Archive for July, 2008

The most expensive beans in the world.

Bolstered by the exuberant breeze, I ventured into the overgrown, ill-conceived Garden of Shame yesterday. And while I was furiously pulling 3ft-tall weeds, I came upon these shining beacons of vegetable hope. Beautiful green beans. I squealed and hollered for Isadora to come and see that the myth of planting seeds in the soil to grow your own vegetables may
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The Five Minute Skirt that fell into a black hole.

There has been a lot of chatter of late in the blog circles I frequent about Angry Chicken’s Five Minute Skirt. Who could possibly resist the prospect of that??! Not I, says the girl with a newly-acquired of stack of vintage feedsack fabric from the family collection. And I’m not alone. Last week’s Craft Day Tuesday, which seems to be
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Fruition, unbeknownst to us.

I was greeted with a shocking surprise this afternoon while doing some housecleaning for the Finch Family. (You may or may not know that a family of finches took up residence in my porch-hanging begonias) Way back at the start of spring, when we didn’t dare believe that winter would ever end, Isadora and I headed outside with an offering
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We hope for more sand in our future.

Here’s wishing you all a great weekend!

Looks like I’m on a roll…

After much fanfare, cutting, sweating, and crocheting, I’m happy to declare this rag rug DONE. (insert clapping, whistles, and orchestral explosion of “Hallelujah” here) And in the nick of time, too, as my attention span had almost written off the project on account of boredom and bigger, better, flashier prospects on the horizon. That attention span – so fickle. But
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Our tee time is set for 4:30.

The Mayor called this morning and declared today Craft Day. Or, “Make Yourself Some Sanity” day. I happily obliged. I had some curtains to finish, a half-hearted attempt to curb our brazen exhibitionism through curtain-less windows. Peep show’s over, folks, at least out the bathroom windows. While I crafted my way into higher moral ground, I had no choice but
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We have finally arrived at summer.

The thermometer has been rising, outdoor busy-ness has commenced, thunderstorms have arrived with a vengeance, and yet we’d not personally arrived at summer. We’d not yet jumped into the free-for-all of sun, beach, grass between the toes, and ice cream that define the summer season. It was as if our Crazy Train of Life missed the stop at Summerland. Whatever
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Cookbook love.

Last week I had to take matters into my own hands, Rosie the Riveter style. Cookbooks were amok, buckets and baskets strewn about, and every revolution of the washing machine’s spin cycle sent the clutter atop the heap into a frenzied break-dance. The project intended to curb all this chaos had been started a week or more ago, but had
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