bikini in the streets

Spring forward, step right up, and splish-splash into the puddles debuting all over Minneapolis.  At long last, the coldest winter in 37 years is stepping aside for blooming flowers, warm light, and sun-kissed cheeks. 

We live in an itsy-bitsy apartment on a teeny-tiny street in Minneapolis, and a steady stream of blizzards has kept snowdrifts lining our block for the past four months.   Not just any snowdrifts, mind you, but mounds rising nearly 5ft on both sides of the street.  A winter wonderland or, if you don’t have gloves, a bitter frozen tundra.
Temps reached nearly 45 degrees today, and I tingled with excitement as I watched the streets fill with water.  I considered grabbing my bikini and going for a swim to celebrate the start of spring. 

Imagine my excitement when I stepped into a puddle and sank to my knees.  It was glorious and grand and made me all kinds of giddy.  Before long, I was daydreaming about roadtrips and softball games and bike rides to the farmer’s market. 

To get prepared for spring adventures, I made a picnic blanket out of scrap fabric.  I took five colorful scraps of fabric, sewed them together, and then lined the back with a similar pattern.
How are you preparing for spring?

love goes round

“Girrrrl, you get around.”  Has anyone said that to you before?  Today was a first for me.  I was at the DMV getting my Minnesota license, and after the reviewer checked my information, he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and said those somewhat creepy words.  More amused than angry, I wanted to know why I gave him that impression, and so I asked him what he meant.  His response? “Girl, you’ve lived in 5 states in 10 years — I’ve never seen that before – like I said, ya getta around.”

When he took my picture, I was wearing my brand new ‘wifey’ tee, and he commented that I was “all around original with that t-shirt and all my travels.”  I left the DMV thinking about original t-shirts and, before you know it, I drove myself straight to the fabric store to make something uniquely me.
What to do with the gorgeous greens and flaming reds and fancy florals?  A t-shirt that changes what you love based on where you stand:Image
Jon and I are going to Phoenix this Friday (just 2 days!) and I’m planning to get all kinds of use outta this top when I see my baby sister and my best friends.  Quick and easy way to show everyone the people and things I love, right?

sew much goodness

Sewing & cooking & painting – oh my!  That jingle is meant to be sung to the tune of lions & tigers & bears – oh my!  Nonsense, right?  Whyever would I be as frightened of domestic activities as Dorothy (Wizard of Oz, of course) is of a haunted forest? The simple answer is that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing with a needle, a spatula or a paint brush.

Okay, okay, okay – I lie (but only a little bit, promise).  My mom considered the kitchen “her” room, and she called the family to dinner only after she had fully prepared the meal and set the table.  Our home was famous for being consistently stocked with cookies and cakes and whatever else my mom’s latest edition of Food&Wine deemed popular.

I’m digressing too much.  Point is, my mom never taught me or my siblings how to cook.  Cooking was her therapy — something she did to relax – and the skill was never passed on or shared.  When I went to college, I reaped the benefits of a delicious cafeteria until I discovered 100 ways to cook a meal in the microwave.

Everything changed when I met Jon.  My new crush didn’t know any microwave secrets or own any pots&pans.  He preferred eating out for breakfast (Bruegger’s Bagels), lunch (Qdoba or Quiznos) and dinner (a few rotating spots).

The meal routine was fun when we first started dating, but as we began spending more time together, I wanted to have dinners at home (a little just-the-two-of-us time, if you will).  And so, drum roll… I read cookbooks, watched UTube tutorials, became addicted to Pinterest, and, eventually, taught myself to cook.
My high school offered sewing and cooking and pottery and painting, but I figured I would spend four years filling my schedule with traditional things like biology and calculus and English.  Unfortunately for me, the ‘staying away from anything domestic’ trend continued through college.  10 years later, I can write an essay on the topic-of-your-choice-in under-20-minutes but I cannot hem a skirt.  Houston, we have a problem.

My domestic instincts didn’t kick-in until my MA was framed.  Great to have the degree, but what about making this house a home?  Geesh.  It’s a whole new ball game.

Jon came home work a few weeks ago with a hole in his jeans, and I instinctively wanted to fix it.  Hear that? Wanted to. Some sort of ‘let me take care of you’ gene that makes it more reasonable to stitch and sew than head to Nordstrom.  Well, Christmas came and a sewing machine was under the tree and soon ‘seamstress’ will be added to my list of skills.
Are you still reading this? I might just feel like typing because the whole point of this letter is simply to tell you that I’ve finally found patterns and bought fabric and am ready to embark on my stitch&sew career.

I’m a little excited.

That’s all (and that’s enough, right?)