dual personalities

Well, as you know, my birthday was last weekend. And you also know that I have been working on becoming a real sewist. I use my mother’s Singer from the 90s (and consider myself quite lucky to use that machine). It’s a real thing to use “vintage” machines, especially Singers. Anyway, Daughter #3 (and my SIL) teaches fashion and knows a thing or two (or three) about real sewing. She suggested to my mother that maybe I’d like an overlocker/serger to celebrate my old age.

So, lucky me, I got a shiny new overlocker/serger for my birthday! She’s a real beaut. The machine comes threaded with four different colored threads so you can really trace them through the machine before attempting to thread it with four matching spools yourself. It is a bit intimidating. I am happy to report, I was able to watch enough YouTube videos and read the whole manual and get the machine threaded. The picture below shows before I got it re-threaded with the matching spools.

A serger finishes seams with a professional look so they don’t unravel. They are also useful for sewing stretchy fabrics. I am so excited to see what I can make with my new machine!!

My birthday was really lovely (a winery, a donut cake, all reported on the blog on Monday) and I felt very loved.

In other news, several months ago, I got this really pretty plant. But it always positions itself to face the window as if in perpetual time out.

Last night, before bed, I turned it around, so the pretty painted leaves would face out.

And, sure enough, look at what this plant did while I was at work!

It is clearly moving back to face the window. I think I just completed a science project. I feel like I’m back in fifth grade. Can I get a blue ribbon for my effort? Congrats on making it to Wednesday. Here’s to getting to Friday!

It’s a big weekend for our families. As my DP mentioned, tomorrow is her daughter’s birthday. Then on Sunday it is my middle son’s birthday. Here he is with his cousin a few years ago (I probably post this photo every year, but I really love it).

The 12^th is also the birthday of Tim’s fiancée, Abbie. Yes, that’s right, they’re engaged, and we are incredibly happy!

Just in case you birthday partiers are feeling old, at least you are not old enough to remember the TV show The Monkees which premiered on September 12^th, 1966.

Dig the groovy clothes, haircuts and go-go dancers (who thought that sparkly white tights would be flattering?). It was a zany show that tried to capture the spirit of the Beatles’ movies Help and It’s a Hard Day’s Night. In case you are curious or want to relive the show, you can watch it on YouTube here or just listen to their great songs.

If bubblegum pop isn’t your thing, you might prefer Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here which came out on September 12^th, 1975.  

I haven’t listened to it in ages; it’s pretty great.

Have a great weekend and don’t trade your heroes for ghosts!

Well, it’s Tuesday again. Feels like a Monday, but it’s Tuesday. And I didn’t forget to write a blog post. Go me.

After my success with the new sewing table last week (and because I left the back seats down in my car), I brought back an antique army field desk my mother got at a local auction. I’m not sure how I managed to carry it up the stairs and lift it onto the table, but somehow I did.

I need to watch some videos on antique lock-smithing so that I can fix the latch/lock to keep it closed. However, in the meantime, I get to enjoy filling it up. It really adds some nice old, brown-furniture vibes to the room and I’m so happy with it! I might use the writing desk part as ironing surface. Plus, there’s an old key for those drawers which is the stuff of my childhood dreams.

Speaking of childhood dreams, my mother has been cleaning out the closet in my old bedroom (which later became Daughter #2’s room) and found this box of mail I received while away at camp. The box, dutifully warning my brother to KEEP OUT, is postmarked 1996 from Grosse Pointe, Michigan. Anyway, I was worried the letters would take me back to dark times ie MIDDLE SCHOOL but thankfully, the letters have instead painted a picture of happy years. Here’s a sample:

Today I joined Susie in the beautiful multi-purpose room for the camp ‘picnic’–hotdogs, salad, chips, and brownies, plus red juice. Yummy. Then Susie and the 2-4th graders put on their Rugrats skit (Susie played Chuckie)–it was pretty lame. But Susie was cute. Unfortunately she didn’t have enough to do.

My mother to me circa 7/11/97

A tough crowd.

Other highlights from my box of mail include a letter from my father, the summer we moved, telling me that they had found my American Dolls and their things in a box labelled “Katie’s winter clothes.” I remembered none of what I read. I am grateful to my dear mother for writing me dutifully every day even when she felt there was nothing to report in As the Comptons Turn. And I am very sad that letter writing has gone by the wayside because I wonder what else I’ve forgotten!!

I will dig into the box and come up with some more A+ future material.

To close, I invite you all to enjoy this rousing Mac Powell (formerly of Third Day) song. It should get your Wednesday off to a good start. xo.

Do you ever feel that whenever you try to do the right thing, it backfires? Well, I feel that way a lot and this week was no exception. Anyway, when I wasn’t irritating somebody, I spent some time looking at beautiful paintings and reading seasonal-appropriate poetry. I liked this painting by Finnish artist Thure Sundell (1864-1924), and this poem called “September Midnight” by Sara Teasdale, so I thought I’d share them with you.

Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.

The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
Tired with summer.

Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.

Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.