felty goodness

arial view of felty brooch fun, originally uploaded by dot & heart.

Love these felt brooches. Love them.

roy

It seems the dog, which I thought was rather cute if a little scratchy, was not a good enough trade, and the blue monkey spent yet another night away from his rightful owner. This house is way into monkeys. So I made this little chap the other night. I knew he had been accepted into the famiglia when Stella named him Roy; cast-offs are never bestowed names.

I followed a pattern from Miyako Kanamori's Sock and Glove book. The directions were spot-on. The only advice I can offer is maybe do the ear detail embroidery before attaching the ears to the head - it's a bit of a challenge to work on an already stuffed figure. Oh, and I double stitched the arms and tail on to the body with thick cotton thread so Roy can withstand the daily tumble of life with a four year old.

how do ya like them peaches

A casual invitation from my sister to check out the Winona Peach Festival today. We grabbed a coffee, some music and hit the road early, expecting to find farm stands, a chip wagon, maybe a tractor pull. But not this:



The Peach Festival is Winona's New Year's Eve in Times Square. It's Game Seven of the World Series. It's Boxing Day at Sam the Record Man. It is Glastonbury. It is, in short, madness. The little town of 16,000 receives 230,000 visitors over the course of the weekend. People are selling water, Avon and BBQ from their driveways. They are selling $5 parking spaces on their front lawns. The highway is backed up for miles. If it sounds nightmarish, well, it is, but there's a good vibe too. And a damn good $4 pulled-pork sandwich. There's a big crafty bazaar too, thankfully located in a shady grove. It's the usual mixture of good, bad and just plain crazy. I couldn't resist this silly bib that is so bad it's good (I think):



Lovely bird houses made from reclaimed tin:



And a jump on Christmas with this recycled tire swing for my little niece's apple tree:



Now what about the peaches you ask? Well, disappointingly, there was but one crowded stand selling fresh-picked peaches, but a gazillion tents selling peach crepes, sundaes, pies, preserves and crumbles. Yum.

woof

My sewing machine has sat in the corner, neglected, for most of the summer. Many times I've looked up from my computer with longing - oh to have the time to make something, anything - but it's been a very busy couple of months work-wise and by the time everyone is bathed, pyjamaed, read to and tucked in, all I can do is collapse on the porch with a cup of tea, a magazine and, occasionally, my husband. The crafty dry spell was finally broken last night, thanks to Miyako Kanamori's new book. The sock monkey belongs to Henry but was kidnapped by Stella. The dog is ransom.

(photographer's note: this is Stella's handiwork - note the little finger in the corner)

sad

Sad about this news today. It's the park we walk through daily - to Stella's school, to the grocery store, to the library, to the playground. It is the park we are trying to rebuild. I gather from some of the people who live directly across the street from the park that there have been some problems at night, though I've never seen more than dog walkers and a few families during the day. Sad sad sad.

let's go to the ex

The summer I was 13 years old I lied about my age and landed my first job. It was the end of August and I was desperate to earn some back-to-school clothing money. As I recall, I was hanging out with friends when a guy who lived a couple of streets over pulled up, rolled down his car window and asked if anyone wanted a job at the Ex. It paid $4 an hour - fantastic money when the minimum wage was then $2.65. Fortunately my new employer never asked for proof of age so, with my mother at work and no one to stop me, I confidently told him I was 16 and hopped in the car. For the next three weeks I manned a booth selling wooden toys carved by the Mi'kmaq Indians and earned enough cash to buy a rockin' wardrobe from Fairweather, Stitches and BH Emporium. My next job, the following summer, was at Black Creek Pioneer Village and that, friends, is a whole other story, but the point is I have gone to the Ex every year since 1982. Sure the fair has its detractors - it's gritty, crowded and some of the carnies look a tad unsavoury - it's the exact opposite of Wonderland or Disney but that's what I love about it. So away we went Monday, our annual pilgrimmage to play Whack-a-Mole, wolf down a bag of Tiny Tom donuts, watch the Superdogs and peruse the truly awful crafts bazaar. I can't stay away.

While it rained we wandered in and out of the buildings. The farm was my favourite. the much-hyped butter sculpture did not live up to expectations, but the kids' 'AgVenture' - a throwback to the fair's agricultural roots - was pretty cool. Kids work their way through a series of very cute kid-sized barns and have the chance to sow seeds, feed chickens, collect eggs, milk a cow (a big hit), pick apples and drive a pedal tractor around a course to deliver the harvest to market. So fun. And weirdly stylish for the CNE. I mean, look at those apple trees. And the chicken coop. Well done Ex, well done.

signing off

Off to London for the weekend - a friend is getting married. I do love a wedding. And I love strappy gold heels and this wonderful 1960s American Tourister case (a gift from my sister-in-law who always knows just what I love). A good suitcase makes even a weekend at the Hilton seem glamorous. Have a lovely weekend!

argh

Did you know September 19 is international talk like a pirate day? If your pirate vocabulary is a bit rusty, I suggest a visit here. Personally I like "Hold that elevator, ye mangy cur!" but I really could have used this: "Avast, ya scurvy knave! Brave be ye, for certain, but arrr ye willin' ta die fer that parking spot?"

Silly hat and hair day is tomorrow at Stella's nursery school but I could not keep her from wearing this hat today. My girl could not give a fig about the cute new felt purses (pink is disgustin') but the arrival of pirate, cowboy and rodeo loot yesterday was a major cause for celebration.

Shop update is in the works!

cuteness

Some new party things arrived today and they are just too cute to keep to myself. Boy's things are in the works too, don't you worry: Pirate, rodeo and wild animal-loving lads will not be disappointed.

Lucky Number 100

I don't mean to be cynical, but it seems just about every family outing in Toronto costs about $100. Low-cost/no-cost family entertainment isn't that hard to come by in a city this big - we regularly scan our local paper for things to do and usually find something fun - but of the big ones like the African Lion Safari, the Zoo, Wonderland and the Science Centre, not one of the little trips I had planned for this summer could be done for less than a hundred bucks. So I was a little apprehensive about the $25 admission fee ($20 for kids. sheesh) to the Chinese Lantern Festival but I have to say it was totally worth it. Loved it. We went just before sunset and it was quite magical seeing the lanterns come to life as the sky darkened. If you are planning to go and you're at all crowd-averse (I am) do it before Friday or wait until after the CNE closes. But do go. It's amazing.

restoration

A little road trip, a little hiking and a swim in a lake. It feels good to return to some of the things we did pre-kids. Alas, I am not one of those kids-won't-stop-me outdoorsy types. I worry about bugs and sun. Missing nap time. And lugging 25 lbs of baby in a Bjorn. Of course having a house with a pool is also a pretty good excuse to not leave the house between June and September, so this summer has been a pleasant blur of chlorinated water and BBQs. Not so bad, really, but we felt like a change of scenery so we hit the road. Naturally by the time the cooler bag and diaper bag and beach bag were packed, passports located, snacks procured and car loaded it was after 11:00 am so our plan to visit Letchworth State Park was scuttled. We settled on a less ambitious itinerary and headed west on highway 7 through Georgetown and Acton (my hometown), to Rockwood. A walk in the woods. An unxpected rock climb. Rewarded by this view. A paddle boat ride. A dunk in the lake. Jumbo orange freezies on the ride home.
A good day.

field trip

This being, like, my third chaperoning tour of duty in as many months, I think the novelty has worn off. Of course it was lovely spending the day with my kid, and fascinating as always to observe the pre-school social hierarchy in action (what's that Margaret Atwood line about 4-year olds not being child-sized to other 4-year olds - they're people-sized?), but today's excursion to Centennial Park lacked the zippitydooda-rich atmosphere of excitement I've come to expect in a field trip. Personally, I think the parent volunteers were over-scheduled: 20 minutes supervising at the splash pad; 30 minutes standing sentry in a sweltering, arid playground; 30 minutes fanning away wasps and honking geese during the bologna-on-white lunch; a whirlwind tour through the greenhouses and a 10-minute trek back to the bus stop holding the sticky hands of two complaining, completely shagged-out kids. It was a quiet ride back. And yet, still a pretty great day.

I'm sure there were many, but I remember only a handful of my own childhood field trips: exploring caves at Rockwood , horse-back riding at a teacher's farm, and a soggy weekend camping with a dozen fellow Brownies are the ones that come to mind. I'm short on details but I have glowy, happy impressions of adventure, paper bag lunches, picnic tables and playing cee cee my playmate on long, bumpy rides back home. A bit like today, I guess.

We don't have any specific plans but I'm hankering for a family field trip, so we'll see where the day takes us. Happy weekend folks.

felt town

"Welcome to the Soft City. Population: everyone. The Soft City is an ongoing plush and felt city that is made by both children and the imaginative. It has been exhibited at the Power Plant, Fort York, The Gladstone Hotel, as part of Doors Open, and in the fall will be at Toronto City Hall. This year we are exhibiting the work at the CNE, in a partnership with the Design exchange and the Art Gallery of Ontario, where we will be running child and family-focused workshops. The public will have the opportunity to contribute to our ever-growing city. The entire city will be exhibited."

Oh how I love this project! I heard about this sweet and fun and excellent collective craft project over here - a very good weekly update on all the crafty happenings in Toronto, by the way. I'm excited to see see the felt city in person, and maybe have the chance to add a building to the landscape. Something mushroom-shaped, if they'll let me. The Secret World of Og captured my eight-year old fancy like no other book, and my idea of architectural heaven has been wonky little mushroom homes ever since.

The clever and crafty group behind the soft city are looking for volunteers to help with the family workshops during the CNE run. Could be fun. And, I'm guessing here, but I imagine you'd get free admission into the fair as well. Sounds fun. If interested, go to www.softcity.org for info.

help is at hand

Every day is a bad hair day for my kids. There I've said it. It's not their fault, of course. It's mine. I am an incurable home haircutter, and a rather bad one at that. Stella has been sporting a Dora-esque helmet for 3 years now, thanks to my on-the-fly bang trims. We went a few times to Melonhead and, frankly, she came out looking the same so I kept up the trims at home. And Henry, poor Henry, never even had a haircut until a few weeks ago. He was looking more and more like Ryder Hudson - you know, all blonde and wispy and confusing - so on a whim I brought him to a barber. I told him I liked it long so please use scissors not clippers and don't take too much off, and I think I confused him or he punished my son for having a freaky, controlling mom because the haircut was really not very good. It's short and sleek at the back and sides but very full on top. Like a bouffant. Poor kid.

So hallelujah was I happy to find some stylish kids' cuts today over at cookie mag. I have Velma ear-marked for Stella. And Henry, well, he's got some growing to do, but I'm fond of the Dashiell (is that a boy?) or the Maurice. So sweet.

harbingers

So much fall stuff in my mailbox today has me feeling maudlin. That and coming nose to nose with a human-sized papier mache witch this morning. Good grief. Halloween? Already? The way some folks anxiously scan the mirror searching for fine lines, furrows and age spots, I search for signs that summer is drawing to end. I almost will it to be over, I think, with all my worry and preoccupation. It's not that I don't like fall. I do. But fall brings winter. And winter is one season I have never come to terms with. I will say that should I actually one day find a snow-covered town nestled in snow-covered rolling hills, a town that looks something like the one in the opening scene of Lady and the Tramp, then I might be persuaded to buy a fur-lined muff and take up ice skating. Just maybe. I have high hopes for this December mini-break. Carolers just melt my heart.

Thank you Karen and Rita for your shop-filling suggestions. My quest to make honeybunch a thoroughly modern mercantile and indie boutique continues. Stay tuned.

oh my aching conscience

The Fisher Price recall this week was pretty shocking. I don't necessarily dig the aesthetic of their toys or all the battery-operated stuff, but I never questioned the safety or quality. We have quite a bit of Diego and Dora gear around here, including the dollhouse. Apparently the recall is limited to things bought between May and July of this year so we should, I hope, have nothing to worry about. It makes me uneasy just the same. Especially the bald patch on Mami's head. Where did that paint go?

I've been doing a lot of hit-and-run posting lately. It's summer and I want to be outside, so I'm not feeling particularly business-minded or focused these days. I think if I had a bricks and mortar store I would probably hang a *gone fishing* shingle on the door and close up shop for the summer. But if I don't want to find myself out of business I need to to fill the shop's nearly-empty shelves with some new stuff. So, yes, there are a few new things heading this way soon. I'm still looking for more. It's more challenging than you'd imagine, as I've observed before. As my manifesto becomes clearer, it becomes more difficult to find things I feel good about selling. Original + Useful + Beautiful is always the starting point.

I've blogged many times about my love for vintage, thrifted, and yard sale finds. Sure it's partly because we are a family on a budget, but it's also because I want to teach my children another way, an alternative to a TV-rich, mass-produced, consumer culture. I would like them to know something about good design and craftsmanship and not buy, buy, buy without thinking or appreciating. And since there is no one to tell me any different, which is both the beauty and the folly of self-employment, it is also how I choose to run my business. It may seem like an odd philosophy coming from a seller of children's things, and it's quite a contradiction for me personally because I watched a lot of TV growing up. Our house was Barbie obsessed. My sister and I had marathon sessions with marriages, divorces, star-crossed relationships and scandals played out amid the Barbie camper van, the hair salon, the Olympic stadium and the swimming pool. Good times. I've flirted with
the idea of stocking these beautiful play kitchens and dollhouses. I like the idea that they're not so girly, and not so garish as the plasticky stuff that's out there, but they're incredibly expensive. If Henry broke the door off like he did with Dora's adobe abode I might cry, so how is that fun for anyone? Besides when it comes to imaginative play I don't think it matters if kids have a $300 birch-and-plexi loft or a homemade cardboard box duplex. Oh, what to do what to do. I think I have buyer's block.

the complaint department

Painful backache, originally uploaded by baboon™.

Last week's tumble led to a week-long exercise break. Sluggishness and guilt set in Monday so I eased, or so I thought, back into my yoga routine yesterday. But somewhere between Warrior Two and Shivasana I pulled something in my back. How ridiculous. It's the kind of pain that's tolerable if I make no sudden moves. And I remain standing. So here I am in hour seven of being upright. It feels like being on a very long bus ride with not a seat to spare. The upside to all this uprightness is that it's the ideal position in which to cook. Who knew. I've already made barley risotto (yuck), tortellini and white bean soup (yum) and I'm just about to get to work on a grilled pork tenderloin for tonight's salad supper. Because if there's anything sillier than being forced to stand all day, it's got to be manning the BBQ in 40-degree heat.

family matters

For whatever reason, my family moves a lot. It wasn't always so - I had only two childhood homes, but ever since there's been a lot of packing and unpacking. Curiously I never seem to get better at it. Just less likely to cry when things go wrong. Let's see, there was the time we had to hoist a sofa three storeys up the side of a house in a February ice storm (it still didn't fit). A mover who loaded my every possession in his grubby van and then held it all ransom until I ponied up an additional $500. Even DIY didn't work out: a reasonably sized 16-foot cube van substituted with something only slightly smaller than a tractor trailer. A tractor trailer that stalled every quarter mile. Oy.

So of course it was predestined that I should lose car keys (twice) and a cat (both eventually found) and get a flat tire while moving my mother yesterday. You see, as much as we'll do anything for our kids, kids will do anything for their parents too. And so it was with our motley group - my sixty-something mother, her seventy-something helper friend, my always cheerful husband, his goth-punk-with-a-heart-of-gold cousin and a now-sunburned-because-of-the-flat-tire me - more or less uncomplainingly relocated my mom from an old Victorian with no air con but lots of stairs, to a deluxe retirement condo with a koi pond and happy hour on the patio.

That I was tear-free and we were all sipping margheritas and snacking on nachos by 5:00 p.m. makes the day a tremendous success. That I was locked out of the house with Henry until 10:00 p.m. doesn't technically count against the move, so I hereby pronounce the Morell Moving Curse dead.

gifted

There is nothing I like more than a mid-morning coffee and a chat with a real-live person. It is rather exciting to have a visitor when you work by yourself all day. Especially a visitor who brings presents (and a giggling, charming little companion with the best dimples ever). And such lovely, thoughtful presents too. These tiny perfect gift tags by Sally Shim, whose work I just love. And personalized t-shirts for the kiddies too! So sweet Rita, thank you. Happy weekend folks. Oh, and if the five women who raised their hands for the soapsicle giveaway are out there, drop me a line with your address and I'll get your smudgey but still loveable treats on their way to you.

it can only mean one thing

Ignoring for a moment the baking of brownies in the middle of the afternoon, two posts in one day can only mean one thing: a deadline. Tearing apart the basement at midnight is another sign of the procrastinator. And I really must say, that despite what I've been lead to believe by professional organizers, I experienced none of the promised exultation after unloading six bags of clothes at GoodWill this morning. Quite the opposite, really. I am lamenting giving away that still very good Club Monaco pencil skirt and several pairs of very nice trousers (size 4). Ahem.

But back to the brownies. They are for my dear mother-in-law, whose birthday it is today. Now I've given this whole baking from scratch thing its due. My grandmother was a brilliant baker. One of those women who could effortlessly turn out flaky, melt in your mouth pastry without even the aid of a recipe. So good. I have inherited the desire to bake and make things by hand, but not so much the skill. But with the blessing of a chef friend, who, while consoling me after the second birthday cake flop, assured me that no one can tell the difference between a cake from scratch and one from a box (it's all in the icing, which must be homemade) I am a Duncan Hines evangelical. Never mind cute Betty Crocker - DH is my go-to brand. Except when it comes to brownies. And then you really must try PC's Organic Brownie mix. The ingredient list reads: organic cane sugar, organic flour, organic cocoa, baking powder and salt. I couldn't improve on that. I will caution you, if you're so inclined to whip up a batch, that it is a toothsome brownie. Very dense with a dark and chewy crumb. But so very good.

And so we are off now to granny's house. Warm and lovely brownies and a big pink present in hand. The deadline moves closer. But I do my best work under pressure.