wild Child stay out of trouble. Just as I was writing this post, they managed to lock themselves in the house and can't open the door to the garage. When I last checked, they were taking the knob and locking mechanism apart. I've heard a few bangs from from that direction too. At least we have plenty of duct tape now.

LATER ADDITION: Now we have no door knob on the door from the kitchen to the garage. Yes, that's right. My lawn is dead, the produce bin in the refrigerator is mended with duct tape, and the door knob is completely off the door. Which, by the way, means there's no real barrier between the Drooling Dog and the old cat. Unless I duct tape it shut. But the good news is that no, we have no Buick up on blocks on the dead front lawn--yet. And no, we do not have Christmas lights still up on the house. And before you ask, yes, we do have indoor plumbing. Last I checked, it was still working too. Please e-mail me for my address if you wish to send a check or money order for any and all repairs, or if you have a handyman or gardener you can spare for a little while. Thank you for your concern.

Empty Nest?

Would you think me an unnatural mother if I told you that I was sort of looking forward to the Wild Child and the Drooling Dog's departure tomorrow? I love her dearly--the Wild Child--but my happy little schedule is disrupted and I'm yearning to get back to "normal." I think I'm even getting a little cranky!

I think it's hard when our kids move out and then come home to visit. For the first couple hours, we're overjoyed to have them back. After that--well, I think we'd be happy to have them back if only they'd leave for a little while. Or something. I guess I'm kind of conflicted.

I haven't really been able to quilt much since she's been home. When I start quilting, I'm invariably interrupted. And that's okay in a lot of ways, because I want to spend time with her, but I also want to quilt. Similarly, I haven't gotten any further on decorating the house for fall. I'm just itching to decorate, but it's hard to do with two cats and a dog to referee and two other adults--all of whom, humans and pets alike, seem to be hanging around all over the place.

My blog post is late tonight because the Wild Child has been downloading and giving titles to 628 photos from her digital camera. Finally, when I did get on the computer, she came running in here with an unopened 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle begging me to let her open it and start putting it together, even though it's 10:30 at night, she's leaving tomorrow by noon, and she has a lot to do between now and then. And it's a quilting puzzle I bought for myself and have been "saving" until I had time to put it together. I said "no." She begged some more. I said "no" some more. She looked at me with sad eyes--you know that look, right? I said "no" again. I feel mean.

I look around my house and see messes that wouldn't be here if there weren't three adults and a dog coexisting in this small home. Oh, she's pretty good at cleaning up after herself with the larger messes--like when she baked (and burned every single one of) a batch of cookies. But, for instance, her camera is still sitting here on my desk, I found one sock draped over a kitchen chair and another in the living room, and her purse, keys, and cell phone are likely to turn up anywhere. That's just an example--it is not even close to being all the stuff that's scattered here and there around the house.

The dog drools. Really yucky, ugly, gross, snotty looking drool. And sometimes he shakes himself off. I now have drool plastered on the outside of my patio screen door. I'm kind of afraid to look at anything too closely in the house. I really, really, really need to clean house--like tomorrow night after she's gone. Maybe I should take time off work and come home early to get started. Maybe I should pick up all kinds of disinfectants and bleach on the way home. Maybe I should just build a bonfire and burn everything. Well, maybe not. Bleach and Lysol will have to do.

I have to lure the cats in the house while the dog's outside and then lock them into a room where they're safe. This morning, they both got "breakfast in bed"--I had to feed the older cat on a table in the garage and the younger cat's dish is relocated to the top of the bureau in my bedroom. I got out of bed this morning and stepped on the younger cat because she was crouched on the floor next to the bed where she presumably felt safe.

I think I'm getting old and set in my ways. I like my habits. But I love my kids--both the Wild Child and her older brother. I know that once my life gets back to "normal," I'll miss her terribly. Like I said, I guess I'm kind of conflicted.

Yeah, maybe I might even miss him. A little. Well, maybe not. At least photos don't drool!

I Think I Just Pepper Sprayed Myself . . .

I woke up at dawn today, but eventually I went back to sleep for a short while.  Before I did, though, I made the decision to call into work and let them know I was taking a mental health day.  Between Soccer Son's wedding the weekend before last and then my office's mystery event last weekend, I was behind on decorating for fall and on so many other things!  I knew I'd feel better and a bit more in control of my life if I took a day to try to get caught up on at least a couple things.

So I reset my alarm for 8 a.m., with the thought that I'd get up and walk then, before calling into work.  The funny thing was I was so anxious to walk--and I'm seriously not sure if that was "anxious" in a good way or "anxious" in a bad way--that I got up at 7:15 a.m. and turned off the alarm.  Soon I was out the door and on my way.

When I got back home again, I started on the fall decorating, and I barely took any breaks all day except to eat breakfast and lunch.  Because Hubby and I were invited out to Mrs. Soccer Son's parents' home for dinner and to watch the newlyweds open wedding gifts, I had to stop around 4:30 to clean up and dress.  I was surprised, though, that I kept going all day long--I felt like I had more energy than normal, so maybe the exercise I'm getting from walking is helping already.

Once I had cleaned up and dressed, I saw I still had at least a half hour before we had to leave, so I thought I'd make good use of my time by sorting through some things the Wild Child had left on the desk in what used to be her bedroom when she moved to Eureka.  Some things needed to be tossed out, some things needed to be redistributed to other rooms--like a handful of pens--and some things needed to be set aside to ask the Wild Child about later.  I picked up one odd looking thing--it was black and red plastic and it had a clip on it for attaching to a belt or something, but I had no idea what it was.  Should I toss it out, I wondered?  It looked kind of like a guy type of thing from the color and the belt clip, so I was going to ask Hubby, but then I saw a little spray hole, so I turned it away from me and sprayed--yep, something came out, so I put it back on the desk to figure out later.  Maybe I've give the Wild Child a call and ask.

Soon, though, I caught a whiff of something that reminded me of cutting jalapeno peppers in half and scooping out the seeds--in a second, it caught in my throat and made me start coughing.  It occured to me  then that it was probably pepper spray!  Darn!  I was out of that room pretty quickly . . . and so was our cat, Spike, who'd been sleeping peacefully on the bed up until then.

A little later, when I thought it was safe to go back into the room again, I retrieved the pepper spray canister and showed it to Hubby who said, "Well I could have told you it was pepper spray!  We used to sell it all the time at the auto parts store!" 

Really?  The auto parts store?!  I guess I should have just asked him, as I first thought.  I turned and tossed the canister into a basket we use near the front door to collect mail and miscellaneous things.  Maybe I'll take it with me when I walk, although with my luck, if I ever have to use it, the wind will probably be blowing in my direction.

I'm just glad the Wild Child didn't have a taser on her desk.  I'm not sure I know what those look like either.

A Moveable Feast

"A Moveable Feast" is the title of a literary work composed of Hemingway's memoirs of Paris.  That's not what this post is about.  I'm using the phrase more literally--this year our Thanksgiving feast is traveling with us up to the Wild Child's home in Humboldt.  We did this last year, although I don't think we hauled as much "stuff" with us last year.  Another difference was that we had our Thanksgiving feast ON Thanksgiving.  That's not the case this year; we'll have our family Thanksgiving meal on Saturday because the Wild Child has to work today.

Soccer Son and his Lovely Wife, their dog Izzy, Hubby and I, and my sister-in-law are heading north in two vehicles, taking with us a Weber (to barbecue the turkey), folding chairs, a folding table, luggage, and various items of food.  Thanksgiving at the Wild Child's little apartment is a bit of an adventure since she doesn't have an oven or a stove top; hence, the Weber.  She does, though, have a microwave, a toaster oven, and an electric burner or two.  So dinner takes a little planning, but it's very "do-able."  Besides hauling all that, though, we also have a big box and a second bag filled with this stuff--and more:

It's become our family tradition to make gingerbread houses every year, and we've done it on or near Thanksgiving for the past couple of years.  So after we've eaten turkey and all the other dishes that accompany it, we'll settle down to be as creative as our full bellies will allow.  Why, you might wonder, are we hauling all of the gingerbread house stuff with us instead of buying it once we get there?  Well, last year the Wild Child and I went shopping for gingerbread house kits in Eureka and absolutely could not find any pre-assembled houses.  And if you've ever messed around with a gingerbread kit, you probably know that trying to construct the walls and roof and getting the pieces to stick in a short period of time is incredibly frustrating.  So this year, when I found a variety of pre-assembled house kits, I bought them.  Besides the four you see here, I have one more PLUS one kit of smaller houses that--yes--do need to be "glued" together, but they're extra in case anyone else shows up or if couples won't collaborate on a shared house.

Today, on Thanksgiving, I'm making the dressing to take with us; Hubby's baking a pie or two and some homemade honey wheat rolls.  And we're treating ourselves to a Thanksgiving meal in a restaurant we love, Seasons 52.

Seasons 52 uses fresh and organic ingredients and each of their dishes is 475 calories or less--the perfect choice for those of us struggling to shed a few pounds during the holiday season.

So it will be a fairly relaxing and quiet day for us, but that's just as well since we'll be up early in the morning, attempting to shoe-horn everything we need to take into our two cars.  I hope you and your family are enjoying the holiday together.  Happy Thanksgiving!

Let Them Eat Cake

I was going to show you stuff from the quilt show tonight, but I'm just not feeling it. I'm tired and full and I want to go to bed.

We--Hubby, me, the Wild Child, Soccer Son, and two significant others--were supposed to go out to dinner tonight to celebrate the kids' birthdays. Soccer Son, however, was sick and couldn't make it, so it was just four of us. Originally the plan was to go to the Olive Garden, but when we arrived, we learned the wait was an hour. ARGH! So Manager Man, the Wild Child's significant other, called over to one of our very favorite Mexican restaurants and learned the wait was only 20 minutes--just about the time it would take us to drive there. So off we went and had a marvelous meal--better, I'm sure, than we had originally planned anyway. Margaritas, guacamole, chips and salsa, and our main dishes. Isn't it funny how things work out like that sometimes?

On the other hand . . . last Thursday, on the Wild Child's birthday, I stopped at a special bakery and bought a small (but darned expensive!), exquisite birthday cake which Hubby, I, the Wild Child, and Manager Man ate (well, not ALL of it, but some). Today I bought ANOTHER cake for all of us to share after dinner--that was before Soccer Son and his Lovely Wife to be Someday cancelled due to illness. So here we were, the same four of us, again with a birthday cake to eat. After that huge Mexican fiesta. See why I'm full? And tired? And just want to go to bed?

Now I'm pondering: When Soccer Son feels better and we finally DO get together for a birthday dinner, do I need to get yet ANOTHER birthday cake?

Not if it's any time soon. I just can't stand any more.

Have a happy Valentine's Day, and if you need some chocolate cake, I'm here for you, okay?

A Haunting Day

I hope you didn't miss me too much this morning. Our Haunted House Party on Saturday was so much fun that by the time the festivities were over, I was just waaaaay too pooped to write a blog post. I'll tell you a little bit about it though.

I should start the story by telling you that the Drooling Dog's sleepover was spectacularly unsuccessful, so the Wild Child brought him home on Saturday morning, accompanied by his date. Yes, apparently the Wild Child saw nothing to be concerned about in trying to mate two dogs while also entertaining guests of the human variety. Oh, well, what can a mom do? I simply banished the Drooling Dog and his girlfriend to the garage for the duration of the Haunted House decorating portion of the afternoon with Hubby to oversee and monitor any progress and offer encouragement.

Remember the Halloween mini quilts I made? Well, now I can tell you I was making them for the Ghoulish Gals attending Saturday's festivities. And I can show you a photo of three of the finished tabletoppers.

My guests for the house decorating were the Wild Child, Soccer Son's Lovely Wife to Be Someday, and the Mother of the Bride--truly a mother/daughter day for our two families. I set up the table outside, as the weather was perfect.

The Wild Child had to leave for work in the late afternoon, so her house was a bit minimalist but still a fine creation. She hasn't quite decided whether she will add more to it later or leave it "as is"--either way, I'm sure it will be terrific!

Here are photos of the other three houses--which are quite done, and possibly even overdone!

But really, is there ever such a thing as too much candy?

Later in the day, when the houses were loaded with candy to capacity, the men joined us for a food fest. Seriously, there was probably enough food to feed twice as many guests and still send everyone home with leftovers. We started, while waiting for Soccer Son to arrive (he had a late soccer game to coach) with beer battered onion rings and stuffed mushrooms. And that was AFTER most of us had been snacking on chips, salsa, guacamole, bean/corn dip, and perhaps even a margarita or two for most of the afternoon.

By the time we were ready for the "real" dinner, no one was very hungry, but we still managed to choke down some fully-loaded burgers and a couple side dish salads. Sadly, though, the dessert Hubby picked up, a tiramisu, was as ignored as the Drooling Dog's girlfriend. Doesn't it look yummy though?

I have since learned that the tiramisu is just as yummy as it looks. Now that I think about it, maybe I wasn't just tired last night after the party; maybe I was suffering from a serious food stupor. That kind of seems appropriate though--I think I was probably just helping our Canadian friends celebrate their Thanksgiving. Yep, that's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Happy Thanksgiving, Canada!

Family Vacation

It was just about this time of the year, and about 15 years ago, when our family was looking forward to a vacation at the beach. Our plans were somewhat loose as to detail, but we knew our vacation time would be spent on the central California coast, and we specifically wanted to spend the 4th of July on the sand somewhere, playing in the ocean and watching the municipal fireworks display. Our two kids--Soccer Son and the Wild Child--were at pretty good ages: just old enough to not need constant supervision but young enough to not rebel too much at the thought of spending time with their parents.

There was just one drawback. For the third year in a row, the Wild Child had broken her arm and was wearing a cast. Not a very happy situation for a family vacation at the beach!

We had considered postponing the vacation--the Wild Child was due to have the cast off around the 6th of July, if memory serves me correctly, but we all really wanted to celebrate the 4th of July at the beach and other summer obligations prevented rescheduling. What to do?

After considerable thought, I decided it would be best to cut the cast off myself. Yeah, I know, but I did. It was only a few days before the cast was due to come off anyway, it was a Friday night, and we were just about packed to leave early Saturday morning. I'd been thinking about it for a day or two, and by that time, removing the cast made a lot of sense to me.

Thinking that removing a cast would be a fairly simple matter, after dinner that night, we set about the task in the kitchen with scissors and a serrated steak knife. I thought getting the cast wet would help dissolve it. Not! After working on it for an hour or two, I decided a hand saw might help. With a pretty good cut made into the cast already, we were much too far along to go back, but the darn thing just wouldn't split open. In fact, we tried a couple of different saws. It was very slow going.

About two or three hours in, I was fairly certain I wasn't removing the cast any earlier than it should have been removed. After all, with all the yanking and bending of the arm and cast I'd been doing, if the bone hadn't already healed, the Wild Child would have been in some pain--but she wasn't. Both of us were pretty tired of the struggle and exasperated, but we nearly had it off. We kept going.

In the end, I think it took about three or four hours to get the cast off. Seriously, we had a truly wonderful vacation, and it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun with a cast, but in retrospect, I really don't recommend home cast removal. It's really a lot harder than it looks in the doctor's office.

With the arm splint I have though, it would be a piece of cake. Only the bottom part is made of cast material--the rest is bandages that I think would cut pretty easily. Given what you now know about me, you can probably understand why it's been so hard for me to resist, but I have so far, and now I'm into the home stretch--my doctor's appointment is scheduled for 10 a.m. tomorrow morning.

All I can say, though, is that he'd better be planning to remove the darn thing tomorrow. After that, I'm not making any promises! I've sharpened my scissors and I'm ready.

The Wild Child, The Drooling Dog, and a Well Deserved Rest

You'll probably recall that the Wild Child is moving back home this week, right? And I mentioned that I'd been storing a lot of my seasonal decorations and other "stuff" in her room, and that they needed to be boxed up and moved out, right? And you'll probably recall that over the weekend, I worked on sorting things in the garage to make room for the boxes of very valuable treasures that would soon be displaced from her room, right? Well, after that, on Monday night and Tuesday night, I spent time in her room doing the boxing and cleaning. She was planning to rent a U-Haul truck and bring most of her things on Thursday, so I had until then to finish the job. Until I found out Tuesday night that her plans had changed and she, the truck, and her stuff would arrive on WEDNESDAY. So I was up packing things until around 1 a.m. last night.

Promptly at 8:20 a.m., as I was getting dressed for work, I heard our side gate open and I saw someone put a LARGE houseplant down on our patio--The Wild Child had arrived. Of course, the Drooling Dog had arrived too.

The Drooling Dog has been the Wild Child's "baby" since he was a pup. He's a very, very nice dog and has been her constant companion, but now he's going to have to get used to living outside and in our garage because (1) he's very large and our house is very small and (2) there's a reason he's called the Drooling Dog. In fact, every time I hear his collar and tags jingle, I kind of cringe a little, because I know he's shaking slobber far and wide. But at least it's not in the house.

For our two cats, it's been a very traumatic day. Despite the fact that the Drooling Dog is on the patio and they're in the house, they're very leery of him and I'm sure they expect to be eaten at any moment. I KNOW they're waiting for him to leave. I wonder how long it will take them to figure out that's not going to happen?

And since I got the packing done and stayed up late last night to do it, I promised myself an early evening in bed tonight with a good book. I'm really itching to get back into the Sweat Shop because I've had to give it up the last few days, but it will wait another evening, I think! So I'm off, now, to keep my promise to myself--my bed and book await. Good night!

What a Deal!

Can I just say, "WWWVVVWWWVVV"? The reason I say that is because I couldn't before--those keys refused to work on my old keyboard once they were doused with iced tea. But guess what? Yep, the new keyboard is installed and fully functional. Can I hear a "woo" and a "hoo"?

This is what the new keyboard looks like:

It's also what the OLD keyboard looked like. AND the one before that. They're pretty good keyboards--if you don't spill stuff on them! This time I got smart--or lucky. The man at the register of the big office supply place asked me if I'd like to purchase the extended warranty--for a year, they'll replace the keyboard no matter how much I spill on it, and it was only an extra $6. Considering this is the FOURTH keyboard I've had this year, I consider it an extreme bargain! Of course, I purchased the warranty. (Yeah, yeah--I can hear you asking why I keep tempting fate with drinks near the keyboard, and I don't really have an answer for that other than the fact I love to take risks. So I guess it won't surprise you to learn I have a glass of iced tea next to me now, will it? Nah!)

Hubby was off watching Soccer Son coach his boys' varsity soccer team and keeping time for the game, so the Wild Child and I decided to visit this place for dinner--

We both ordered the number 2 meal, which is a cheeseburger, fries, and a small drink. I ordered onions on mine and the Wild Child asked them to hold the onions and the tomato on hers. We got our drinks and sat down to wait. About five minutes later, a young, uniformed gal came over and asked if we were order number five. "Yes, we are," I said. She looked me straight in the eyes and asked, "Which burger did you want the onion on and which burger did you want no onion and no tomato on?" Seriously. I'm not joking. Of course, I asked her "What?!" She repeated the question, and the Wild Child and I looked at each other and looked back at the girl. Then we looked at each other again and looked back and the girl. Finally we looked at each other some more, trying not to laugh, and looked back at the girl. I think I told her I didn't understand the question, and after some back and forth discussion, we learned that the guy who took our order recorded it as one cheeseburger and one REGULAR burger. Ah! The girl told me she was going to have to charge me for a slice of cheese, which is probably a small price to pay for the entertainment value received, but in the end, her manager told her not to charge us. When our burgers came, neither had tomato; one had onion and the other didn't. I told the Wild Child to take it back and tell them they put the onion on the wrong burger, but she refused. Clearly, she's not nearly as much fun to go out with as Gran--I bet Gran would have done it!

Finally, we stopped here (well, not exactly HERE, but it was a reasonable facsimile):

The Hundred Dollar Store. Guess how much it cost to get out of there? $104. It might have been under a hundred if not for the impulse buy at the checkout counter--Martha Stewart's Halloween magazine. But how can one resist?

All in all, a fairly expensive day, but worth every penny!

A Few Random Thoughts

On Monday the Wild Child ventured away from the Tahoe snowboard runs long enough to drive down to Sacramento for an overnight stay, and we all--me, Hubby, the Wild Child, and the Soccer Son and his Lovely Girlfriend--went out to dinner to celebrate the Wild Child's birthday (February 10th) and the Soccer Son's birthday (February 9th). We had a great time and I learned something interesting about the Soccer Son: he can fit a whole cupcake in his mouth! In fact, he performed the trick not once but twice: once before dinner and once after dinner. Talented boy!

During dinner, the Wild Child was talking a bit about possibly going sky diving again and I think she mentioned BASE jumping too, but I'm not sure because I had my fingers in my ears and I was humming loudly at the time. And did I mention she's in a band now? Lead singer and song writer extraordinaire. She sang for us a little bit of her latest song, "Sweatin' Out the Alcohol."

It's always fun when the family gets together.

Tonight I was talking to a quilt friend, Imelda, about--what else?--quilting. Imelda was in my Valentine Hearts quilt class. She told me she brought a few projects she made to show her sewing group, and a couple of the ladies wanted to know where they could get the pattern. I know some of them read my blog occasionally, so if any of you are reading this--or if anyone else is interested--just click on my profile and then click on the "email" link and let me know you're interested in purchasing a copy. I don't want to turn my blog into a pattern sale site, but I haven't figured out yet how to get a website up and running, and with Valentine's Day approaching--well, I'm not sure what else to do, but I apologize to those of you who didn't pop in for a sales pitch!

Imelda did have a question about my blog that some of you may have wondered about. Yes, once I have a "real" pattern business started, I still plan to have plenty of creative ideas and the occasional pattern freebies/tutorials for those of you who stop in to visit. I'm sure that not everything I make will be suitable for development into an actual "pattern." On the other hand, I feel that if I'm going to teach classes based on my own patterns and charge students to take the classes, it's not fair to them for me to give the patterns away free on my blog. So hopefully I'll be able to balance things. Something for everyone!

And all that reminds me. Tonight I did a little internet surfing--I should have been catching up on my blog visiting, but somehow I got side tracked over to the Fat Quarter Shop, RJR Fabrics, Thimbleberries, and Moda--among other happy places to visit. So much good stuff out there! Did you see Monica/Happy Zombie's post the other day about the "Moda Bake Shop"? There are lots of free crafty patterns and projects there--some by Monica and some by other designers. Monica's Pennie Pockets are there, and she shows how to string the beads she adds to the bottom. She also has instructions for a reversible pocket calendar cover. And you know about Moda's free pattern site, don't you? More good stuff!

I was kind of hoping Minick and Simpson would give it a rest for awhile for the sake of my bank account, but I see they have a new line coming out, Flag Day Farm. I really love their fabrics and I'm EXTREMELY tempted to throw caution to the winds and order the fat quarter bundle. I'm sure if I think about it for a day or two, I'll figure out a way to justify the purchase. In fact, I've been thinking about teaching one of Patchalot Marcie's patterns in a red, white, and blue colorway as a patriotic/4th of July class. Flag Day Farm fabric and a Patchalot pattern? Hummmmm. The wheels are turning!

Finally, if you're looking for a Valentine idea for that special someone, check out Kimberly's blog, Bitty Bits & Pieces, for an excellent heart pillow tutorial--the pillow even has a pocket to tuck goodies into! I really need to make one of these, but I seem to be all out of good Valentine fabric. Don't worry though--I had the foresight to order a bit the other day, so maybe it will arrive by the weekend.

Happy quilting and thanks for stopping by to visit with me!

Sweet Stuff

Another day spent in the kitchen! This time, I was decorating gingerbread houses with the family. Hubby chose not to decorate one; instead, he watched football and kept us all updated on the scores and admired our houses.

Well, I guess he wasn't always admiring. Best quote of the day? Hubby to the Wild Child's boy friend: "Marty, with all due respect, what the hell are you making?!"

Here's their creation:

Marty had to head back to Chico in the mid afternoon, so he and the Wild Child got an early start on their house--since Marty's visit was a last minute decision, we didn't have a house for him, but he and the Wild Child were happy collaborating.

Soccer Son and his Lovely Wife to be Someday each had their own house and knowing my son, it's better that way, although they were both supportive of each other's efforts and shared ideas.

Soccer Son's house has solar panels on the roof, I think:

And his is a little minimalist for a gingerbread house, but I think he was just as interested in watching football with his dad as he was decorating his house, so his attention was divided.

His Lovely Wife to be Someday covered her house--you can see a front view in the first photo above, but I wanted to show you the back, which I thought was rather clever!

So clever, in fact, that I stole the idea for the sides of my house--I really liked the pretzel squares on point. I already used pretzel squares on the front and roof of mine, but after I saw hers, I added them to the sides too--on point:

The houses were left here to dry for the night and Soccer Son will pick up theirs tomorrow; in the meantime, I was able to get some photos for you. It was a lovely way to spend a rainy December afternoon!

For those of you who may have printed or downloaded a copy of the Christmas Wreath version of the Paganini quilt, there was an error in the original published directions--I had said to cut 72 1-1/2" squares from the gold fabric for star points, when it should have been 144 squares. The corrected pattern can be found HERE.

How observant are you? If you've been reading my blog for a bit, you've probably noticed I don't publish photos of me--other than my nude self-portraits! But in the first photo above, there's a picture of me and the Wild Child--probably taken about 20 years ago. Neither of us looks quite the same these days, as you might imagine! Did you spot it before I told you?