there are no words

My heart is sick with grief after today's terrible, terrible incident in America. Those children, those poor families. I'm just going to share pictures snapped on recent walks of things that are innocent and sweet, things those poor babies would have liked. Shattered otherwise.

Winter and Summer Mix It Up

A honeybee at the nursery in December, out of season.

We humans, huddled inside parkas and scarves and mittens, know full well that it's winter here in the Puget Sound area. (All humans younger than 10 and older than 18, that is. In between exist primates who, for reasons of youthful vigor or fashion, seem impervious to cold and rain--or pretend that they are--and go about in tee shirts and tiny skirts and cute but useless puffy vests.) It is raw and gray most days, with rain either threatening, spitting, or bucketing down.

Calendula in bloom

But after a hot, dry summer that extended well into fall, some of the plants and a handful of insects don't seem to have gotten the message that winter's here.

In just the past two weeks I've seen cosmos plants--those blowsy butterflies of summer--still clinging stubbornly to their blossoms. The geranium out front continues to pump out half-hearted flowers, and a crocosmia in the back garden only just gave up the fight. A cherry tree on one of my walking routes has popped open dozens of blooms, and calendulas are shining like supernovae.

Go to sleep, already!

At the same time, those plants that typically brighten up a dim winter day are flaunting their colors. With those Anna's hummingbirds that somehow manage to survive this far north zipping around and singing squeakily, it would feel downright tropical around here if it weren't for the mercury dropping.

Beautyberry

Leaves of creeping geranium species

Fruits of strawberry tree

The Colorful World of a "Tie-Dyeing Mom Entrepreneur"

The boundless creativity of humans, even among just my small circle of friends, never fails to amaze me. It's so gratifying to see them simply enjoying their artistic and crafting endeavors, perhaps selling a few items here and there for fun, or actually launching a business with their talents.

Rainbow Kids is one such business. This home-based enterprise, which specializes in creating "vibrant and unique tie-dyed clothing for babies, children, and adults" by hand, is the brainchild of my friend Stacia Caplanson, whom I've known since our college days together. Her creativity blooms in the tropical colors of the cotton clothing she sells online and at craft fairs. 

In the 1980s, Stacia and I shared many cups of tea and beautiful southern New England days together, sometimes daydreaming about starting neighboring small farms before our post-college careers took us along different paths and, eventually, different coasts (but not before Stacia taught me how to milk a cow and to overcome my fear of making bread with yeast). 

She was the first person I ever knew who owned and used a spinning wheel.

Today, Stacia produces her vivid clothing in a studio at home in Massachusetts. The process begins with mixing powdered fiber-reactive dyes with water. The clothing is folded, tied, banded by hand, and soaked in a "mordant solution" (a substance that fixes dye to fabric) before having the dye applied with squeeze bottles. Then the clothing is put into a plastic bag so that it can "age" for 24 hours.

After the dye has bonded with the fabric, Stacia rinses out the items and washes them twice so that all traces of excess dye are removed.

At this point, she gets to relish the colorful results of her work. "It is a joy to view each creation as I take it out of the washer. No two are exactly alike," she notes on her website, Rainbow Kids Tie Dye.

Stacia likes to say that each piece is as unique as the person who wears it.

Many people are interested in the origin of the  materials used by crafters, and Stacia enjoys sharing that information with them. 

"I believe in using quality materials that create a product which will be loved and worn for many years," she explains.

"I use fiber-reactive dyes which create colors that are vibrant and long lasting on the 100% cotton clothing that I dye. Most of my dyes and clothing blanks are sourced from a socially responsible company in California that has been in business since 1969. The quality of their dyes is exceptional, and I appreciate that they carry organic cotton clothing, offer clothing sewn by a Bolivian women’s co-op, and source fair-trade products."

Stacia started her own business in October 2008 after years working as a museum interpreter and historian demonstrating spinning, weaving, knitting, quilting, and wool dyeing.

"I wanted to start a home-based business that would allow me to be creative, have a flexible schedule, and create a fun product," she says.


She'd always loved dressing her son in tie-dyed clothing (for one thing, it made him easy to see on the playground!), so she pointed her talents in this new direction. First, she asked a tie-dyeing brother-in-law to teach her how to tie-dye. "His advice was to just jump in and start doing it—and he was right!" she recalls.

 "I did some research, bought a kit, and just started dyeing...and haven’t stopped since then. I was out selling shirts and socks at my first event, a local farmer’s market, just three weeks after I had learned  to fold and dye."

Being a self-employed artisan often means long hours. For Stacia, this includes the wee hours of the night.  "I do most of my work between 9 p.m. and 3 a.m., while my family is sleeping," she says.

It is hard but satisfying work. "I both love and am frustrated that my business is  a one-woman operation," she explains. "I love being able to say that I am the creator of  all the things that I sell and am frustrated that I never have as much inventory as I wish I had when I head out to a market or festival. I also both love the flexibility of being able to be up working  at 1 a.m. yet wish there were more hours during the day to get everything done!"

Her love of craft and color started early. "I have always loved the creative process of working with fabrics, fibers and colors," she notes. As a child, she recalls enjoying all kinds of crafts, particularly making shadow boxes, sewing, knitting, cooking, and doing macramé.

A strong element of play still enlivens her work. Asked to name her favorite aspect of her craft, she quickly responds, "Playing with color! I am constantly learning and creating new color combinations." As inspiration, she cites "the playful nature of children."

Any advice for other crafters who'd like to make the leap into marketing their creations? 

"Love what you do, be prepared to learn a lot and work harder than you ever have,  and know that it is a roller coaster—there are no guarantees and you need to be in it for the long haul," says Stacia. "There will be days when you sell lots and there will be days when you sell little. Some days I long for the stability of the steady paycheck. Building a business takes time and many talents, from creating your product, to researching venues, posting on Facebook, setting up your tent and display, greeting your customers, and paying your taxes.  Find a community of fellow artisans who will share with you what they know and share your triumphs and despair. And believe in yourself and your product."

Tie-dyeing mom entrepreneur Stacia Caplanson is a proud member of the groups Artisans of Western Mass, and Etsy Teams SAHM of Etsy and Made in Massachusetts. Stacia also feels it is important to give back to the community and so she participates and donates to fundraisers that benefit organizations such as Relay for Life, Food Bank of Western Mass, the United Way, and Room to Read, which promotes literacy. 

You can find her colorful creations online at www.rainbowkidstiedye.etsy.com, at farmer's markets in some areas of western Massachusetts (as well as holiday craft festivals), and at outdoor festivals such as the Annual West Brookfield Asparagus Festival, Red Fire Farm’s Tomato Festival, and the CT Garlic and Harvest Festival, and at a local natural food shop. In 2012 Stacia was invited to sell at the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival and Newport Jazz Festival as well as street festivals in Hartford, CT, and Worcester, MA.

Crafty Cravings and Cratered Cheesecake

Advent calendar not made by me.

Crafting-wise, I am called on the carpet every year on the eve of the first day of Advent. November 30th is when I remember, "Oh. Yeah.
I was going to make an Advent calendar for my daughter and maybe even my niece and nephew across the country."

November 30, however, is a bit late to start working on something that is to be used early on December 1.

And then I remember that I had once planned to make an Advent calendar for my sister. Decades ago. She is now all grown up and the mom of that niece and nephew I mentioned.

It's still not too late to make all those crafts I intended to give as Christmas gifts, but give me time. I am ahead of schedule for being behind schedule on those.

Fortunately, it is much easier to go to craft fairs than it is to make crafts (or it is if you go to really good craft fairs, not the events that my friend F. dubs "crap fairs"). There's no shortage of excellent craft fairs in the Pacific Northwest, and two of them fall on the first weekend of December (when I have given up hope of ever making those Advent calendars, anyway).

The first one I enjoyed this past weekend was the Phinney Neighborhood Association's Winter Festival and Crafts Fair. Jewelry, clothing, pottery, toys, ornaments, journals, cards, hats, candles, prints--the variety of arts and crafts is mind-boggling and inspiring. And it's all displayed in a blue wooden building that dates back to 1904, as well as a 1918 brick building, both of which once served as schools. If you weary of crafts, you can park  yourself near the bake sale and take in entertainment that includes belly dancing, marimba music, Morris dancing, and the Ballard Sedentary Sousa Band.

I was tempted by oh, so many things and constantly forgetting that I wasn't supposed to be buying myself Christmas gifts. Luckily, I came across a beautiful display of letterpress prints by Ilee Papergoods in one of those moments of forgetfulness. And so it was that I came home with this cheerful picture of a rooster perched on a coffee cup shouting "Good morning." I figured with somebody that enthusiastic about getting up at the break of dawn waiting in the kitchen, any day would be off to a good start.

On Sunday, I went with my friend F. to the Urban Craft Uprising at Seattle Center, which I'd long  heard about but had never attended. There was a distinctly different vibe to some of the crafts here; lots of jewelry, cards, and other items had a sort of hipster or Goth or steampunk or other aura to them. I use these terms loosely because please note I am not remotely cool and hence am just borrowing adjectives here.

But there were plenty of the more whimsical and playful things I like, such as the adorable felted animals holding human (doll) heads in their jaws made by Moxie, and we stopped to snort and giggle at the weird juxtapositions of naivete and danger in the cards produced by the folks at the aptly named Unusual Cards.

One of those whimsical, playful things beckoned to me and implored me to take it home, and I wish I hadn't had to resist its high-pitched little voice out of a sense of Duty and Responsibility to the household budget and buying stuff for people other than myself. It was an absolutely precious pink chenille animal that I guessed (correctly) was a sheep with a very bunny sort of charm (which makes sense, as it was a creation of Hasenpfeffer Incorporated).

I went back to take a second look just as somebody else was scooping it up and purchasing it. Sigh. Well, at least I know where to find one of its cousins (that would be here).

Upon returning home, I felt inspired to do something more creative than loading the dishwasher. Hmm. Couldn't do needle felting because the last stupid needle broke last week and the new ones hadn't yet arrived.  Not inspired enough to draw. But baking? Oh, yes. In fact, that would be easy: the resident teen had made cheesecake for Thanksgiving, and there was virtually a bucket of cheesecake filling left because we'd made too much.

So it'd literally be a piece of cake to make one--just smash up some graham crackers (such a satisfying activity) and make a crust and bingo; easy as pie. The Thanksgiving cake had developed huge cracks as it baked--which didn't mar its taste at all--but this time I'd turn out a picture-perfect one.

Which I did--but the effect was pretty much destroyed when I set the cake on the counter to cool, opened a cabinet, and reflexively ducked as a heavy bowl dropped like a bomb from the top shelf and landed right on the cake. So instead of exhibiting cracking worthy of the San Andreas fault, the cheesecake boasted a large caldera. Which I totally intended, of course.

The Second Christmas

The pumpkins, which have all gone squishy, have been tossed into the garden-recycling bin. The cranberry sauce is gone, and the last of the turkey sandwiches, soup, and stir-fry has been eaten. Now, with the first day of Advent, we're easing ourselves into the Christmas season.

Last year, Christmas was a melancholy blur. It probably is for most families when they've lost a family member, particularly in that first year after their passing. For a long time there didn't seem to be any credible reason why plants should bother coming up, or any point to setting goals. Only the mechanics of day-to-day life and the push of responsibilities forced me to keep on any sort of track.

This summer, though, the resident teenager tentatively asked (treading carefully so as not to appear immune to my feelings) if Christmas this year could be a little bit more like it was in the past. And, of course, it will be. It is her time to enjoy the traditions we've relished for half a century and to renew them for us, as well.

Most of those traditions are the ones that take place in our home. The external ones seem to come and go. In some cases, the event itself disappears (for example, the wonderful Ballard North Pole, a beautifully decorated house we visited every year until the creators retired and moved to central Washington; the nerve!).

In others, the event goes on, but I go alone. Although the resident teen was delighted to receive a little paper Advent calendar--cheerfully reliving childhood by opening the door to peek at what was inside--she wasn't particularly psyched to tramp through the rain and go to see the reindeer and the camels visiting the local nursery for the Christmas season. For some strange reason this attraction doesn't have the same pull on a teen as it does on a three-year-old. Nor does strolling through a Merrie Olde Craft Faire or riding on a Santa Train.

OK, I don't go ride on the Santa Train by myself. I do have limits.

Last year the season of lights was dim for us. This year spirits are a bit brighter. We'll pull out the Advent house and hide a treat in each drawer. The tree will go up, bearing ornaments new and old, many with a story to tell. The manger scene, the old toys, the Christmas village will all be in place. Stockings will be hung by the chimney with care.

There will be memories (and though I am grateful for them, they can also skewer me with pangs of despair and bitterness; I think perhaps that only those who can see the Thestrals completely understand that even beautiful memories of missing loved ones are not soft, woolly blankets that muffle all pain).

Despite ourselves, we will all  be laughing; the lights will twinkle, the candles will flicker.

In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night . . . And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. 

--Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, "The Little Prince"

More Signs of the Times

There is a backlog of photos of signs in my files. Add to that a lack of inspiration and sheer cussed laziness and it all points to "It's time to stick a bunch of photos on the blog and caption them and call it a day." Here goes.

"So don't bring us any of that stinkin' silver."

Well, at least it's truth in advertising.

Employees get to have all the fun.

Darn. I thought illegal dumping might be OK here.

 

Shoot. That must be why traffic is so darn slow.

Oh, good! I can bring my Komodo dragon.

Synchronicity.

 

C'mon in, the water's great!

Rain, More Rain, Wet Squirrels and Giant Mushrooms

The sun did not shine. 
It was too wet to play. 
So we sat in the house. 
All that cold, cold, wet day.
             --Dr. Seuss, "The Cat in the Hat"

It actually would have been nice to sit in the house all the cold, cold, wet day that was yesterday, November 19, 2012. But there were appointments to meet, errands to run, and school to attend. So the only ones who stayed warm and cozy inside were the cats.
 
November 19 is statistically the day most likely to be rainy in Seattle; it has rained on this date 89 times in the past 120 years (including this year's gulley washer). Yesterday, however, set a new record for the date. The 50-year-old record of 1.23 inches was eclipsed by noon and by day's end measured 2.16 inches. Lots more fell in coastal areas and on the peninsula and down in Oregon, and winds gusted up to speeds over 100 miles per hour in some places. 

Basements flooded. Trees and even trailer trucks were toppled. Roofs blew away, avenues turned into rivers, train tracks were closed. Hillsides turned into hill slides, losing their moorings and slipping down slopes and over roads. Rivers crested. In some places, migrating salmon swam across waterlogged streets.

Every year, torrential rains pummel the region in November, and yet, every year, the fury and amount of it takes us by surprise.

For our household, the rain was mostly just an inconvenience and fortunately not a catastrophe. A pause in the daily rush meant savoring a cup of coffee while flipping through recipe books at the dining room table, listening to the rain crash on the window and run down in sheets while the birch tree's supple branches swept north with the wind. 

A walk with the dog during a half-hour of clear skies meant strolling along sidewalks dappled with fallen Japanese maple leaves pressed against the pavement like hands. 

Along the way we encountered a very damp, chilly squirrel using his tail as an umbrella. 
 
We also discovered a patch of mushrooms that look as if they came straight out of the pages of a children's book:

November 19 must be the date when Nature tots up all those other days of the year on which children chanted "Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day" and pours out the reservoir.