Crazy for You

"Hello Neighbor" is finished and in the shop. Have I ever mentioned how much I love my own neighborhood--the one in the real (non-felt) world where I live?
It's like a little city unto itself, with a convenience store at one end (of the familiar, Maine kind, with taciturn shopkeepers selling "italians" and beer), along with an old fashioned bakery boasting two rows of penny candy in big glass jars. The post office where I send off my packages of Little Pink Love only takes cash and is also a video rental joint and an ice cream counter. In the same strip of old, wooden buildings is a Scandinavian import store (think Swedish fish and lingonberry juice), and a tailor. Put a pizza joint and a meat market (not the kind where you pick up chicks but where you pick up, um, pork chops) on the other side of the street, and there you have it. We are two hops from the hulking stone high school and surrounded by residential streets, lovely old houses, friendly folks and their kids and their dogs--lots and lots of dogs, not to mention one fat, gray cat everybody feeds. He's greasy and if you pet him your hand comes away smelling of garlic. (Mob cat? Yikes.)
I live here by chance, in an apartment I rented from Craig's List, but I'd like to stay. I'd like to hunker down--I enjoy hunkering. Until I get bored. Then I like to quit my job, say goodbye to everyone I know, and pick a new life. Any psychoanalists out there want to take that on? ;-)

I'm happy because the screens are in the windows and there's a breeze up in here.

I know it's feast or famine around this blog, just as it is with sunlight and with time to make stuff. Well, eat up, friends, cuz who knows when this post buffet is gonna dry up!
This afternoon while Annabelle did homework (her first day back at school after spring break), there was sunshine on the dining room table and time to work on this new neighborhood--time also to take a thousand pictures of those pretty little spools up there.
Then I flipped through this cookbook Mark brought home from work today. Sadly, he bought it for $5 from a coworker who's broke and needed gas money. I'd like to say a few choice words about how his employer believes the store doesn't need a union because it treats its employees so well but somehow those employees can't afford to feed their families or keep their cars running--but that's probably a post for another blog (the ass kicking blog I'm going to start in all my spare time).
What I'll say instead is that the pictures in this book are truly lovely, and the recipes--with the exception of the occasional use of eggs from chickens they raise on site--are vegan. Vegan and for cowboys. No kidding. This thrills my Texas-born, cruelty-free husband to no end.
There's a recipe for Cowboy Potato Chowder I think I'm going to try, like, right now. No cowboys in it, of course. We don't eat cowboys.

All the Great Doings of the Day

Weather in the 70s today, folks, so Miss A. and I saddled up Sophie (okay, not really, but that sounds pretty cool, right?--in reality, we just put the leash on her) and headed to some nearby woods to make fairy houses. A. was really excited about how good I was at finding implements--a bark bed, a sawed-off stick shaped like a desk chair, three pieces of green glass fairy china.)
And then there's this. It's quite cheering, I think.

We also transplanted "Coraline" today because she was outgrowing her cup. She's in a sawed-off lemonade jug now and all the happier for it, apparently. We think she's a squash plant. We'll keep you posted.

Alternative Housing

Okay, so clearly awesome is in full swing at this point. ;-) All kidding aside, though, I am back in making mode. My online poetry workshop is wrapping up in a couple of weeks, and what with the economy tanking and all, it doesn't look like my summer course will have enough students to run. Here's a little Melissa-Crowe-psyche-tidbit: when something bad happens, I compulsively seek to locate the good part. I'm no Pollyanna--I have a dark side, folks, believe me, but I need to find the fun bit in order to get through everything else, and I've become pretty darn good at it. As it turns out, the fun bit of being out of "work" for the summer and not having enough money will be much more time to do what I want: have picnics with Annabelle, write a children's play with my good friend Lara, and make stuff--lots and lots of stuff.
I've gotten a jump with the little scented dog house up there (a custom order for someone who does not want to be disturbed), and then there's this w.i.p., which takes lots of inspiration from this beautiful image by the lovely mistress of Swallowfield. Which reminds me, I have to go feed her cat. (She doesn't force me to do her chores on a daily basis or anything--she's just out of town.)

More Awesome

Somebody at work told Mark that when your wife starts paying a lot more attention to her hair, watch out--she's got a new boyfriend. Did y'all think I'd thrown you over for another...blog?

Not so, my dears. It has simply been too dark for photos, too busy for making. And also I've been thinking a lot. As a poet, you tend to allow yourself fairly lengthy periods of gestation for any idea--sure it may look like you're just playing computer Scrabble, but what's happening beneath the surface...well, that's serious business. While I was finishing up this house portrait with its two multicolored cats (a real challenge!)--what we called money cats when I was a kid--
--I was thinking about being awesome. Not thinking, "I'm awesome," but that I want to be awesome, that seeing Ani DiFranco and the Indigo Girls this weekend, not to mention listening to all the passionate, dedicated, thankless work of Maine poets on Saturday, not to mention thinking about the hearings in Augusta today (which I can't attend b/c no car!), all the activists there, willing to do what it takes to make the world reflect their values, all this has filled me with desire, the desire to be awesome, or at least more awesome--to take my work seriously, whatever that work may be, to think harder and create more and find the things that truly need doing and--do them, do them right, do them in a way that makes the world more pleasurable, more beautiful, more right. More awesome. What do you think--want to join me? (I may have to play a few more games of Scrabble before we get started, so, you know, wait for it.)

Yes, Ma'am

It's a big weekend. First, I bought an outfit. I never do this. Second, as you can see, I got new hair, like fifteen minutes ago. I kind of love it.
Abby and I are going to see Ani DiFranco at the Merril Auditorium tonight--last time we came down to P-Town to see Ani, we decided to move here, so it's kind of like our anniversary. Plus, Ani is amazing live, so we're psyched. Then tomorrow morning, I read at the Terry Plunkett Maine Poetry Festival (in my new outfit), and Sunday our whole family is heading back to Merrill for the Indigo Girls, an early tenth birthday present for Miss A. This is not to mention the fact that it is sunny and in the mid-sixties right now. Almost too much good, folks. Almost.

Today Wool Felt, Tomorrow THE WORLD!

I didn't ever show you the finished family portrait I was working on a while back, partly because the light was dreadful for weeks (and hence the pictures, well, you know...), but also partly because that little lady up there, while lovely, needed a makeover.Yup, she was too blonde. Who knew such a thing was possible. ;-)
I really like it when I send pre-shipping photos and a customer says, "I love it, but um..." This makes me feel like when the thing gets into the hands for which it is intended, it will be right. It took me a long, long time to discover/decide that honest, clear communication, even if it inspires a little bit of conflict, is good, often kind. I think we become convinced, particularly as girls and women, that it's usually nicer to keep one's thoughts to oneself, especially if what you're thinking is "no" or "I don't like that" or "it might be better if..." Somebody told us (okay, everybody) that it's mean to think critically, at least out loud. Yikes.

When I started professoring, though, it quickly became clear to me that everyone is better off if I do share my input, even if my ideas or concerns don't jive with those of others. It's not at all vain to believe that the world needs my voice, and I need to be a real part of the world. If I withhold myself, I guarantee that my environment will continue to sadden, frustrate, and anger me, and--this is the crucial bit--what happens will be partly my fault, my silence partly to blame. If I speak, there is a chance things outside my head will start to look a little more like things inside. And hey, I've got some good stuff in there. I bet you do, too.

Better Kate than Never

Clearly I'm having another attack of the dreadful puns. Sorry. But as a consolation, here's Kate, her bag finally sewn, ready to go wherever she may be wanted.
She and her perfect bang--one quality I have always coveted in straight-haired girls--are in the shop. I'm off to spend time with my honey who has the afternoon off. Sweet.

Like a Makeover for the Mind (a.k.a. "sunshine")

This morning on the way to school, Annabelle and I discussed--much to her prolonged exasperation--why I don't want to get rich, lottery-style. As I suspect is normal for the age-ninish set, she loves to ask, "What would you do if you won a million dollars?" and she hates that my answer is I'd rather not, so, also in fine age-nine fashion, she just keeps asking, figuring I'll eventually come around because, um, duh. So I had to explain myself, and, as we had thirty sunny minutes, I was thorough.I told her a lot of stuff--how I think the lottery's a dirty trick, a way to swindle money from people who don't have it to spend, how having lots of money would likely stress me out more than having very little, how most lottery winners end up poorer, not to mention lonely, all their relatives angry when the cash dries up. I told her that I think when you work for your money, you value it differently and probably engage in less mindless spending. But at the heart of my resistance is this: so much of our culture seems hell bent on inducing us into a perpetual state of desire, not just for cars and iPods and thinner bums, but for some totally other kind of life from the one we have. Don't get me wrong--I'm all for striving and trying new things and exploring the world and becoming one's best possible self--but I feel deeply sad when I think about how much time we all spend (me included, sometimes) wishing to be different than we are--more beautiful, married to Brad Pitt, in this case, instantly rich.As is so often the case, my girl eventually came around, reluctantly. She still wants a million dollars, but she stopped repeating, "I don't understand you," by the time we were in sight of the school.I think if a million dollars fell into our laps today, sure, we might do lots of exciting, luxurious things--but yesterday was pretty good, too. It was the first truly-glorious day of Spring in these parts, so unexpectedly warm that we carried our jackets--such a welcome burden. I went to the Poet's Tea at the Governor's mansion in Augusta with my good friend, Maine's Poet Laureate, Betsy Sholl--that top picture's me dolled up and ready to go. Annabelle planted "mystery seeds" for her science challenge, but the fact that their species are unknown to us does not mean they can't have names (Coraline, the twins Charlotte and Cadmium, and tiny triplets Mindy, Lindy, and Cindy). And when we went to beg soil from the florist, we bought a gorgeous, fat, riotously yellow pot of daffodils, my favorite.

Are you laughing at the degree to which a little sunshine transforms me from Mr. Hyde into Miss Upside? I kind of am.

I Take It Back

I'm a bit aflutter, since a few minutes ago Corinne let me know that my felt paperdoll, Jane, was enjoying her own secret life as a feature in Small Magazine. WHAT? This is going to be one of those moments where I am just unabashedly pleased with myself because my dolly enjoys pretty darn good company, alongside the likes of Elsita and The Black Apple. WHAT?

No groundhogs here. No sir. This stuff's better than chocolate.

Like a Premenstrual Groundhog Up In Here

Regular readers will recognize this scene of hoop-in-progress feltiness from similar shots of another project some weeks ago. This is the portrait I started this morning, and this blue linen is just so gorgeous, isn't it?

Yes, and it looks nothing like the sky outside my P-town (Maine, that is--you know, we're like "the other white meat") apartment today. I know I'm at serious risk of sounding whiny whenever I write about my moodiness, my sometimes-feeling of frustration over not having enough time to make things, etc.--so many of you have written to tell me that you're proud of me and even inspired by the fact that I quit my job to stay home and embroider, for lord's sake, and I'm SO grateful for your encouragement and enthusiasm, and then when I'm grumpy--about the dishes or the laundry or the two hours per day of walking I do to get my kid to school or the stinking weather--well, I feel like a jerk. I feel like a crotchety groundhog poking her head out of her hole to say "meh" to the beautiful, if-a-bit-dank, world. So I'm not gonna say it folks. I'm gonna say "woo hoo!" and if I say it enough times, I'm gonna believe it, and that's thanks to you, my dears.

Of course, I'm also gonna have some chocolate. Maybe a lot of chocolate. Thank you, chocolate.

Flower Pots for Mums?

Just wanted to pop in and point you in the direction of a lovely tutorial, for this reversible flower-pot wrap:

Clever, right? And I was thinking perfect for Mother's Day. It has been created and generously disseminated by my friend Corinne on her blog, where you can always find lots of crafty goodness. Honestly, Corinne's clean style and impeccable craftsmanship make visiting both her blog and her store totally worth it.

Report From the Night Studio

Good day. I walked Annabelle to school, Sophie on the leash, and when we returned, Miss Dog sped to my bed and slept until noon. (It's an hour walk, both ways, people. Sheesh.)In the quiet, slightly dreary house (I'm not complaining--April showers...), I sat near the window and listened to the radio while hand sewing. I'm working on a family portrait--one little guy loves trains and one loves...
...his ducky, though you might not be able to recognize that yellow blob quite yet. Felt is a process, my dears--that's what I always tell Annabelle when she says a nascent house hoop is "boring." Wait for it.

After these hours of blessed sewing solitude, my family returned and we went for Sushi (avocado maki and vegi tempura--no raw fish for us, thanks) and to the comic book shop. Now I'm back in the studio, ready to work, while Mark reads Harry Potter to A. in the next room. It's one of those days when anxiety remains at bay and I feel that all is right with our new Portland life. Sewing, sushi, a gander at the strange loveliness of a Julie Morstad book, my love in the house. Honestly, I'm easy. Okay, on a good day I'm easy--and this was a good day.