Archive for February, 2009

Curtains in progress: sneak peek

The kitchen was transformed into a dye workshop yesterday during naptime.  Perhaps the sun’s rays boring into my eyeball yesterday morning, forcing me out of bed had something to do with the sense of urgency I had to get this project rolling? Perhaps.  The curtains are now off to a great start.  I couldn’t be more pleased with how the colors turned out.  The process was a bit intuitive (haphazard) but in this case, my vision was rewarded with the results I was hoping for.

A blue-spectrumed rainbow filled our afternoon.

And now they wait patiently for their turn at the sewing machine.  Perhaps later this weekend?

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Yellow Week Pop-In

Erin at House on Hill Road has been hosting Yellow Week this week.  See all of the contributors’ yellow pics at the Flickr group here.  (I’ve been following Elsie Marley’s every day.) While not officially participating, I thought I’d add this sunny little pic to the mix.  It’s freshly-thrifted and lending its own cheery rays to our already sun-kissed kitchen.

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This plate must be very, very big.

Here are some quick pics of the projects on my plate right now…

All currently in progress.

Rug.  Hasn’t grown tremendously in size, but all fabric has been cut into strips and wound into user-friendly balls.  And piled into a disappointingly-meager mound.  For all of the back-breaking cutting and winding that I did, I was hoping for a much greater, much more satisfying stash.  Looks like there will be much more cutting and winding in the future of this 8′ x 10′ rug before our toes start reaping some warming benefit.  Sigh.

Bedroom painting is done, but walls are still bare, awaiting their framed companions.  The switch plates have been covered in my absolute favorite fabric -  from Denyse Schmidt’s Katie Jump Rope collection.

Ahh.  The new wall color is so lovely.

And, in the knitting bag, you’ll find this buttery-soft baby blanket.  If you frequent blog land, you may recognize the pattern as the same one Soule Mama knit recently.  I even used the same yarn, albeit in a different color.  I’m a little self-conscious of the blatant lack of independent thought here, but why recreate the wheel when she seemed to nail it perfectly?

So there you have it – a sneak peek into the crazy whirlwind of creative energy still at work here.  Not pictured:  the crusty dishes not-so-patiently waiting to be washed, the post-natural disaster status of the living room, and the mass migration of the Asian Beetle from the window frames and floors to the bag of my vacuum cleaner.

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It was a Vampire Weekend.

Had a camera been present for our Nesting Action Weekend, the footage would look something like this video from Vampire Weekend.  Imagine paint brushes in their hands and you’ll be spot-on.

It’s Isadora’s most-requested video of late.  She’s drumming up a robust fan club around here, with rousing edicts of “Lucy (a pug) – howl if you like Vampire Weekend!”  Of course Lucy obliges her.  Who doesn’t love Vampire Weekend? flamenco-curtain So the paint was flying this weekend, but even more vigorously, the wheels in my head were spinning out of control after receiving the latest Anthropologie catalog.  I ripped out this page and carried it with me around the house for a few hours, admiring it and intending to file it away in the “inspiration for future projects” folder, until a realization hit me square between the eyes:   our bedroom windows required these curtains.  They must be made (copied) immediately.  Or all units would self-destruct.    All. Weekend. Long. I obsessed over the hows and the whens.  All. Weekend. Long.

And so it shall be.

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Bedroom Wrap-Up makes way for Master Bedroom Redo v.2.0

As promised, here’s the recap of Isadora’s Bedroom redo.  Had I had my wits about me, I would have taken “before” shots for optimum transfomation appreciation, but we all know my wits are pretty preoccupied right now with a panoply of projects…

The walls have adopted a pale yellow hue, leaving behind a bright, bold color I’ll call Caribbean Turquoise.  We used AFM Safecoat paint in flat for the walls and in semi-gloss for the trim.  Loved the flat, but found the semi-gloss really thick and goopy.  Still, it was a minor inconvenience, far outweighed by the dramatic lack of odor.  Andrew suggested we take it all back and claim it wasn’t working, since we couldn’t smell it.  Tongue-in-cheek, of course.

The curtains are still waiting for Captain Daddio to arrive with his toolbox to install the tieback hardware.

A red and white candy-striped thrifted bedsheet was pulled from my stash to make the dresser top and laundry bin.

All of the switchplates were covered with a photocopied section from a Nikki McClure print taken from our book.  Oh, how I love this book.  Love, love, love.  It seems to be a manifesto for us here at Five Green Acres.  The pages are slowly migrating from the book to our mis-mash of thrifted, repainted frames and claiming their rightful place on our walls. No doubt some will end up on these beautiful pale yellow walls.

Okay.  Good to tie up this loose end before we head into the weekend, which has officially been declared a Nesting Action Weekend.  On the agenda is the painting and redo of our master bedroom, where I envision our baby entering the world and spending a good deal of time.  We’re planning a homebirth and I think I’d like to set up shop in the bedroom.  Almost as crucial as the rented birthing tub will be the calm serenity emanating from a room that’s “got it together”.  Right?  Right. My midwife laughed when I expressed the need to get these painting/decorating projects done, joking that HGTV would not be present for the birth. But these projects are for me, for my well-being and sanity.  Though I would not be ashamed should the film crew unexpectedly arrived to film the decor…

Here are some before shots to build up the suspense…

The shadow you see on the walls are plaster patches.  There are also a few newer cracks for Captain Daddio to tackle with his magic plaster gun.

The floors, a bold magenta color, will have to wait for a later wave of ambition and project-tackling.  Even I recognize that redoing the floors now is outside the scope of my super-human nesting prowess.

And now, off to prep the trim for paint.  Look alive – Nesting Action Weekend has begun.

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I have no choice – we have cold feet.

What might you get if you mix a little bit of DIY empowerment, a pregnancy-altered sense of urgency, budget constraints, and cold feet?  A rag rug of gargantuan proportion for the living room.  (of course)

We recently graduated from the IKEA rug that formerly graced our living room floor and transferred it, in all its pug-hair-encrusted, dingy glory to a new home in the playroom, where it was better proportioned to the space and far less aesthetically offensive.  Little did we realize the impact that a rug has on the heat retention of a room.  Even with slippers, mandatory to our dresscode, those hard wood floor are FROSTY, sucking every last joule of heat from an already paltry supply.  Digging into my bag of tricks, I consulted the usual channels of getting stuff:  craigslist, ebay, google searches, local stores, even Target. Nothing to satisfy the aesthetic or budgetary requirements.  I realized with some foreboding that I’d have to make it myself if I wanted to solve the problem now. And NOW was of utmost importance.  Did I mention that we’ve got a baby on the way?

I’ve made a rag rug before, but not even this fog of hormones will allow me to forget how LONG it took to make.  The process of cutting thrifted clothing into 1″ strips to crochet turned out to be so tedious that I required a months-long respite after each cutting session.  Maybe if I focus all my super-productive attention on a rug now, that would be different?  With some skepticism, I visited the Mecca of thrifted raw materials, our local St. Vincent De Paul Dig & Save, where you literally dig through pallet-size boxes of thrift-store rejects and buy them by the pound.  Visit on a Wed. and you’ll find the clothing to be half off, at 50 cents a pound.  If you can look past the grime, the smell, and the tedious method of digging and view the goods as fabric rather than clothing,  you can score some terrific raw materials for a steal.  It’s my fabric store of choice.  In fact, if you’ve ever met me in the flesh, chances are really good that I’ve mentioned Dig & Save somewhere in our conversation, so personally do I take the self-imposed mission to save these clothes from the landfill.  I consider myself something of a Dig & Save missionary.

Even with this perceived Life Purpose, there was little inspiration to be found from that visit, and “digging” with this belly was not so productive, so I hit the second tier of Getting Things:  antique stores.  Nothing.  Would we be resigned to frozen feet for the rest of the winter?  Not on my watch.

Problem, meet solution.  Yardage.  Like the kind normal people buy from a Fabric Store.  The kind that is rectangular in nature, not shaped as a yoke or sleeve or pant leg. The kind that doesn’t yet have any seams in it to cut out before use.  Aha!

Turns out our fabric store has a Red Dot clearance section, with bolts and bolts of fabric at $3 or $4 a yard.  Sweet.  I left with these three bolts of green, some 22 yards among them, and a smile on my face.

Cutting it into strips turned out to be a breeze, employing my rotary cutter, mat, and straight edge ruler.  With a little know-how, I was able to cut a whole yard of fabric into a continuous strip.

Of course, true to myself, I already had a healthy stash of Dig & Save greens that I’ll be working into the rug.

Cutting one basket of clothing into strips rather than 5 or 10 seems much more manageable to me, allowing me instead to spend the bulk of this time actually crocheting the strips, which I love to do.

It is indeed the perfect project to pair with our new-found kitchen-based lifestyle, rocking in front of the fire, crocheting rags together.  As I sat and rocked and crocheted last night by the fire, I felt as if the boundaries of time were blurred.  Surely some other woman has done the very same thing in this house, using the resources at hand to fill a void and nuture her family.  The luxury I have that she likely didn’t is that of choosing the materials to meet an artistic requirement, creating out of desire rather than necessity.

And if all of this seems like a convoluted way to say “I’m making a rag rug for the living room,” it’s only because I’m trying to rationalize the craziness for myself.  I’m in my third trimester of pregnancy, with a to-do list a mile long, and yet this project is of UTMOST IMPORTANCE.  Like everything else on that list, I might add. So let this be a test of Nesting Instinct:  can a woman half-crazy accomplish such a feat in the remaining 10 or so weeks before Baby arrives?  We’ll see.  I’ll be regularly posting about my progress, so stay tuned.

Oh – I almost forgot to mention.  The rug’s target size is 8ft by 10ft.  C-R-A-Z-Y.

Wish me luck!

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Snow people are such fleeting friends.

Born on Saturday, of a balmy 40+ degree heat wave, ushered into this world by the able hands of Daddio and Isadora.  Proof that magic exists in even the most forlorn of places, like the forgotten tier of the hanging fruit and veggie baskets, where limes and horseradish root go to dry out and be ignored.

Now departed to the great Snow People gathering place in the North, leaving behind a tumbled-down pile of snow and some almost-rotten produce.

Farewell, frosty friend.

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Mama Bear got her chair.

The pulse of this house originates in the kitchen.  From there we enjoy the best sunlight, the most stunning views, a direct cosy heat in front of the wood stove, and the tantalizing smells of the meal-in-progress.  It’s where we linger for hours on Saturdays and Sundays, coffee in hand, table piled with seed catalogs, books, or whatever is captivating our imagination.  We sip our coffee and weave our future plans, adding equal proportions of the-sky-is-the-limit-what-if-dreaming with feet-on-the-ground-practicality.  We consider our place in this land, in this house, and hypothesize about how we may be molded by it.

It’s lofty work, all of it, and work not to be done most effectively in rigid dining room chairs.  Yet migrating to the living room compromises the light and the heat, plops us in sleepy chairs, buries us under blankets.  A possible solution started as a small bubble of an idea, emerging from deep down.  A rocking chair would be nice, a place to rock my baby in front of the wood stove.  (I won’t deny gleaning some inspiration subliminally or otherwise from here)  Such a shame, I’ve thought from the start, that our cozy wood stove is in the kitchen, already warmed from the oven, and not in the frigid living room, built for lounging.

Last summer, we were bequeathed this chair, from my Great Aunt’s estate.

No doubt it has soothed countless members of my family with it’s gentle, perfectly balanced motion.  We were thrilled to have it and our hearts swelled as we imagined rocking our new baby in it, continuing in the family’s tradition.  Upstairs it went, into the baby’s room-to-be.  A hand-knitted lap blanket would be required, of course, and the plans for it started to take form.

But that bubble, that ideal of rocking by the fire…it swelled and started rising, started whispering in my ear, quietly at first, then with more insistence.  Let’s bring that rocker downstairs, at least for the winter.  Right in front of the fire.  Right now, please.  Please.  The arrangement of our kitchen was tweaked, the floor was swept, (joy!) and the rocker was nestled into the corner.  At the same time, I also found that the structural stress of carrying a baby rendered almost all of our furniture inhospitable to maintaining a comfortable posture or any hope of skeletal integrity.  Oh, if that rocking chair wasn’t designed for the aching curves of my back!  It became something of a traveling sensation – out to the living room for a night of knitting, back to the kitchen for morning rocking.  And it garnered an exuberant fan club in a hurry.  Daddio found it to be perfect for the aching contours of his back, found its soothing rhythm perfectly in tune with his heart.  Clearly we were on to something here.

So we made a pilgrimage on Saturday morning, to a local shop that had for sale a chair that captivated my imagination many months ago.  Mama Bear tried it out again, found its curves to be in tune with her own, found its creaking song to be in tune with hers.  Papa Bear, perhaps in anticipation of gaining sole rights to the existing kitchen rocker, agreed.

Again, the kitchen was reconfigured, the floor swept, the new chair nestled in.  Baby Bear added her rocker to the congregation before the fire. Seeing a void, she carefully dragged out yet another chair, the smallest in the house, for the baby.  Wise to not give Baby a rocker until he/she is a bit older.

So we reveled in our new-found way of inhabiting our house.  All weekend long we sat and rocked and planned and cooked and knitted and read and then left to complete other projects in places other than the kitchen.  And returned to more rocking, cooking, living.  Recharging.

So it is for us now.  We rock.

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