The Hotbed of All Fashion–ME!

25 03 2009

I posted the other day about my realization: I was wearing the same sweater I had worn on my seventeenth birthday.


Not, you know, that it looks like this:


Actually, it was more along these lines:


Except not that color, because no one makes clothes the color of my sweater anymore. It’s (and I hesitate to say this, but there it is) out.

No one mentioned that the reason I’m wearing an at least 14 year-old sweater is because I’m hopelessly out-of-date. Instead, there were many heartwarming comments: among which a couple of people mentioned I am still the same size (not exactly, though; everything was worn a little baggier back then) and that I have a timeless style (or else I have always dressed like an old lady).

My favorite, though, was from my cousin Kathleen, who reminded me of a theory we (I) had in my youth that all fashion originated from Idaho. She surmised that, apparently, the head of the fashion world has moved to Washington. We all know what that means: I must be the impetus of all fashion. It’s humbling, but true.

To prove this, I’ve found several pictures that indicate how cutting edge I truly am.


I apologize to any parents out there who despaired when their daughters wanted to wear lingerie as a shirt.


Funny story about turtlenecks: a month or so ago, we were invited to eat with some friends. Stan said to our hostess, “I don’t think anyone can pull off a turtleneck but you.” I started to laugh. I had worn a turtleneck to church the week previous.


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I still have nightmares about the postage stamp-sized towels.


I’m in high school here. You’d think I would start to get a clue by now.

You’d be wrong, though.


This particular band trip, I found and bought a pair of mustard yellow pants with black pinstripes. They were hideous. My brother told me so, but I didn’t listen. I’m sorry, Sam.

As you can see, if fashion is following me, we’re all in trouble. On a brighter note, pretty much all I wear now-a-days is plain white t-shirts with jeans.

Except on those days I wear sweaters from the 90s.

A peek from the past two weeks

24 03 2009


I feel like I haven’t blogged much lately. We’ve just been hanging out, doing regular stuff.


Like finding rusty bolts who-knows-where,


Singing at third grade music concerts (anyone remember the fainting incident of ’86? Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.),


Occasionally enjoying the sunshine when it deigns to grace us with its presence,


Having relatives visit us,


Playing the piano,


(a lot),


Visiting an indoor playground (because it’s still raining lots),


Getting reading trophies,


And going to the Children’s Museum (where Colby could have opened the doors on this Curious George elevator all day. I kid you not.)

It’s been fun. I’m not ashamed to say I look forward to more of the sun and less of the rain in the coming weeks, though. I also mailed off my first homemade gift package–four more to go. Everyone likes aprons, right?

Happy Spring!

20 03 2009

This morning, after I got dressed, I looked at myself in the mirror.

I realized I’d seen the sweater I was wearing not long ago–on our vacation to Idaho, in fact.

We watched slides of my seventeenth birthday.

What does that say about me?

Photography Class Final Project

12 03 2009

Sometimes I forget what a procrastinator I am.

It all came rushing back, though, yesterday when I was throwing my project together at the last minute. Gosh, I’m so glad I’m done with school. There are lots of things I like and miss about being in school, but that strange sort of only-half-aware-of-anything-else frantic-ness—yeah, I don’t miss that so much.

When I say I was throwing my project together at the last minute, I don’t mean I was taking pictures up until the last minute. I have been taking pictures for weeks. I mean I was literally throwing it together: trying to stick my photos onto foam core and to get my artist’s statement printed out and to find something to take for the class potluck (one advantage of continuing ed, I guess).

I was only ten minutes late.

Or maybe fifteen.

Anyway, without further ado I present my final project:

(and, since it was my mom’s idea, she’s the lucky winner of a Chicago song sung by me next time I see her. Hey, Mom, I think I stole the sheet music for ‘You’re the Inspiration’ from you about ten years ago. Maybe I’ll finally learn how to play it for when I sing it to you. I know you can’t wait.)






We were supposed to write an artist’s statement to go along with our photos. I thought about mine a lot, and was fairly pleased with how it turned out. I didn’t really want to read it in front of the class, though.

When I got to class, and we started showing our pictures, I realized everyone else had artist statements that were about three sentences long.

Mine is a page.

I reallydidn’t want to read it in front of the class, then. After showing my photos, my teacher didn’t mention my artist statement, so I thought, “Phew.” However, after the last person had gone, my teacher said something like, “I really appreciate those of you who took the time to write up your artist statements.”

Apparently, I need validation.

I said, “I wrote one, too. But it’s kind of long.”

And then I read it in front of everyone.

After I was done, one of my class members said, “If the photography thing doesn’t work out for you, you could be a writer.” (I think she said that because my artist statment is as long as a book.) Anyway, here it is:



            The act of creating something—a painting, a story, a photograph, a quilt—is something I hold close to my heart. In my photo series, I tried to show the metamorphosis between something without inherent value (a piece of fabric in this case) and how, through creativity, it was turned into something valuable.

            Changing from nothing to something is a huge leap. The fabric itself doesn’t feel different, but its use has been expanded through the creative act. While the fabric is changed physically, it’s the creative person who brought about those physical changes, and, in turn, the person who experiences growth.

            Although I enjoy sewing, I don’t consider myself proficient. When I want to make something I almost always use a pattern. Does that negate my creative act? I don’t think so. Just as artists study the work of great masters, so can I use another’s creativity to spur on my own.

            Just as thousands of writers have used the same words to create different stories and thousands of composers have used the same notes and instruments to create different songs, so, too, does every person bring something unique to their creations.

            In photographing the development of a sewing project, I looked for ways to make this commonplace process visually interesting. It’s difficult to show the way a person is enlightened through a creative act, to illustrate the spark of creativity that makes something a little bit better than it would be without it. I don’t know if I captured that or not. I do know this, though: I learned a lot about creativity, both through sewing and photography.

            Whether it be creating clothes from pieces of fabric or creating pictures from what passes through a camera’s viewfinder, the act of creation stretches us to look outside ourselves and become better than we are.

Does that sound too pompous? I hope not. Anyway, photo class is over. I learned a lot, but I’ll be glad to have my Wednesday evenings back so I can learn about emergency preparedness.


9 03 2009

Did I just say I love March?

Apparently I forgot how fickle she is.



It snowed a couple of inches in an hour. Then the sun came out and it all melted off.


When we woke up today, there was another couple of inches on the ground, with more coming down. It’s my favorite kind of snow—heavy and wet, coming down in big, soft flakes.

But—it’s March!

The sun came out; it melted again.

It snowed this afternoon.

The snow is still here currently, but it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.

I’m so glad I pruned my forsythia bush Saturday. I forced the blooms open. Hey, at this point I’m ready to be forceful to have some springy sunshine inside my house.


Because, apparently, March hasn’t yet made up her mind.

(P.S. It seems like I haven’t blogged forever. I’ve been working like crazy on my final project for my photography class–and just going crazy in general–singing Paul Simon’s “I’m Going to Graceland” even though I don’t know all the words, and doing what seems to be an extraordinary amount of laundry. Hopefully I’ll get the photo proj done and be able to function normally afterwards. Whatever that is. Anyway, if you want to see the coolest family pictures pretty much ever, check this out.)

Miss March

4 03 2009

You know what I realized yesterday? I love March.

It’s volatile, true, as was evidenced yesterday by a sunny late morning/early afternoon followed by lightning, thunder, and rain (of course!) yesterday afternoon/evening.

But, ah, it’s nice to be done with February. Winter is on its way out!



Playgrounds and picnics, here we come!

You’re the Inspiration–

3 03 2009

I’ve been taking a photography class, you know. My final project is due next week: three to five photos with a theme and an artist statement.

So . . . have you got any ideas? Seriously, I’m coming up dry.



I think once I have a good theme, I’ll be able to do something–actually take some pictures. But right now, I’m feeling a little panicky.

I will totally sing that Chicago song to you next time I see you if you come up with an idea I can use. (And I know everyone wants that. Except maybe Ty. He wants a limerick.)

Our visit to the sheep farm

2 03 2009


My uncle runs a sheep operation (is that what you call it?) and February is lambing time. We’re never in Idaho in February, so being able to go was a real treat.

I remember going as a kid, but somehow the piles of dead lambs escaped my notice. Or maybe I just blocked them from my memory. Anyway, I certainly noticed them this time: giant piles of baby sheep stacked by each doorway. Yikes! My cousin Sarah (who is cooking for the crew this year–go, Sarah!) took us on the grand tour. We came to the second shed, and she stopped, pointing to a skinned lamb lying just outside the door. She started explaining about how they skinned the dead lamb and put its skin on a bum lamb to try and get the mama sheep to accept the orphan . . . and then she looked at my kids. She glanced at me and said, “I’ll just let you answer any questions they might have.”

Gee, thanks, Sarah.




We learned there are white face and black face sheep, and then, if you can believe it, the mixed, splotchy ones are called “smut face”. Cool.


As per usual, Zack complained (loudly) that he didn’t want to go, but when we got there he loved it.


Even Colby got in a few pats before tearing back down the aisle.



My cousin and his wife have goat who recently kidded (ha! you goats are hilarious) so we went to see them while we were out there.

Zack was pretty much the goat whisperer.


This one tried to eat the apples off of Eden’s pants.


To close out, I’ll just share with you an old family motto: Eat lamb. Wear wool.