I would like to just take a moment to peel myself up off the floor, mop my brow, and say, “Sheesh! What a summer that was!” If today was June 9th, I’d be just about right on schedule with everything I’m supposed to be getting done. On the other hand, it’s not June 9th, my kitchen floor needs to be mopped because I have cinnamon sugar stuck to the bottom of my feet, my kids’ rooms need to be organized, and if you thought that this was a lot of laundry let’s just say that as I look at that picture I think to myself how nice it would be to have all the dirty laundry in one place rather than tucked into nooks and crannies all over the house and scattered hither and thither upon floors.
On the other hand, I’m pretty much ready to pop the champagne . . . because after a long and ridiculous saga, all my garment patterns are written, illustrated, printed, assembled, and shipped! (Thank you to all you lovely pre-order people for your patience! If you didn’t receive your patterns today they should be there in the next day or two.) So at least one item on my to-do list has been officially checked off. It also makes me realize that I don’t think I ever showed you the video that we took to Market in May. (Or did I? It’s all a blur . . . )
Anyway, there you go. And while I’m at it, why not give you a whole slug and a half of pictures? Also, did I mention that for the next week you can get FREE SHIPPING on your entire order?!?!
This is the Duchess Skirt pattern. It takes 3 1/3 yards of fabric, and it was just featured in the latest issue of American Quilt Retailer. So that’s fun. The pattern covers women’s sizes 4-14. Continue reading ‘Patterns! And Free Shipping! And Exclamation Marks!’
Is anyone going to mind if I get a tidge preachy for a moment? Lovely. Here goes.
I mind it, yes I really do, when Christians run around loving songs and singing along with them when they have never bothered to discover what those lyrics are actually saying. Are you with me here? I’m sure this must have happened to you before . . . it’s definitely happened to me a time or two, and I hate it. There’s some great song, you hear a snatch of it on the radio, it’s really catchy, you like the tune, and the next time it comes on you sing along with the chorus. And then you file it away under the mental category “songs I like.” But have you ever then discovered, after singing along with it about eighteen times without thinking, that it’s actually quite a despicable song when you read the lyrics? That’s really the worst.
No. I take that back. The worst is when Christians never actually DO reach the moment of discovering that it’s a despicable song . . . either because they just don’t bother, or because the cool hipness of the song has them around the Continue reading ‘Read ‘em and Weep’
I would like to commence by saying a quick, “Preach it, Mother!” Her advice on journaling was spot on . . . and I’d like to just throw out a casual thought that perhaps a pastor’s wife of 35 years who has counseled many a woman through all manner of tragedies may perchance have a perspective on things that is worth listening to. Her list of “things that might get people into trouble” has a lot of years of experience behind it. Quite honestly, sometimes I feel like a pastor and his wife are a bit like the doctors in the ER. They’ve seen the car crashes that come through the door every single Saturday night because people WILL persist in thinking that nothing will go wrong if they try to drive themselves home from the bar. The doctors who have to clean up the mess are a bit more cynical.
Anyway, that is neither here nor there. I frankly felt that I should share, for everyone’s edification, my career in journaling.
It all started when someone, I don’t remember who, gave me a birthday present. I imagine I was probably eight or nine, but I don’t know for sure. The gift was a tiny, green Garfield the Cat diary – probably two inches tall, with a little strap that snapped it shut. I never wrote anything in it – except perhaps my name. It sat in my room for months, untouched. It wasn’t that I wasn’t allowed to write in it – I just never did.
Then, one day, some people came over to visit. I don’t remember exactly why, but midway through the afternoon I got cranky at life and began to stew quietly to myself about how I was being unduly harassed by everyone and everything. You know how it is when you’re cranky – everyone in the world is to blame but yourself. Suddenly, in the midst of my mood, I had a flash of inspiration. This here was exactly what that diary had been waiting for all this time. I went and shut myself in my room, opened up my little Garfield the Cat book, and scribbled out a terse little entry that went something like this: Continue reading ‘My Career as a Journalist’
Just a little FYI that there’s a coupon over at the Amoretti blog! Have a great 4th!
You wanted to come to Moscow anyway, right? The chimney of Idaho has been on your bucket list for ages, and we all know it.
Now think what a good reason you have to come! You can come to the Femina shindig, hit the Fall Con, and generally whoop it up. It’ll be all kinds of festive, and you should definitely be here for it.
I had a truly uplifting experience last week that I’d like to share with everyone.
Ben and I were in Oxford last week. And when we arrived at Heathrow, (lots of memories wrapped up in that place!) it turned out that the line at immigration was hideously long. We were both bordering on deliriously tired, and we were clearly going to be standing in line with all of our luggage for an hour. Basically, you could sum up the situation as tedious in the extreme. I was standing there with a glazed look on my face, shuffling several steps forward every so often and thinking of nothing in particular except occasionally noticing what bad outfits people wear on planes.
And then suddenly, into this gray, drab, dull, flourescently lit tedium, there came something that can only be described as a blessing. A little human drama began to unfold directly behind us in line, and it raised my spirits immeasurably.
It began when I felt someone breathing on my elbow. That was a bit disconcerting. I whipped around, and there was an exceptionally short Indian woman standing behind me. Right behind me. As in, very much involved with my personal space. She was probably 65, and her height was such that when she breathed, it hit me on the elbow. She had a wicked scowl on her face, and also a mustache. She was leading a little girl by the hand, and towing a suitcase. I turned back around and tried to ignore the breathing on my elbow. I was beginning to settle back into my stupor Continue reading ‘The Queue Jumper’
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