Packing and baking

If there is a honeymoon-phase with packing— I'm still in it.  Assembling boxes, wrapping things in fresh crinkly paper, sticky labels… what's not to like?

The other nice thing about moving is a bit of getting-rid-of… and I will be getting rid of all gluten-free related nonsense from my baking cupboard. Goodbye, xanthan gum, sorghum and coconut flours, I've no room in my life for cookies that taste like cardboard. I figure that if you bake only every now and then, you're allowed to use whatever damn ingredients you want.

Creatives and Casual Living

probably stolen from some Tumblr somewhere

I've always liked the word louche. A bit transgressive, bad-boy, you know… with attitude. It might not be the most accurate definition, or the most flattering admission; but it pretty much summed up much of my young adult life. Plenty of time now to mull that over. Or not. :)

Casual Living I

the Ministry of Casual Living

Best. Name. Ever… I think, for this collective of creatives in the"unceded Coast Salish Territories, Victoria, British Columbia, Canada"

Digression: my favorite line in the Mad Men series was when Peggy snarled "Everybody hates creative" in reference to the ad agency's workplace culture. Creatives are often (mostly?) just a bit different. Whether it's inborn or an affectation, who knows. And her acknowledging that, with sort of a whiny, self-absorbed lens turned back on herself, and that this perception of hers could very well be wrong. Well, I thought the writers just got it dead-on.
I worked in publishing and advertising…it was great fun. I liked being surrounded both by like-minded creatives, and those well-groomed, otherworldly creatures on the business side.

Casual Living II

Perhaps I'm also attached to the name because of this favorite paper ephemera scrap I've been toting around with me for years, glued to first one thing—then another.

Being a creative, the practise of casual living, and making about $23 a week. Coincidence?

Casual Living III, or, Casual Decorating

I own three sewing machines.
Behold, my sewing room/guest bedroom curtains.

Louche lurks here. ha ha whateva

Next favorite word: tatterdemalion

Spring green and Casual Living

The long shadows brought by a sun sitting high in the sky are a welcome end to a lo-oong rainy stretch.

Languid with the tail-end of what was labelled as 'the 30-day flu'; 

I'm enjoying a browse through my little weed book instead of heading outdoors to wrest weeds out of the ground. Not today. It's a  good day to just stay inside with the long shadows, a hot drink, some mending and a bowl of fruit.

February browns

Overheard in the shoe store "what IS cordovan, anyway? I've never heard of it!" This, from the salesperson, not the customer. 

I bought my boots, resisted the urge to mutter 'leather! red-brown!' and came home thinking about beauteous browns.

Random Vancouver Island goodness below:  Leaning tree on a pebbly beach, seaweed melange, February skies, and lovely things made by talented people.

L to right: cards from Dancing Rabbit Press, Iphone case handcrafted at Bonspiel Creations, and Weeds print from Jo Waterhouse. 

Objects that spark joy in this particular Vancouver Island household, along with my new boots. :)

Oh!, and, ducks—big, little, predominately brown. Winter is very ducky around these parts. 

Overheard on the seaside walkway near my place. 

"What are those?" 

Response. "I dunno, sum kinda' ducks". 

Decent pictures of our wintry duck tourists on my phone have not been a success, so, thank you, Internet, for the profiles below. 

Knock it off

Top, Gustavian Wall sconce by
MALIN APPELGREN PAULSSON
Bottom: Target knock-off

This spectacular wall sconce available at this tantalizing UK store has been on my Home Pinterest board for years. Strolling through Target last week in search of a Smith & Hawken watering can to replace mine that was sadly run over and squashed, I stopped and laughed at the sight of this $19 knock-off, and brought it home as a reminder of our consumer culture and just how far-reaching these imported copycat items have infiltrated. And yes, I know, I'm abetting it by buying the damn thing, but it's the rare exception to my most-things-from-a-thrift-shop habit.  And now I bathe by candlelight, conserving electricity. ❤

Life and stuff

Ingrid's photo of her scissors-in-a-box

Awhile back, a favorite blogger of mine posted about her love of scissors and mourning the loss of a favorite pair of pinking shears.  Since my craft closet has an embarrassment of riches in the thrift store scissors department; I wrote to her and said a package was on the way. Two months! later—Ingrid received her parcel, just as she is in the process of moving, downsizing, and getting rid of stuff. Oh, the irony!

Stuff and life and moving and moving on has been very much on my mind.  I have a love/guilt relationship with my tidy stacks of textiles, linens, and assorted haberdashery. I don't seem to be able to come up with a project to use them up.  I'm a puttering type of sewer, doing one-offs; not latching onto one project to tackle as a production sewer—to do over and over and over again, with a view to marketing my craft.  

Time to reassess, I guess.

And this week contains yet another life lesson.  My favourite spot on this big old island is the sheltered western side of the Saanich Peninsula. Temperatures there are much warmer than where we are, on the east, facing the Salish sea—and its pervasive chill.  

So, on my many meanderings over on the west side, an empty lot for sale caught my attention and behold, 2 years later—a contractor is building a spec house on the lot. It's just the right size, in a spectacular rural neighbourhood, with the exact finishes I would have chosen if I were to build a custom house.

Pretty pretty pretty terrazzo

Terrazo concrete floors heated in-floor with hot water tubing, big workshop area, 3 bed, 2 bath, south-west exposure with trees all around but lots of area for gardening, and it's going for approximately $100,000 less than where we live now. Perfect, right? Well, not if your life partner doesn't want to move. It adds ten minutes drive to his job, the tennis courts and  the gym at the rec centre. Life lesson - learning to live with disappointment.

About Bad

When I began blogging my casual motivation was to keep a digital journal; knowing I would have a small audience (albeit a loyal, wonderful one); it seemed a useful tool to keep projects on track, that  accountability factor, right? And using the word bad, was—well, not so much because projects ended up looking like this…

Incomplete, sadly-badly (but not by me) stitched thriftstore needlework

…but more—that my projects just never quite lived up to my lofty ideals. I'm painfully slow to complete anything bigger than a pot holder.  But my progression as bad crafter (lazy crafter, procrastinating crafter, puzzled-by-instructions crafter, failing-eyesight crafter) is turning into a zen-like acceptance of my sometimes clever, but oft-times hamfisted attempts to make attractive, useful and strong things. If I sew something I want it to be able to go through the wash without busting a seam. If I make a patchwork clothespin bag for my sister I want it to last for many summers hanging on the line, sunbleached and rained on without falling apart.  If I knit, or weave, or nail together a picture frame I want it to look as though it was made by someone who knew what she was doing.

So, it continues. An early post revealed the beginning of a quilt, and, true to form, the quilt isn't done. But it is being worked on, a square here and there, still with an intent to finish. Not bad at all.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail Better. - Samuel Beckett 

Rooms and stuff

My real, live Pinboard

A pal 'o mine asked yesterday that I put up some pictures of my house… she's three quarters away across the continent in New Brunswick. (Miss you, Jaye!)
Anyway, here's a few random iphone snaps—it was actually a very useful exercise reminding me that editing of small objects is definitely on the to-do list. I think I need a really mean stylist.

A friend visiting last year said, very delicately, 

"Diana, did you know you still have a price tag on your curtain?"

Flowers from a pretty girl hide my mostly-empty dining 
room…but hey—it has a faux porthole. 

This is mostly just a picture of a chair, I know, + clutter. sigh.
I've got to learn how to use a real camera. Also, (she said defensively) there was no tweaking, removing or plumping prior to picture taking. The pictures are mostly of donkeys; one I painted during an online Lisa Congdon 'get your paint on' course.

Kiss and Make Up

Photo: Jean-Baptiste Mondino

Who could wear Missoni any better than Tilda Swinton? 

Two things this week made me think about the image of her (above) from T Magazine's Fashion & Beauty issue in Spring of 2008.

1. The Missoni spring 2014 fashion show in Milan, and…
  2. a recent overhauling of my makeup drawer, i.e. throwing most of my makeup away.

Photo: Fashion Pulse Daily 

The girls on the Missoni runway were all severely barefaced with a strong eyeliner stroke around the inside of the eye… what a great look. Also loved how many of them came stomping down the runway in what almost looked like spa sandals, they were owning it and looking so fierce and pretty.
It made me think of Peter O'Toole in Lawrence of Arabia. The eyes, the eyes… not the spa sandals. 

Anyway, at 58 years, makeup for me is minimal by choice and by necessity.  Not blessed with a full mouth I have to abstain from lipstick. Mascara always ends up as raccoon effect—doesn't matter what brand. 

Blush seems silly on old cheekbones and foundation looks foolish.  The only thing left in the arsenal is eyebrow pencil, and that requires glasses to apply it properly—and of course if you're wearing your glasses, they get in the way of seeing your eyebrows.  As they say, getting old is not for sissies.

Pyrex and flowerpots

More and more, shopping for me consists of looking but not buying. On holiday recently I derived great pleasure in wandering antique malls admiring quilts, maple sap buckets, mid century chairs and pyrex. Stacks and stacks of ugly-pretty, ever-so-practical pyrex.  I watched a tourist, presumably Japanese or Korean, judging by her lovely features and stylish clothes—peruse the pyrex with studied concentration, calibrating just how much weight she could pack safely in her luggage.

I resisted the pyrex, and I resisted the quilt, (though I am now suffering from not-bought regret.)

What I did buy, though was a sap bucket.  A Waterloo County galvanized  maple tree tapping bucket. And now it's time to ponder which of my garden buddies will get to hang out in it.

In defense of pink and blue

I like pink because it's a shape-shifter. I like pink because it looks nice with brights and neutrals both.  And I like pink because I always wanted to be a ballerina. :)

And while I'm at it, I like pink and blue together. This is an embarrassing confession, having grown up in an era when ballet pink and baby boy blue were considered a no-win combo. But I like it. Especially when muddied up variants are played off against each other… hues­­­–tints–shades and tones. A softer, gentler spin on primary colours.

And so from ballet pink to flamenco blue (with killer green shoes)

Sisters and Brothers

Reminiscing about my Aunt Rita in a previous post led me to looking through old photos; she was an 'early adopter' and had a Polaroid SX70 soon after they were introduced in 1972.  She was also early in driving a Toyota; in a time when buying a Japanese car was considered both daring and foolhardy.  Aunt Rita was personal secretary to the president of the local television station; and wielded a refined yet iron-clad rule over the newsroom, administration and production staff alike. I remember one evening in my bartending days, the local news anchorman + friends; on a tear through the town, showed up in our joint near closing time and ended up sitting around with the staff at the end of the night having a post-shift beer. When it came out in conversation that the Miss Glennie who ruled the roost at the television station was my Aunt Rita; he blanched, sat upright, sobered up immediately and begged that I not tell her I saw him in my den of ill repute. Made me laugh. She was formidable; but also possessed a wonderful sense of humour; she would have had a good laugh if I had squealed on him,  methinks.

Me and my bro'… a long time ago

Citrus morning

A bit of January sunshine is always a welcome sight. Hope your new year is looking good.

Pinterest wish list

A screen shot showing board covers for 10 of the 30+ Pinterest boards I'm spending wa-ay too much time on.  Some people don't go back and look over their own 'pins' but I do, and enjoy that almost as much as that visual assault of pretties that greet me at the opening page with every visit.
I have very simple but strict rules for following people's pins. No wacky manicures or unappetizing-looking cupcakes sully my opening page when I log on to Pinterest.  No hairdos, homemade blackhead remover remedies, 'save the date' or any other wedding frou frou. No hunky dudes and no Olsen twins. Wouldn't it be fun, though, to be able to peek at what someone else's opening page looks like when they log on?
I'd also really love it if you could search people by country. Hmm, wonder who is pinning in Finland? China. Turkey. Uruguay.
That'd be cool.

I guess for a cairn terrier watching rabbits is his Pinterest.