I am thinking, right now, about how I used to run in my Seabright neighborhood in the early mornings. I would run down Seabright Avenue by my favorite house, the one with the lovely big front porch. I would run by the cat sleeping on the fence. I would run by the shops down the street. Sometimes, during certain times of the year, birds would swoop down and attack my hair. I would know by the sound they made when they would do this. And it always seemed to happen on foggy days, which made it more ominous. So I would try to avoid getting attacked. Sometimes I would turn right and run down a neighborhood street. I would look at the houses and dream of living in one of them. Then I would reach the magnificent beach. I would run up above on the sidewalk overlooking it. I would face East and I would watch the sunrise as I ran. It was usually glorious. Sunrises are almost always more incredible than sunsets in my opinion. I would run down the harbor toward the lighthouse, then I would maneuver the rocks where I would end up on the sand. I ran the length of the beach near the waterline where the sand was more stable. Everyday there were people who walked their Irish Setter dogs and I became very familiar with them. They let their dogs run free on the beach without a leash. Normally this is one of my pet peeves but it didn’t bother me during my morning runs on the beach. The dogs were so into everything around them and they were so happy to be running free that I enjoyed watching them. I would time my runs for 30 minutes. The halfway beep would happen around them time I was on the beach running West so I would turn around and backtrack until I was home again.
I loved these runs and miss them so much. This was my time to myself. I felt perfectly safe. I felt very happy and alive during these times. I loved the routine and I loved seeing the same people out walking their dogs or running every morning. I would go out very early, like around 5:00 so it was heartening to see others up as crazy-early as me.
I miss this. I don’t feel like I have this here in Spokane. and I miss it.
Rafael and I like to go to Stanford’s Rodin Sculpture garden and take pictures whenever we are down there visiting. I’ve seen the Gates of Hell sculpture many times but this is the first time I’ve seen the baby on the side of the piece. This is a really interesting and creepy piece of art. If you can get down to see it, I highly recommend it.
I haven’t taken a photo since I was in California! That’s just too awful for words. Photography is so therapeutic for me and I have been remiss. Maybe this weekend I’ll remedy this situation.
Taken at another little state beach along the coast between Half Moon Bay and Santa Cruz. The crows were following me.
I made this last weekend and I’m very happy with the way it turned out! This is Amy Butler fabric (bought at the Bobbins Nest) and the Pattern is Betsy Ross. I have fallen in love with Betsy Ross patterns. I am dying to make their Wide Leg Pants. But first I must master the task of Zipper Installation, something I am very afraid of. For good reason. I have massacred zippers before. Not a pretty scene.
The blouse! About the blouse! It took about 4 hours for me to make, that includes cutting out the pattern. So it’s a very quick project, especially for someone who knows what they are doing. I learned how to do gathers with this pattern, which was fun! I am a little confused about whether or not I should take out the thread that I used for gathering. They are still there and are visible. They don’t look bad, and since the thread I used is very close to the color of my fabric, you can’t see it unless you look really closely. But still. So if anyone out there knows please enlighten me. The pattern didn’t say what to do with those threads.
Again, I loved the pattern. It comes in a nice black envelope that you can store it in for later use. I love that the pattern pieces are printed on a nice, substantial white paper, not tissue paper. I also love that the instructions are published in a little booklet and are very explicit with drawings and everything. Very Newbie friendly.
All in all, I would say this was a good sewing experience! yay!
This is something I wrote about yesterday and what the hell. I thought I’d share. I need blog fodder. This is one of my earliest memories. I must have been about 5 years old.
One day my younger brother and I were playing on the hearth of the fireplace. We had a hearth that sat up from the floor and you could actually sit on it. It was made of rock, I remember, and was always cold and hard and nubby. Anyway, I don’t exactly remember what we were playing. Perhaps he was playing with his army men? Maybe I was helping him set them up? At any rate, he made me mad. Very mad. Blinding mad (as he often did. You know how little brothers are, right?) I was so mad that I picked up a spaghetti jar of sea shells (found on the Oregon Coast) and smashed them on his back. The jar broke on his back and shells went flying all over the place. We were both absolutely startled. He started crying. When he cried, I did too. We both just wailed and carried on. Him out of pain, me just..I don’t even know. I know I felt fear. I was also kind of shocked at the outcome of my actions. I acted out of anger and, because I was a child, I didn’t think about what would happen if I picked up a breakable, heavy thing and broke it on someone. I think I was just shocked that my anger could cause so much destruction. And, of course, I felt the guilt one gets when they hurt someone they love. My brother could really make me mad. More so than anyone else ever has. But somehow I knew I gone way too far.
Then we became teenagers and entered the phase where I learned how to use my fingernails as claws. What can I say. He must have pushed my buttons once too often by that time.