Americana Twin Daisy Quilt

I cut this out a year or two ago, but only had need to finish it recently. There isn't a lot to say about it except that the squares are 12x12 (finished) and it's machine quilted. (Not my link, but why reinvent the wheel. I used a sewing machine.)

 

Okay, I could say a bit more about it. The daisy petals are each six inches from the point to the inner edge (before being stitched) and 3.5 inches wide.

 

I used a lid to make the centers of the flowers and then did a decorative scallop stitch around the edge (wrong sides together) and trimmed it rather than stitching it and turning it right side out.

 

The blue stripes were 4.5 inches wide (I couldn't do the math for 5/8" seams so I figured for 1/2") and then cut to 13 inches wide after they were pieced together.

 

The edges, which you can hardly see, were cut in 5" strips and then sewn to make 4" visible on the red plaid. The blue and red stripes are a bit wider (5" finished) so I may go back and top stitch along the seams.

 

I finished the edges by making my own binding out of the bandana print red and stitching it on the edge. It took longer than just piecing the top together, but when I was done, I was done and it was finished.

 

Generally I figure out my quilts on graph paper before I start sewing. I scanned it, but it doesn't really help. If you took time to look at it though, you would notice that my resulting quilt is not proportionate to my original plan. Also I went with red, white and blue rather then purple and green. It's good to draw it out first, but the end result isn't always what I plan.

 

The pillow case didn't really have a formula to it, but I made it to open in the center back (held shut with Velcro). I measured the pillow, sewed together leftover pieces and cut a top and bottom piece (with the Velcro closure centered) slightly smaller than the pillow. I used the leftover binding fabric and made a ruffle to put between the two layers and then stitched it all together.

 

Additionally, I made a small version for her doll bed because who wants to open a blanket for her birthday???

Mario Birthday Cake

My baby told me he wanted a Mario cake for his birthday. I thought about trying to make Mario, but red frosting is hard to make and I didn't want to buy a Mario character pan. I suppose I could have attempted to cut and sculpt it into a face, but that would be messy and realistically, could I?

So instead, I decided to make a cake representing that level of the Mario game where he uses his motorcycle to jump from back to back over the crocodiles. What?? You don't remember that level? Maybe you didn't get that far in the game. Sorry.

The cake is a yellow cake mix; two layer. One of my friends happened to have a crocodile candy mold. The swamp grass or cat tails or whatever they green vegetation is is made from sour apple pull and peel pieces. By pulling them apart rather than cutting them it tapers the ends. I rolled the sides in crumbled cookies to give it a dirt appearance and then microwaved chocolate frosting for about 30 seconds and poured it on the top to make the swamp mud. The rocks are shelled pistachios.

Oh and Mario. . . he's from a box and now my kid has a new plaything. He thought it was perfect.

A Real Super Hero

Sometimes when your dad and grandma pass away within a year of one another it is overwhelming. Granted she was 94 and had paid her dues to longevity, but when you know someone for 36 years it becomes quite difficult to say goodbye.

My grandmother passed away last Wednesday, August 28, 2013. It's difficult to fit a lifetime of memories into a single post, so consider this the abridgment. When I was quite young Grandma thought we all should dance. I remember very little except a grass skirt and bikini top she brought back from Hawaii and that an attempt to teach us to hula dance to a song about the hooki lou. Probably I spelled that wrong. I also remember her repeating, "Shuffle step, shuffle step, shuffle step," as she patiently tried to teach us tap dancing. Poor woman; it never took.

Grandma's house was a magical place. In her back yard there was an irrigation ditch that was perfect for sailing sticks and leaves on irrigation day and made a great boundary between her yard and the back yard where we had the rabbit's club. Like most clubs, it was for members only and highly exclusive so that only the most elite of society could belong. We had parades and made up chants and our very indulging grandmother even afforded us the materials to make a flag. Her most priceless contribution, however, was a small, glass, purple-topped jar that had once been filled with moisturizer or something. I think it fit all $0.57 we cleared as a profit from our bake sale. (This might not be considered much, but as we sold the leftovers to the adults after dinner, I think it is quite a remarkable amount.)

Speaking of dinner, Grandma was good at home cooking. Her meals were well balanced and she always had the table set complete with a container of napkins. Goulash was a specialty. When we had large family dinners she put tables in every room in her house. Now as I watch my own children with their grandmother (my mom), I don't know how she withstood the invasions. We loved it and I feel very close to my cousins because she was willing to lend her house, but man. . . there were a lot of us and except when we were standing in line (not very orderly like) to be served ice cream, her patience rarely wore thin.

My grandparents watched us frequently when my parents traveled for my dad's work. I loved being at her house; it was just so homey. Each day began with a prayer wherein my grandpa or grandma blessed everything they could think of, or so it seemed to a hungry little girl. On one such occasion, I was sixteen and the boy I very much liked came to drop me off at their house. We stood in the driveway talking for awhile when suddenly the front porch light went on, then off, then on, then off. It wasn't a signal my parents ever used, but there was no doubt about the meaning; it was time to come in.

I had two favorite things about my grandma's appearance. One was her skin. I'm not product pushing, but she used oil of olay for many years and her skin was always so soft and smooth with a healthy luster. Even as she grew older I loved to hold her hands because her skin was so soft. The second thing was her red coat. She wore it often on the farm, especially when she and my grandpa went to feed. She once confided that it was because if she wore something else, the cows might not recognize her.

The treasure of having a grandma from the time you are born until you are well into adulthood is that the relationship you share changes over time. When I was little, she was like a second mom. I remember her picking me up from school on occasion when my mom was out of town and I needed to fake being sick. She took care of me, fed me, bathed me, and read to me. As I got older, the relationship changed and my friends became one of the most important aspects of my life. She was always kind to them and treated them courteously when they joined me for family parties. The relationship changed again when one year, at her birthday party, I realized I was an adult and probably should have thought to bring her a present. Acting quickly, I made her a coupon for dinner at my house once a week. I can only count it as inspiration because our relationship changed again after that and she became one of my best friends. I loved that she had time for me, to listen to my frustrations as I took on motherhood. She would sit and read with my children and talk with them while I finished dinner. Then over the spread of whatever I had managed to throw together, she would share stories and ask about what was going on in our lives. That tradition continued right up until she broke her hip and had to be moved to a care facility.

I'm grateful that she's home now, maybe even a little jealous. It seems the older I get, the more and more people I love are ending up on the other side. She's there with them now and not as the old woman she had become, but as the woman she is inside. It is a marvel to me that our Heavenly Father thought of everything. I have been uniquely blessed by the family to which I have been born and by the family that have joined my husband and me as our children. It is my hope as I journey through this life that I have the same ability that my grandma had to help others on their way, to provide a means to make the world a better place just because I was in it. She knew what was right and though she had multiple opportunities to wallow in her own misery and could have allowed life to beat her down, she didn't. She worked through what came her way and kept moving forward.

Scraps

I'm hesitant to post this because I worry that I may present as a hoarder, which I'm not. Okay, maybe a little. I'm really stingy with my peaches, fresh and bottled, I have a fascination with boxes that I often have to work through, and fabric scraps and wood scraps are just hard to chuck. All of those items are neatly stowed away and I don't think my house will soon become condemned because of them, but I keep those things because I use them.

The peaches; there could be an entire separate post on those. If you've never had the opportunity to pick a peach fresh from the tree, bite into it, and savor it as the juice dribbles down your chin, add it to your bucket list. There are few things greater in life.

The boxes; I already discussed that issue.

The fabric; anyone who sews knows that a scrap can be added to other scraps for a quilt, wall-hanging, or as pictured below, additional clothing. I had a boy first. He got hand-me-downs from his boy cousins, which resulted in a rather masculine pair of overalls with holes in the knees. I could have discarded them, but with a little ingenuity and a gathering foot they became a play dress. Girly for my girl, but with shorts beneath for when she's not a lady. Perfect.

Another way to use up scraps is in an apron. My sister-in-law and I once worked together to make certain my dad had a tie to correspond to each of the classes he taught. Because ties are cut on the bias, I had a fair amount of scrap fabric left over. It was perfect for bias tape, pockets, and a ruffle for a child's apron Christmas gift. Okay, so maybe a kid wouldn't be excited about an apron, but the idea was to include a simple recipe and the ingredients so that cooking could commence and the association with the apron would be positive. I never followed up to find out if that was the case.

The wood. . .I think that comes from my dad. Woodworking wasn't his profession, but probably it could have been. We would have had to move to a warmer climate as we would have all been naked and needed to grow food year round because I don't know that he would have been able to support a large family with that profession, but his resulting products were truly works of art. He often saved scraps of lumber for some future use, especially cuts of maple, oak, and fine-grade pine.

I made this wall hanging for one of my friends. I spent $ 0.55 on it. Some may think, yep, it looks like it, but I like the way it turned out. The 2x8 is scrap lumber leftover from building our house (still). The handle at the top came on a china cabinet that used to be speckle-stained oak that I repainted black to coordinate with my dining room. Now what once was an outdated brass handle functions as a tab from which the hanging can be hung. The origin of the green ribbon is from a package of goodies last Christmas and has been sitting in my back of ribbon scraps.

The molding at the top was a small portion of trim left from building the mantle around the fireplace in the living room. I should probably mention that some of the pieces used in the mantle were portions my dad had set aside for some special use. I would say it went to good use. I spent $0.50 on the paint at home depot. It was a small sample color jar that was on clearance. It cost about $0.05 to print the saying on  the block and I already had the mod-podge used to affix the cardstock print to the wood block.

And the butterfly goes back to my original hoard of fabric that was leftover from making skirts for my daughter and a couple of nieces. The fabric is a light-weight cotton from JoAnn. To make it hold its shape, I ironed the butterfly image onto wonder under (a fusible webbing with heat activated glue on either side) and ironed the butterfly backed in wonder under onto aluminum foil. That not only gives the back a metallic luster, it makes it slightly stiffer and allows the wings to hold their shape in a more three-dimensional position.

 Probably one would wonder why all my clothing photos are taken against carpeted backgrounds. Those of you readers who are kindhearted, probably think it is because it allows the article of  clothing to be spread out and photographed with a neutral colored backing. Nothing, however, could be further from the truth. In reality, we are hoarders, and none of the clothes end up in the closet. Their natural environment is strewn about and used as a second layer of flooring. Alas, it is much easier to take the picture where the clothing lies than it would be to hang it neatly on coordinated hangers in the closets just a few feet away.

 Also, if you wonder why both clothing items happen to be horizontal rather than vertical, well. . .I hate to give out personal information, but I will say I live on the North American continent and if one were to look at any globe, one would see that the position of the continent puts it's inhabitants in a somewhat sideways position. It would be worse if we lived in Ecuador, but not nearly as terrible as if we inhabited Antarctica. I think the only truly upright individual is Santa Clause an some aren't even sure of his existence.

Paradise

I believe this is the first post I've submitted that is actually requesting input. Once upon a time, I started writing a novel. (Who hasn't) That was about 20 years ago. It has evolved considerably over the course of time and with the passage of years until I finally feel like the first book in the series is ready for production. The issue I have is that the title that I have been calling it (Paradise) has been used by Toni Morrison, who is slightly more well known. Therefore I have to generate a new working title.

To give you a very brief synopsis, it is the story of a girl, living in contemporary times, who through no fault of her own, travels back through time to when the territory of Utah was first being settled. Many adaptations have to occur as she adjusts to the time period. One of the individuals who helps her make those adjustments is a rancher settled in the area that later becomes known as Paradise, UT. Based on those premises, listed are a few title options. Please comment back with the title you would be most likely to pick up in a bookstore or download electronically. Or if you have another recommendation not listed, I'm open to suggestions

Before Paradise
Paradise on the Horizon
13.8 Miles and 150 Years from Paradise
From the Island to Paradise
A Man. . . his Past. . . my Future
Paradise in the Foothills
Paradise in the Territories
Finding Paradise
1858
Near Paradise

Feel free to comment even if you don't know me.

Bringing Home the Bacon

I'm not attempting to write the next Charlotte's Web or anything like that, but I was surprised about how much our Wilbur affected me. My child was old enough to enter 4-H this year and after watching his cousin raise a pig, he decided it was something he wanted to do.

I grew up in a rural location and while I'd like to believe I grew up on a farm, I never got to ride the horses for herding cattle and only drove the tractor twice; once when everyone else was laying pipe for the new main water line and one other time that I will remain vague about. I helped change the waterlines and I bottle fed a few calves, but mostly livestock terrified me and no one wants a screaming girl around when there is work to be done. (I've gotten better).

This year, however, was my first year with swine. In the spring we drove to a neighboring town where my son selected a fine pink pig. It squealed like. . .like. . . like a stuck pig as it was being loaded into a borrowed dog kennel to be hauled to its new home with the other three piglets; a barn that formerly housed steers and a horse, but that was several years ago.

Wilbur, for so the pig was christened, grew rapidly. In the course of a summer he went from a 30 (I think) pound piglet to a 253 lb. hog. We split the responsibility of care with my brother, though I think he got the fuzzy end of the lollipop on that deal because I had no experience and had to told almost everything. Every other day we went to the pen, checked on the water level, and restocked the feeders. A couple times a week was also spent walking the pig. Herding pigs is much like herding children. They even make some of the same noises.

As summer grew warmer, hosing them down also became a necessary task. In all honesty that was one of my favorite parts of the pigs. They learned to drink from the hose and sort of danced in the mist from the spray. When water got in their eyes, they would shake their heads from side to side, flipping huge drops of water from their enormous, flapping ears.

One of the other things I loved is they learned to recognize the feed bucket and our vehicles. When they heard us approach, out they came, running across the pen, giant ears flapping against their heads. Don't get me wrong, I realize it was all about the food, but I swear I could almost see a smile on their faces.

This past weekend was the stock show. You haven't lived a full life until you've shaved a pig. They were bathed daily to make them clean and presentable, which lasted all of 10 minutes if that. They all did well, three earning blue ribbons and one earning red. Then it came time for the auction. Auctions are full of action and it's tense; wondering if the animal will sell, hoping to at least break even with the cost, hearing your name called and praying that a summers worth of work will be compensated.

And then the moment comes and suddenly the pig is sold and lead out of the arena and toward the trailer to be hauled to the slaughterhouse. We watched as Wilbur wandered down the trail between the corral panels. When he reached the trailer, he turned back and saw my son. He made a break for it and made it almost back to the arena before the wranglers were able to turn him back around and drive him toward the truck. Turning so as not to distract him further, we walked away.

I knew from the beginning he was bacon. Even so, I cried as we made our way back to the bleachers. I'm not on the verge of going vegetarian or anything and I never meant to bond with the pig, but in order to be in a pen with it and have it cooperate, one has to work with the animal and it is impossible not to form an attachment of some sort. He trusted us, was looking to us, and we walked away. Even as I write this, I realize how sappy and illogical it sounds, but for the past three nights I've been up late thinking about how we abandoned our pig.

Next year, when my son again asks to raise a pig, I'll nod my head and agree because I know that the hard work required is the type of thing that will help him build a strong work ethic. The time he spends with his cousins as they raise the pigs together will create lasting bonds and memories. The hours he spends learning from my brother will help him as he develops into a man, learning skills that will help him to set and meet goals and learn to be an asset to society, but inside, my heart will break just a little, recalling the empty pen where four pigs used to gallop over to see us and dance in the hose water and then knowing it couldn't end any other way.

Upcycled Vintage Table Cloth Skirt

Technically speaking, this post would have been better if I had taken pictures along the way, but sometimes I get so excited about what I'm attempting that I have no time for things such as photographs. In order to explain what I mean, I used a paper. I know it makes it less believable, but you'll just have to trust me on this. 

If you've ever cleaned out the house of someone who lived during the era when people actually had company over for dinner because they weren't afraid of being robbed blind the next day by the dinner guests who were scoping out the house, a time when dinner was a family affair and not just a way of joining together to make sure no one had died during the day, a time when one needed a linen closet or cabinet because linens were actually used, you probably have come across some small square tablecloths. Many of them are edged in lace or embroidered or a combination of the two. 

I happened to inherit two such pieces from a coworker. Without the sentimental attachment I would have had if it had belonged to my grandmother, for example, I felt at liberty to cut them up, especially since both were stained. Imagine the orange square of paper is one of the tablecloths.

 

 The first step is to find the center of the piece. This can be done by folding the corners together in either direction and marking the center with a pin.

 Once the center is established, measure out and make marks at an equal distance from the point so that you make a quarter of a circle. The size of the circle depends on two things: 1.) how much of the design you want to preserve 2.) your size. You can't expect to cut a circle with a circumference of 17" unless your hips are 17" or less. It can be larger than your hip circumference, just not smaller if you have any hope for regular movement. Too small and you'll walk like you're in need of a bathroom. I am certain there is a mathematical equation for determining the size of the radius of your circle. I struggled in Geometry. To give you an idea though, if the radius (from the center point to edge of the circle, or in this picture, from the point to where the circle is drawn) is 7", the hole has a diameter of approximately 44", which I can neither confirm nor deny as my hip size.

 When you cut out the center, you are left with a square with a circle in the middle. This is the hem portion of your skirt. To construct the upper portion of the skirt, you'll need a rectangle. The size, once again, depends on the size of your opening. The minimum should be the measurement of your hips at the widest part plus 1 1/4" and the maximum should be no larger than the circumference of your circle opening.

 Essentially what you are doing is making the rectangle into a cylinder that fits inside the tablecloth square. If you are confident with your measuring and cutting skills, make the cylinder first and then stitch one edge to the circle. I'm not, so I left it a rectangle and pinned the longer edge to the circle where I stitched it. As I got close to closing the circle and the adjacent edges of the rectangle, I then made the single seam that closed the rectangle into the tube needed.

 The last thing to do is to measure for length. Keep in mind that the points will hang down further than the sides. Also determine if you want it at your waist or lower. When you've decided, mark the waistline and cut off the top leaving enough excess for a casing for elastic. If you are more sophisticated and less lazy, you could also do darts and a waistband with a zipper or make a sundress top, or even have someone mark it for you so that it is tailored to your figure and your hem hangs an exact distance from the ground at all four points around your body. I have approximately 2 hours a day after my kids go to bed or before they get up. Luxuries such as well tailored clothing have all but disappeared. Besides, I think it's fine without all the extra work.

Sew in a casing, thread through the elastic that is the size of your waist, stitch it together, and close off your seam. You're done. Of course there are a couple of variations I can mention.

 The skirt pictured above had embroidered cutouts in the corners and the center was solid.The fabric for the upper portion of the skirt wasn't an exact match, so I put a piece of coordinating ribbon along the seam to (hopefully) mask that fact. Also, it makes the seam look more intentional. Do you see how it used to be a tablecloth? Spread this way, it makes its tablecloth origin slightly more obvious.

This skirt, however, had lace on the edges and also in the middle. Instead of cutting a circle, I cut along the edges of the lace and then top stitched it over the rectangle. After, I went back in and trimmed the excess fabric away so that the edge between the skirt and tablecloth mimics the pattern of the table cloth.

 This is what it would look like if I undressed in the kitchen; which I don't.