Finding Hank

Quick story for you.

Once upon a time, I was driving somewhere with my parents. We were talking about something serious, and I promise I was paying attention, but then I felt a blip on my Vintage Furniture radar. “STOP THE CAR!” I said. “I must garbage pick!”

We were in my grandparents’ retirement village, and someone had thrown out (or, attempted to throw out), a green steel cabinet with a yellow Formica top. What is it with retirees and their lack of affection for a good piece of avocado green?

I have a very small kitchen. The former tenant called it her “Barbie kitchen”, which is a pretty fair description. I’m taller than the refrigerator and I’m considering adding an EasyBake Oven to double my baking space. I have three cabinets’ worth of counter space, so any extra surface area I can bring in is practically life-saving. So, into the van went the cabinet, or Hank, as I now know to call him.

Someone, I’m guessing an overly helpful son or daughter, forgot to check the inside of Hank before they lugged him out to the curb. (Or they used him as a garbage receptacle. We’ll never know.) The cabinet was chock full of ancient musical recordings. Yes, I am now the proud owner of several Johnny Mathis records and “Bing Sings” on 8-track.

There was also an old money box, which is how I know a little of Hank’s history. The money box is full of receipts from The Harvey Florist, a shop which probably closed before Harvey, Illinois gained the rough reputation is has now. From what I’ve gathered, Hank used to work in the flower shop and retired when his owners did.

Hank’s given name is actually Henry. He asked to go by that now that he’s a piece of kitchen furniture, and feels like he wants something more sophisticated, but I forget to call him that, and he forgets to answer to it when I do. You know how it is. Old habits, etc. etc.

I can’t have pets in my apartment. So I name my furniture. Stop judging me.

Now Hank (who, yes, has been throughly disinfected) serves as both my microwave stand and a place to keep my fancy glasses. And as, you know, anthropomorphized companionship.

What’s your most favorite free treasure you’ve picked up? Do you name your furniture? Are you judging me for garbage picking? Let’s not be silly, Hank needed rescuing.

*I named this post “Finding Hank” so that any cable television programmers reading would have an easier time adapting this into the heart warming made-for-TV movie about a too-busy career girl and the wise old cabinet who teaches her how to appreciate the simple things in life that it needs to be. In case you were wondering.

Paper Christmas

It started, as so many things in my life do, with something I found on Twitter. A man I follow decided to organize a Secret Santa with his Internet friends. To keep it simple, he limited it to handmade gifts.

This was going to be great. I was going to get extra presents! I love extra presents! All I had to do was figure out what to make

So began several days of fretting. I tried googling my recipient, but she didn’t have any sort of web presence that I could find. Not even on Facebook. So, instead of being able to look for clues as to what she would like, I had protracted text brainstorming sessions with friends before I finally sort of settled on a sort of winter diorama. I wanted to give my Secret Santaee a box of winter. I thought it would be a fairly cheap, simple project.

I can be so silly sometimes.

After many trips to my local paper purveyor, a few lost Xacto knives, and lots and lots of glittter, I ended up with something close to my original idea.

I didn’t want this post to be just photo overload, so I condensed the making-of process into one photo. Oh, and I dumped an entire cup of coffee onto my real camera, so this is my attempt at gussying up my iPhone photos.

What I wanted to do was send my recipient a box of winter. I, as I’ve said before, have really missed the cold and the snow this year, so I was trying to send my Secret Santa person something of that feeling. So, they got this box:

And when they opened it, it looked like this:

The best part of this whole Secret Santa thing, though, was what I got in return. Uh-this:

If you don’t recognize this, you’re obviously not spending enough time reading the archives of this fine blog. Seriously, what are you doing between my posts? Anyway, that right there is a drawing of my desk, copied from a photo I posted here about a year back. I squealed. I’m going to frame it. And also sleep with it under my pillow. This is the perfect personal but not too personal Secret Santa gift. And it makes me wish that my Secret Santaee was easier to Google. Oh well. I love it. Oh, there’s also a drawing of the Hancock Building on the second notebook (which I also love, since I used to go to school within sight of it and also worked in the building for a few months), but I forgot to take a photo of that one because I was squealing and calling my mom.

So. That’s the first part of my Paper Christmas. The second part came from a desire to find something really custom and interesting for my sisters for Christmas. I wanted to do some Etsy shopping, but we exchanged gifts two weeks early and I ran out of time. It occurred to me about two days before Christmas (Observed) that if I can make gifts for strangers, than I can make gifts for sisters. And so I did.

Melissa really loves Alice in Wonderland (and is a lot like Alice in all sorts of good ways) so I made her a paper Alice with her classic blue dress and some tiny mushrooms. And beefy arms. I’m sorry about that, Alice dear.

This last one is what I believe to be my greatest achievement in things I have cut out of paper. It’s my favorite thing I’ve made in a long time. Elizabeth and I have both (separately) been watching Doctor Who this year. It really is a wonderful show. I will evangelize you if you stand still long enough. Anyways. The Doctor flies through space and time in his little blue box of a spaceship. It looks like a 1940s* police call box, but do not be decieved, his ship, the TARDIS, is bigger on the inside.

I made Elizabeth a paper TARDIS. Behold:

I considered stealing it but I did not. It looked really cute in my living room, though.

Did you make any of your gifts this year? Tell me about ‘em!

I wish you a very happy new year, and I’m going to leave you with this, because in an Internet that contains sleeping kittens and sneezing pandas and babies who recite poetry, this is the cutest thing that exists right now:

I would really like some snow. Please.

It will not snow.

I need snow. It’s sort of like one of those mermaid movies where the mermaid (who has recently turned into a human, obviously), hasn’t been around water recently, so her gills have started to reappear, except instead of being iridescent green, they’re now a sort of sickish gray.

My snow gills are gray.

We’ve had a few flurries, and I heard a rumor that there was actual snow in downtown Chicago last week, but I’ve seen almost nothing in the suburbs.

There is a growing flock of Canada geese who, instead of continuing south like reasonable birds, are taking over the parking lot at work. They think they’ve found their tropical paradise.

I went Christmas shopping on Michigan Avenue last Saturday, and I did not need a coat.

I’ve been watching the weather reports, and we’ve had a few snow storms predicted, but nothing’s materialized.

I’m starting to get anxious.

You know how after the Flood, God sent a rainbow as a promise that he’d never destroy the world that way again? Snow is sort of my rainbow. Give me a minute: I know I’m not making meteorological sense.

I’ve always loved snow. I was always happy to see it, no matter what time of year it happened to fall. But it wasn’t until a few years ago that it became as important to me as it is now.

It was my senior year at Moody, and I think I had just done badly on a test. I know that’s not really the end of the world, but I was miserable. I felt like I had wasted opportunities and time and like God had given me this gift of an education and I had squandered it. I left class, and instead of heading back to work at the yearbook office, I left campus. It had started to snow that morning, and there were already a few inches on the ground. I was wearing little fabric shoes and my feet were soaked almost immediately, but I had to walk.

I walked faster and faster, and as I walked I counted every mistake I had made in the past four years. Every missed opportunity and broken friendship and wasted moment. The faster I walked, the more mistakes I could remember. I was overwhelmed.

I stopped.

The snowflakes were huge. Nickel-sized. When I stood still, I could watch the snow on the ground get deeper. I was used to the noise of the city, the sounds of the traffic and people. But with that much snow, all those sounds were muffled. It was 2pm on a weekday in Chicago, and the whole city was silent. Everything, the wrought iron fences, the street lamps, the buildings, was covered in snow.

That was when I realized that if God could silence and transform a whole city with just a little frozen water, then there was nothing that I could do that he couldn’t make beautiful by covering it with a layer of redemption.

I could breathe again. I watched the snow for a few more minutes, then I went inside and put on dry socks.

Snow is my rainbow and my ebenezer and my reminder of what the Gospel means.

I am tired.  And I could use a refresher course on redemption. And I would really like it if it would snow.

Riding Along in My Jaunting Car

The summer after my sophomore year of high school, I was struck with an unusual bout of productivity. I enrolled myself in summer school to try to get ahead on something math-ish for the next year. (Clearly, there was some greater purpose behind all this. This was the first and last time I voluntarily spent extra time with numbers.) It was a morning class, so my parents would pick me up at lunch time every day and drive me home.

It was on one of these drives that I saw it.

“What is that?”

“What’s what?”

“That car! It’s adorable!”

We did this for a few days before I could get on of them to stop so I could identify the car. It was a little red MINI Cooper. I had never heard of one before. It was adorable. It was love.

I waved at that MINI every day for weeks until someone finally bought it. It was sort of a fluke that it was at that used car lot, anyway. BMW had just purchased the MINI company and brought them back to the States. They had only been available again for about six months. MINIs were, of course, available here in the 60s and 70s, but they were discontinued in the US because the original models were considered too small to be road safe. Too small to drive. So cute.*

I was smitten.

Over the next few years, cars entered and exited my life. My sister and I shared two cars (Lorelai and Lucia, God rest their souls), and my best friend and I had a few quite-exciting-enough close calls in her little purple Neon (Frankie, who I believe is in geriatric care). But these weren’t my cars. In fact, I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 19 and 364/365ths.

My family appeased me with mini MINIs.

Since I went to school and then worked in downtown Chicago, I didn’t really need a car until I started my job at Tyndale in the suburbs. Once I was there, I needed one in a hurry. My sister let me borrow her giant SUV while I saved up. Moose–as I affectionately called the Explorer–and I had a difficult relationship. I had to park him in a tiny one-car garage that was built in the 1950s. I had to coax him into waking up in the mornings. I had to fill him with $4 gas.

I started shopping for replacements for Moose, but I couldn’t find anything that would fit my budget but also be cute. Then I shopped for ugly cars out of spite. I would look at MINIs longingly, but they were all way out of my budget, or a really bad color. (Have I told you how shallow I am?)

One Sunday afternoon, after about three dozen conversations about what sort of car would be realistic for me, my parents had a hankering for a good Chicago hot dog. Normally, they’d just run to a stand near our house, but this time they wanted a particular hot dog. They took a nice long Sunday drive, meandering their way to the hot dog stand. I tell you all of these details about the hot dog and the Sunday drive because my parents were in a part of town that they very rarely go to. And they just happened to stumble upon a little blue for-sale-by-owner MINI Cooper, that just happened to be in my price range. My parents sent me pictures and I drove down for a test drive that afternoon.

The whole buying process actually took almost two months, but that’s a boring story.

Finally, after 10 years of hoping, waiting, wishing…

Presenting…Bunter!

Our first drive was to the Starbucks of my youth. Of course.

He is a perfect British gentleman. A gentleman’s gentleman, actually. Bunter gets his name from Mervin Bunter, the butler in Dorothy Sayers’ Lord Peter Whimsy mystery novels. Bunter the character is polite and efficient. He has excellent taste. He anticipates Lord Peter’s needs. He is, occasionally, the voice of reason when Lord Peter’s plans are too convoluted. He’s a bit of a ladies man on his day off. Basically, he’s everything I need in a car.

Bunter and friends, apple picking

What I didn’t know about owning a MINI is that it inducts you into this very exclusive club. MINI drivers see each other as kindred spirits. You can’t pass another MINI without giving at least a knowing smile. If a MINI suddenly pulls out in front of another MINI, it’s probably to show off a clever license plate pun. (My favorite so far: TRUNC8.)

Another hobby I’ve picked up is giggling uncontrollably when I park next to a Hummer. Or making intimidating faces at Smart Cars. Bunter loves that one.

Miracle of miracles, he fits in my garage with room to spare.

*Note: The MINI website says that it was actually new emissions regulations that sent the cars back home. I specifically remember reading that the distance between the driver’s head and the windshield needed to be greater than it was in a 60′s MINI. You should probably trust the MINI folks before you trust 15-year-old me, but that’s an awfully specific story for me to invent. Besides. Mine fits the story better.

The post title comes from this song from The Gnome Mobile, one of Disney’s underappreciated live action little people movies from the 60s.

In Which I Reward You for Reading the Fine Print

When last we spoke…well, when last last we spoke, since when last we spoke I told you about a book I love. Right. So, when last last we spoke, I celebrated one year of living on my own and gave myself award badges for surviving. At the end of that post, I said that I’d create badges for those who wanted them.

I had just won a lot of awards. I was feeling benevolent.

And so, since I am a (wo)man of my word, I present…

I hope you’re all dressed appropriately. Otherwise I’ll have to hire someone to give you the stink eye and one of my Year Two goals is to stick to a better budget and I just didn’t plan for a bouncer. Thank you for your cooperation.

***

The “WordPress Hero” Badge

Marc didn’t technically ask for this badge in the comments of that last post, but we discussed it shortly after he got me out of a WordPress hole.

My webmastering strategy is usually to grab a piece of code, close my eyes, and wiggle it until something either looks better or breaks. Marc very kindly helps me out when I break things. I believe this particular time, he helped me turn on threaded comments on the blog so that I can reply to comments without it being horribly confusing. That didn’t even involve code. It involved me pushing a button. Sigh.

So, Marc gets a cape.

Incidentally, Marc and his wife had a baby yesterday. He doesn’t get a badge for that. He gets a baby.

***

The “I Survived Wound Care Even When The Nurses Hadn’t Had Coffee Yet” badge

This badge is for my Twitter friend Krista, who very bravely endures wound care after and even before the nurses have had coffee. I don’t endure people who haven’t had their coffee, period, so I can’t imagine the cranky nurses. Good job, Krista.

***

The “Starting Two New Businesses and Actually Making Some Money”  badge

Brenda requested the “Starting Two New Businesses and Actually Making Some Money” badge, but I’d like to edit that and make it the “Starting Two Adorable Businesses Where She Makes So Many Pretty Things and Oooh, Look at That Photo and That Photo…” badge. That’s a bit long for a badge name, though, so I’ll stick with her wishes. Brenda is a wedding coordinator, and she also rents out vintage accessories for events and photo shoots. (Brilliant. Idea.)

Check out Storybrook Wedding Design and Storehouse Rentals, especially if you’re in Northern California.

***

The “I Picked up and Moved Cross-Country” badge

Katy Dear requested a badge for one of her great accomplishments this year. The woman’s been busy. A small sampling: she survived a long-distance relationship with her husband, parented two pitbulls, lived through the craziest house-purchasing story I’ve ever heard of, and reupholstered a wingback chair. You should read her blog.

I’m going to say, though, that the biggest (and, ahem, easiest to draw) accomplishment was picking up her little family and moving all the way across country to purchase a home in Michigan. She, her husband, and her two pitbull puppies journeyed all the way from the nation of Texas to the Great Midwest. (She’s my neighbor now.)

 ***

This concludes our ceremony. Thanks for coming. Please take your programs with you. Not only are they great scrapbook fodder, but it helps the ushers out.

Happy Fall! And Happy Giveaway!

Update: Giveaway closed. Winner announced at the end of the post. 

I know that as a grown-up, I’m not supposed to have fall breaks. However, one of the perks of grown-up-iality is that I get this thing called paid-time off. Paid time off is sort of like Choose Your Own Break. So, all of this to say…

Happy Fall Break!

I plan to spend the day drinking cider or going to a corn maze or looking at dry leaves or watching scary movies or sleeping all day. I haven’t decided yet. However, in celebration of my day off, I’d like to give you a book.

Which book?

This book:

You may remember Matt Mikalatos when I spent a week last February celebrating is first book, Imaginary Jesus. I wrote a review of the book, interviewed Matt, and told you just how much I love the audio version of IJ.

I considered writing a review of this book, but a) I’ve sort of stopped writing book reviews and b) it’s my day off and that sounds a lot like something I shouldn’t do on my day off.

Instead, I’ve decided to cobble together a new review out of bits and pieces of the ones that I’ve found on the Internet. Yes, that’s right. It’s a Frankenreview. Cue lightning and maniacal laughter.

Matt’s books are love letters to the Evangelical community in all our broken mess. New believers or those exploring Christianity won’t get a lot of the subtle jokes and gags, but the story is sufficiently rich that anyone will enjoy and be challenged by what they find. For those who do pick up on the subtleties, Matt takes shots at everyone across the board, including an honest look at himself. It’s a great book to read for fun or as part of a discussion club.

Bottom line: This book is outstanding. We need more totally silly, totally serious theology like Matt gives us. Not everyone will enjoy the monster metaphor, but if that’s your cup of tea, then you need this book. It’ll make you take a hard look at the monstrous aspects of your own soul. And you’ll ache for the same transformation Matt and his band of monsters discover.

JR. Forasteros, Relevant Magazine

Mikalatos’ allegorical tale is funny and insightful. In a world of vampires, zombies and monster hunters, he uses this subject matter to full effect. Vampires are the opposite of Jesus, they have eternal life, but are not living. He suggests that a lot of Christian’s are zombie like – following a preacher’s sermons without thinking for themselves; that they should try to see how they can be true to Christ through their own actions and not wait to be told how to be a Christian. That so many churches are filled with people who have insurmountable faith but don’t have any ‘deeds’ to confirm their faith. Why live a life that isn’t transforming you?

Lini536, Book Reviews

There are so few truly humorous books and even fewer humorous Christian books. But Mikalatos, both the writer and the character in the story, succeed unconditionally and for that reason alone this book is worth a read. The fact that it is also clever, pointed and enlightening only serves to add to its appeal. Night of the Living Dead Christian is one of the best Christian books this year. Not only does it entertain but it informs and challenges. Anyone who reads this book cannot but be transformed.

Scott Asher, BookGatweay.com

Now hang on while I teach this Frankenreview “Puttin’ on the Ritz”.

Ok, so that’s done.

I have one copy of Night of the Living Dead Chrisitan to give away, so in order to win it, you should do the following:

Matt Mikalatos’ first book, Imaginary Jesus, is available as a free download at Barnes & Noble, CBD, Sony, and Amazon. Go to one of those places, download Imaginary Jesus, then leave me comment saying “I downloaded Imaginary Jesus, and I would love a copy of NLDC.” Then tell me your favorite fall activity. (If you already own a copy of Imaginary Jesus, that counts. Good for you.)

So your comment would look something like this: “I downloaded Imaginary Jesus, and I would love a copy of NLDC. My favorite fall activity is burying my dog in a pile of leaves and telling my sister that it’s a monster.”

You have until Friday, October 21st to do this, at which time I’ll use Random.org to choose a winner.

Happy Fall

Oh, and DISCLAIMER: I work for Tyndale House Publishers, who published Night of the Living Dead Christian and Imaginary Jesus. But I’d tell you to read it anyway, so there.

So you know, I did end up at a corn maze. It was great, thanks for asking. Congratulations to James Eldridge. Email me (jadoogan (a t) gmail)  your address and I’ll send you a copy of Night of the Living Dead Christian.

In Which I Reward Myself for My Own Survival

One year ago today yesterday, I moved out of my parents house and into my own little apartment. (Well, technically, it was my roommate’s own little apartment, but she let me stay with her. She’s since moved on with her life.) Since this was my First Year Living On My Own, there were lots of pretty big Firsts.

Now, I tend to be pretty reward-oriented. I always have been. I spent nine years of my childhood memorizing Bible verses and participating in athletic activities just so I could get a giant gold trophy. (And, cough, for the general edification that comes from memorizing Bible verses. And also the candy bars.)

So, as I was looking back at this year and of the First Living Year On My Own hurdles I jumped, I thought it would be nice to have something similar to all those AWANA trophies. I considered getting little patches to sew on a vest, or maybe little jewels to stick in a crown, but then I realized that I actually have a lot of dishes to wash, so I should probably go simpler. Besides, if I’ve learned nothing else in this first year of real adulthood, it’s that I need to  work with what I’ve got. Which is, in this case, a pen, a smart phone, and a blog. I’m nothing if not resourceful.

So instead of renting out a hall to present myself with awards that moths and rust destroy, allow me to welcome you to my…

Find a seat, get comfortable. I’ve been practicing my acceptance speeches all day, so should be able to keep this succinct. If not, I’ve installed one of those retractable microphones in my living room.

Let’s start small with some life essentials…

***

The “I Can Feed Myself Like a Big Girl” Badge

I love to cook. Always have. When I was six, my specialty was this elaborate peanut butter and jelly that I made by checkering the pb AND j on to each piece of bread, and then folding the bread on to itself.  It took about three times as long as a normal sandwich, and tasted exactly the same, but it was fancy. When I moved out, I assumed my love of fancy food would mean that cooking for myself every night would be a joy. I learned this year that cooking is fun when it’s optional. It’s not that I no longer enjoy cooking, or that I never do. It’s just that I eat macaroni and cheese a lot more often than I’d like to admit. This badge is for excellence in Not Starving to Death.

This year I plan to earn the Eat Your Vegetables badge, the Sack Lunch badge, and the Noodles Don’t Have to be Shaped Like Disney Characters badge.

***

the “Dish Soap Should Not Be Named Ironically” badge

My main defense for not cooking for myself is that I don’t have a dishwasher. Basically, the better my meal tastes, the more time I get to spend in the kitchen after dinner, partying like it’s 1932 and my large Irish family is out in the fields gathering potatoes and I am the only one who can wash dishes because they all have severe allergies to to dish soap and we can’t loose another field-hand that way and so I must bear my cross with courage. Or I listen to audiobooks. Depends on the day.

This year, I plan to earn the “Hey Look, I Have Kitchen Counters” badge. Or maybe the “Give In and Buy a Portable Dishwasher” badge.

***

the “Riding Along in My Jaunting Car” badge

This was a particularly fun badge to earn. This summer, I bought my first car. Twenty-five might seem a bit old to be buying my first car, but I went to school/worked within the bounds of public transportation for five years. That’s my excuse. Anyway, my little blue Mini Cooper is named Bunter, after the gentleman’s gentleman in the Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries, and he is my best friend. We have all sorts of adventures planned.

I have my eye on the “Extended Road Trip” badge, and the “I Hope I Don’t Have to But Perhaps I Could Learn to Do Something Like Change A Tire or Oil or I Could Just Vacuum His Floormats” badge.

***

the “It Sure is Character Building Outside” badge

I prefer winter. Make no mistake. It’s pretty. The nights are clear and crisp. There’s snow everywhere. I could survive in December/January for a good long time, thank you very much. However, this winter was particularly harsh. We had a blizzard that shut down most of the Midwest. I was given a day and a half off work because it was unsafe to go outside. I went to the grocery store at the last minute to buy rations, and ended up with a steak and half a dozen over-priced scented candles. (Ok. Grocery stores of America. If there’s going to be a blizzard, you stock candles. Not $15 vanilla scented ones. The ones that I can afford to burn to keep me from falling down my steep and terrifying steps. Thank you.) Bright side: I am still burning those lovely accent candles almost a year later.

Since this was no ordinary blizzard, I award myself a bonus badge for surviving a natural disaster that had a nickname. I will wear it with pride.

Let’s see. This year I plan to earn the “Build a Snowman” badge, the “Don’t Forget to go to the German Christmas Market” badge, and the “Stifle Angry Faces at People Who Complain about Winter” badge.

***

the “Aspirational Green Thumb” badge

I decided that instead of putting myself through the emotional turmoil of naming a plant and then being sad when I killed it, I would name my flower pot. Sparky the flower pot has served me well all summer. To my surprise and delight, so has the plant I bought. I currently have two plants that are almost entirely alive, despite my best efforts.

This year, I plan to make up for the ranunculus I killed this spring by earning the “Kill Another Ranunculus Because I Never Learn” badge.

***

the “Customer Service Purgatory” badge

This is probably the most grown-up trial I’ve had to endure this year. I signed up for cable just as the new year rolled in. I spent at least three nights a week in January on the phone with AT&T trying to understand why they couldn’t help me. I was without Internet and in near despair. The AT&T reps were all very nice, and I could tell that they wanted to help. One spent a good ten minutes describing my problem using ship metaphors, which was all a giant build up to his grand conclusion: “It’ll be smooth sailing from here, ma’am.”

There was also a rep who promised to be my “Micky Mouse–no–my Mighty Mouse”. I wasn’t sure if I should hang up on him or not.

It wasn’t until Valentine’s Day night that a poor AT&T tech wandered around my neighborhood in the sleet, fielding calls from his angry wife, to find that AT&T had never wired my house for DSL. Many hearts were broken that day.

In the next year, I plan to earn the “Go Completely Off the Grid” badge. For at least 20 minutes guys, I promise.

***

the “Oh, I Finally Found the Candles” badge

I earned this badge in conjunction with my First Tornado Warning badge, but since it wasn’t an actual tornado, I didn’t know how to draw that. I guess I could have drawn the little fort I made in my creepy basement.

For three days in the middle of summer, I was without power and forced to entertain myself like they did in the olden days: by plugging my wireless router into the generator my landlord provided. Actually, for about twenty minutes I attempted to embroider by candlelight. Mostly so I could tweet about it. Really, the worst of this week was that I missed a doctorwhotime and my hair was a little flat for lack of hairdryer. I got over it. But cute band-aid on that light bulb, right?

This year I plan to achieve the “Appreciate Light Switches” badge. I did miss those guys that week.

***

the “DIY to Death” badge

I’m not sure exactly what happened, but I got all crafty this year. I’m not sure what hit me. All of a sudden I was buying embroider floss and making pillows and just generally doing all the its I could find. However, my apartment has become particularly cozy, so I’m going to say it’s worth it. Since Kate came and helped me do some re-arranging, I’ve had to flip a coin to decide which of my two rooms I’m going to spend my evening in. I love my little home, so I’ll gladly accept this badge.

I’m in the running for a “Cutify This More” badge, and a “Actually Learn How to Sew/Embroider/Cross-stitch” badge this time around.

***

the “Naturey-type” badge

This isn’t even a legitimate badge. I was just excited about it. I have skunks in my yard. I have never seen a real live skunk before. I grew up only 30 miles away, and we had all sorts of fauna in our yard (rabbits, deer, foxes, squirrels, coyotes, raccoons, small hoodlums), but never skunks. So when I surprised one in my yard one night, it was a major life event. Very few people were excited about this for me, so I’m giving it an official badge just to express my excitement.

Next year I plan to win the “Um…I Don’t Know…I Guess I’ve Always Wanted to See a Wolverine” badge.

***

So this is my basically my year in review. It’s been a good year. I’ve had to learn how to live by myself, which isn’t always easy. Because there’s no one around to off-set my strengths and weaknesses, I’ve learned a good bit about consequences. If I don’t make coffee, no one gets coffee. That’s rough. (On the other hand, there’s no one around to make bad coffee.)  I’ve learned that as introverted as I think I am, I still miss having people around. I’ve learned that I can keep myself pretty well entertained. I think I’ve also become a little more comfortable with myself, since I’m forced to be in my own company most of the time. Oh, and I laugh at all my own jokes. But that’s not really a new thing.

Overall, it’s been a good year, and I’m looking forward to the next.

This is the longest post I’ve ever written, so if you do actually get this far, leave a comment and I’ll make you the badge of your choice. You don’t get a ceremony, though. These shindigs are just once a year, like Christmas.  Or, if you don’t want a badge, you can still leave a comment and say hi. I think you’re pretty. 

Cloudy Day

They were just making a routine run to the garden nursery, but my parents called and told us all to be waiting for them on the couch. This usually meant a present or surprise of some kind, but it could have been anything from candy bars to a new little sister. It’s tradition in our house to make everything a special occasion. They said I should sit in the middle, but this wasn’t unusual since I’m the middle daughter.

My dad walked in from the kitchen holding a little cardboard box. It was meowing. There was a cat in that box. I immediately started preparing for the worst. This was a cat for the whole family. That would be ok. I could share. Really, I reasoned, this could all be a horrible prank. My parents had found some sort of cat sound machine. I don’t know why I thought that was an option. My parents had never been practical jokers, and anyone who had been in the same room with me for more than a few minutes knew that I wanted a cat more than anything.

For the last few years, I had been dropping the most obvious hints I could think of. I remember one Christmas rendition of We Wish You A Merry Christmas where I substituted “kitty” for “figgy”. I was a quiet child, but I didn’t go in for subtlety. I drew picture after picture of my ideal cat: small, gray. I even had the perfect name picked out. If I ever got my little gray cat, I’d name her Cloudy Day. This was the height of poetry to my nine year old self.

When my parents brought in that box of cat, it was more than I could handle. After nine agonizing years of all my hints being ignored, I had about given up hope. My sisters and I opened up the box, and this tiny gray fluff popped out. I was devastated. Not only was I going to have to share this cat, but it was my dream cat. I was going to have to submit my name idea to be approved at our next sister meeting, and I’d be lucky if “Cloudy Day” even made it as middle name.

I was quieter than usual. My parents were concerned. Didn’t I like her? Of course I did, but she was for everybody, so it didn’t really matter. They laughed a little bit. They explained that Melissa and Elizabeth both got special attention for being the oldest and youngest girls, and they wanted to make sure I didn’t feel left out. This kitten was for me. Did I have any ideas for a name?

Over the next few years, I became an expert on experimental cat parenting techniques. I had already read the “Cat” entry in the family encyclopedia a dozen times, so I branched out to more specific books on cat breeds, cat home remedies, cat training. I supplemented these more serious works with James Harriot’s Cat Stories and The House of Thirty Cats I had plans to become the world’s first cat-only vet. If anyone asked me her breed, I could tell them confidently that she was an “American Longhair Blue Smoke Tortoise Shell”, which was longhand for “grey and brown cat-mutt”. I bought Cloudy a leash and spent hours trying to get her to “heel”. She would not.

Cloudy and I shared everything. This wasn’t always by my choice. She preferred that I drink water so that she could share comfortably. Hot chocolate was another favorite. She did not appreciate when I started drinking coffee, and would let me know by sniffing disdainfully at my mug and then trying to steal my breakfast. If she hadn’t been so polite about her sharing habits, I might not have put up with it, but she always dipped a paw into my glass and drank it by licking drops of her little hand. This is also how she ate her cat food: she’d drop a few pieces onto the ground and pick them up one at a time, popping them like popcorn.

She slept by me every night, under the covers. When I moved to the top bunk, she taught herself to climb the ladder, a feat that required intense concentration every time. She was very particular about how she would sleep. She wanted to be near me, but not too close. Often, I would wake up to see that she’d reached out her little paw so that she was holding my hand.

I had Cloudy for sixteen years. That’s more than half my life. This means that over the years, she has wrinkled the pages of Betsy-Tacy, tracked milk across my Algebra homework, deleted paragraphs from college essays on my laptop, and hidden my smart phone with strategic sleep positions. She was a faithful friend when I needed one badly. She never did well when I left home, but she always greeted me at the door and forgave me for the inconvenience I had caused.

I lost her today, and I didn’t expect it. She had been on several medications for the last year, and I knew she was getting on in years, but I think I just didn’t know what life would look like without her waiting at home for me. I’m grateful that I was home when it happened, and that I got to say goodbye. I don’t really have a point to make, even though this would be a great place to say something profound about the relationships between people and animals, or maybe about growing up. Mostly, I’m just sad, and I wanted a place to put some of these memories and say that I love my little cat, and I’m going to miss her.

Two Girls, a Mini, and some Thrift Stores

I apologize for the quality of these smartphone photos. I did that thing where I charged my camera battery, then I put it somewhere for “safe keeping”. If found, please send my camera battery to www.staircasewit.co, c/o the Internet.

I recently gained a new neighbor.

Ok. That’s only a little true. However, Kate, one of my closest friends and favorite people from college, did just move from Texas to Michigan. I mean, really, if Illinois is the Land of Lincoln, and Michigan is shaped like a glove…it’s all very complicated and mathmatical. Just believe me. We’re neighbors.

To prove her neighborliness, Kate came to visit.

To prover her neighborliness even further, Kate brought me an ampersand. Heck. I love ampersands.

And, of course I know it’s backwards. That was on purpose. To match the letterpress ampersands. Ahem.

I blame Kate for my current obsession with DIY blogs. She’s the one who introduced me to Young House Love, and she’s the one I send fevered text messages to when I don’t know if I should move my chair a little to the left or not. Since she just bought a new house, and I am trying to put the finishing touches on my little apartment, it was only appropriate that we spend the weekend thrifting and redecorating.

***

The estate sale was practically empty. It was the last day and every thing was half off. There were a few lamps and some hopefully priced silver pieces. We did a quick run through the house anyway, just because it had taken us so long to find the place. Kate and I, we are stubborn people. In the very back spare bedroom, leaning against the wall, was a 4ft by 3ft oil painting of a ship in a stormy sea. Kate was smitten. We looked at it for a long time. She said something about her husband not wanting more oil paintings.

“Kate,” I said. “How else will your kids will get to Narnia?”

“I was just thinking that.”

Fortunately, my Mini Cooper was made for haulin’.

Update: Kate posted better photos of the oil painting over at her cozy blog, Pomegranates and Pit Bulls.

***

We made a quick stop at my favorite furniture thrift store Jubilee. Jubilee supports a local mission, and they have taken over an old department store. It’s the size of your typical J.C. Penny’s, but full to the brim with gently used furniture. They give you cookies when you come in. Obviously, I’m there every weekend.

We were looking for end tables for Kate to make paint and epoxy magic with, but we didn’t find anything that was just right. I did find a little hobnail lamp for my bedside table, and I got to show Kate some midwestern hospitality when Jubilee’s proprietor showed up and greeted us with a big “Hi Jess!”

***

I particularly wanted to bring Kate to one of my new favorite stores, Gather and Collect. I love this place. It’s just a small storefront, but the store is so packed with vintage and upcycled goodness that we spent at least an hour doing laps around the store, making sure not to miss anything.

Kate picked up a couple of hobnail glass dishes (now we’re hobnail friends), and I accidentally picked up an alcohol-proof tray. I may or may not have several of these. (I forgot to get a picture, but it looks sort of like this one.) I don’t know why I have this need to own alcohol-proof trays. It’s probably William Powell’s fault.

***

We spent a good part of the weekend getting some pictures framed and up on my poor bare walls, but I’m saving that for another post. It was an altogether lovely weekend. Old friends are hard to come by, and I’m so glad to have Kate back in the Midwest. Complicated mathematics or not, she’s my favorite new neighbor.

So, how about you? Any good thriftstore finds lately?

Gobsmocked

Once upon a time, I bought a pair of white snail-shaped chairs from Good Will. Actually, what happened was, my mother saw them at Good Will and told me if I didn’t buy them, then she would. (This was supposed to be a threat. I don’t really know what was supposed to be so threatening about her owning the chairs, but I always listen to her when she says things in that tone. It’s for the best.) She then chased a little girl away from them. My mother is serious about cute chairs.

I love these chairs. I like to sit in them and read Photoplay to see what hijinks Doris and Rock are up to.

However, since they are white and my walls are white, my poor pretty chairs sort of disappeared into the background. So I called my mother (the one who’s serious about cute chairs), and I told her I wanted little round red fat pillows. The pillows needed to have all those attributes, and I wouldn’t accept any substitutes.

Mom and I took a few trips to the fabric store to look at patterns, but the pillows the pattern books suggested had either ultra-clean lines, or Kountry Kitchen ruffles. There was nothing that would fit my snail-shell chairs.

I went home, sat in my chairs, and muttered about little round red fat pillows.

Then one morning,  I opened my email to find this picture:

That’s mom wearing the crown. And that’s  Uncle Scott hitting her in the head with a bat. Not a whole lot has changed. More important than either of those things, though, are the pillows on the couch behind them.

Mom found little round fat (pink) pillows. They just happened to be from her childhood. She also found the pattern: vintage McCall’s 2467.

We bought the pattern from an eBay seller,and off we went to the fabric store again. We found a gorgeous shiny red fabric with tiny flecks of gold, a couple of pillow forms, and went home to start putting the pillows together. We cleared everyone out of the kitchen, got Mom’s sewing machine out, and were ready to get to work.

It turns out that we weren’t going to need the sewing machine. These pillows are all smocking, and this particular kind of smocking is done by hand.

Smocking, for those not in the sewing-lingo know, is what it’s called when you gather fabric, and then hold those gathers with stitches. For the last 50 years or so, smocking has been done by machine. Why? Because hand-smocking is difficult and time-consuming. I know this now. Hind-sight is 20/20, etc.

Anyway.

The second set of instructions went along with a complicated 9-step diagram. It was made up of arrows and dots and so many numbers. Remember those Disney cartoons where Goofy would try to learn to dance or play golf, but instead would get so tangled up in the arrows of the play book that his feet would be where his ears go and he’d fly off a cliff and land somewhere mid-yodel? These instructions were sort of like that. And mom and I were about to hit “yodel”. Maybe to someone who already speaks smocking, the diagram would make some sort of sense. But who speaks smocking these days?

But wait. There was a note. Hope. There, at the bottom of the diagram: “For further instructions, visit your local fabric counter and ask for McCall’s Easy Sewing Booklet”.

Swell.

So mother and I put on our second best hats and walked down to Woolworth’s for an eggcream and nice chat with our Regina, our fabric girl.

Except it’s not 1961. And we don’t have a fabric counter. We don’t even have second-best hats. And although I have a full back-story for Regina, she’s completely imaginary. It’s all very depressing.

After a few more tries to sort the smocking out, we gave up and put the whole thing away. It’s possible to find the Easy Sewing Booklets, but since McCall’s released a new edition every year, it’s almost impossible to find just the right one.

I went home and sat in my chairs and muttered about little round red fat pillows. I carried a fabric sample around in my wallet, and would take it out and pet it every once in a while.

After a few months of muttering and fabric-petting, I got angry. I wasn’t going to let this pattern beat us. I sat down with some spare fabric and went through the diagram step by step. After a while, I had something that looked like this:

It wasn’t perfect, but mom and I were able to get the general idea. We had a start. We practiced on the muslin for a while, and then when we were really brave, we started on the actual fabric.

For the next several hours, our conversation went like this: “Pick up one, loop around two, go back to one, grab three, pick up four, four becomes one, loop around two…” We were unable to say anything else. Any family member with helpful suggestions like “maybe you should stop counting and eat dinner” was promptly banished. After a few hours, we both had something that looked like this:

Still, that doesn’t look like much. However, when you turn it over, it looks like this:

That, my friends, is a semi-successful row of hand-smocking. You can also see how sheeny and pretty my fabric is. Raise your hand if it’s the prettiest fabric you’ve ever seen. I should see a lot of hands, people.

Now, each pillow needed three rows of this smocking. So some several thousand years later, we each had something that looked like this:

But add one more row to that.

There are a couple of steps after this. There’s some more gathering, and then the attaching of the buttons. I’m a little fuzzy on the details. Mom assembled the pillows while I finished up my smocking, so I don’t actually have any photos. (I may have figured it out first, but I’m a much slower smocker.)

Ta da! The finished product. Now tell me, have you ever seen anything so little and round and red and fat?

And look how nicely they cause my chairs to not disappear? (At least a little. They disappear less in real life. I blame the bright-whiteness of these photos and my inability to edit them.)

And here are the two together. Look at how beautiful the edges are! I can say that without it being bragging, because I’m pretty sure that’s the one my mom made.

I love them. Now I can sit in my chairs and mutter about little round red fat pillows while actually holding my little round red fat pillows. I promise I do other things sometimes.

[Note: I have every intention of writing about and posting pictures of the the cabinet I wrote about last week, but my therapist says that it would be best if I wait until the hurtful words stop coming out.]