analog me

Summer baby sewing

Last week I went back for more fun and itching to the lake. My sister and I drove up early with my youngest and we set up a dual sewing station on the screened porch. My son got a new woodburner at a local variety store so he was ready to craft too. There was a bit of negotiation for outlets what with the two sewing machines, one iron and one woodburner, but we worked it out. 

I had a lot of plans to make summer tops for myself, knit for myself, cook great meals and all that. But I have a new niece, so I decided to start by making some baby stuff. I had this Kwik Sew pattern from the early 90s and some bits of fabric. 

I modified things a bit to make the legs short, omit the crotch zipper, and cope with fabric shortage of this lovely yellow print.

After the fact, I narrowed the top a bit as my niece is very slender. The Kwik Sew patterns look so dated--even the new ones, but I do like the way they always go together. As usual, my biggest problem were the fasteners. What the heck is the the trick with snaps, anyway?? Mine always get stuck in the thing you hammer, or bent, and they are too strong for baby clothes. 

I also had some gorgeous thick flannel and some Anna Maria Horner Voile. I bought this fabric a while back because I love the colors, but because of the directionality and size of the print, I could never figure out how to use it. Times like that, you have to love the square.

Actually, two big squares, sewed, turned and tied. I sat on the dock and knoted the layers together

while someone yelled, "Mom, MOM, Look, LOOK."

While I said, " I am. I am looking." And I really was. Most of the time, anyway.

So now the newest family member has a gift. And I got something even better than a new blouse: a plank of wood burned with 8" tall letters that spell "SIG."

Attack of the vacation rashes

Reflection

So, I went on vacation last week. We went to my husband's family's cabin, where the bugs were in full Minnesota force. Ticks scuttled up my legs. I swatted a few mosquitos. Chigger bites bloomed around my ankles. Deer flies buzzed. A mysterious blistering rash burst out on my shoulder and danced down my arm. There was a lot of debate about how I could have gotten poison ivy there. 

I have lived in Minnesota for about 25 years now, and my paranoia about poison ivy has made me a master of woodland plant identification. It has also kept me poison ivy free that whole time. So I was convinced I had contracted it from my son via his rash via the laundry. I was amazed at how painful it was. Then I got home, and got a proper diagnosis: shingles.

On a more positive note: the water was fine and I didn't get swimmer's itch. 

On the dock at dusk

Imersion.

Dusk is my favorite time to swim. The boundary between sky and water loses it's edge, the blues of air and water merge. Skinny-dipping in the cool water, I stop itching and lose a bit of myself to the lake.

 

How not to get anything done

 

Saturday I had to work at the plant sale fundraiser for my community garden. It was raining and cold so I dug my long underwear out of the Attic-Bound for Summer Woolies Bag (ABSWB). Two seaters and wool mitts over gardening gloves and I was still cold. Finally, I gave up on all vanity and wrapped up in my emergency space blanket. Classy. 

Sunday the sun came out. And the trees exploded.

This smells as lush as it looks.

 I was going to try and think of something poetic to say about this, but I think I will just to go back outside now.

Spring

In the yard.

Walking (and crawling) by the river.

 

Exploring a new spot I have only ever seen from above.

   

It was a long winter.

There was snow on the ground when my brother was in his accident.  He died in Seattle while water drops slid down the hospital window. Then there was a huge snow storm here. When I made it back to Minneapolis and rode the taxi from the airport to my house, my neighborhood was so buried in the three feet of snow, it was almost unrecognizable to me. Everything felt unfamiliar, muffled, whitened out. Edges were all blurred; the landscape had lost it's definition. It seemed the perfect place for me.

The melt always unsettles me. But this week when I heard that water splashing into the stream, saw those spore capsules glowing on the moss, and smelled the damp ground, I thought, "I think I'm ready."

 

 

Fresh Snow and a Vintage Find

We just got another foot of snow. Headlines read "UNCLE !", and ALL small talk disses the white fluffy stuff. 

The City of Minneapolis has a 7 million dollar annual budget for snow removal, yet many of the streets are down to one lane of rutted traffic, the school bus was 1/2 hour late yesterday, and my husband's bike paths are unplowed. Driving the kids to school (2 separate schedules ) is like participating in a Rally of Minneapolis. I skid around turns and plow through drifts ripping parts off the front of my car. If I stop I'm stuck, but the drifts at intersections are sometimes too high to see over--so driving is a game of chance. Car parts litter the tops of the snow piles, evidence of many losers in this game.

I admit, I love it.

Seriously, if this is the alternative,

Let's see, dirty, crusty heaps of melting slushy snow, or millions of glittering, sequins of hexagonal ice perfection--each one absolutely unique from all other snow flakes ever formed in the history of the earth? Pile on the fresh snow.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that when I stopped for some thrifting therapy after a trip to the dentist, I found an amazing vintage winter coat . 

 

One with a circular fur collar that seems to illuminate my face from below and can be turned up to block the wind. The cut  has amazing princess seams and an asymetrical closure (it's occurring to me that I have a thing for asymmetry) with fabric loops around little, spherical button balls. Oh yes, I love the color of the wool boucle.

Any guesses about the vintage? Late 1950s or 1960s?

It fits more perfectly than anything I have ever worn before. I want to wear this coat every day; Winter MUST NOT be over yet!