corners of my home

It's taken some doing, but at last, a tidy corner.

I'd given up on striking gold at Value Village and coming home with a mid-century teak credenza for $50, so chancing upon this sofa table in Ikea's As-Is department felt like fate. Of course getting it home assembled was no easy task, but thanks to a trio of good samaritans in the parking lot who helped me untangle car seat straps and stuff the thing in, we're home and now a lot of odds and ends have a place to be.

On another note, a family around the corner who, with four kids, always has the best yard sales, told me about this mondo garage sale. It's tomorrow. It's really big and I assume crowded. But by all accounts, worth it. See you there. Happy weekend everyone.

a bargain at twice the price

I was very happy to make the acquaintance of Flora, a crafty gal down the road who is a whiz with the crochet hook. While lots of folks can knit and crochet with competence - those scratchy acrylic but beautifully turned-out hats and dolls at church bazaars make me weep - it's the crafters who also have an eye for colour and an attention to detail that stop me in my tracks. These are Flora's hair clips. She asked if I would be interested in selling them in my shop. Normally I don't do hair accessories; they're not really the sort of thing people buy online and it's hard to convey in a photograph how lovely and thoughtfully made these are. But I couldn't say no because these are just too good to not share. Flora has sent over a smattering of samples. She crochets each little flower then attaches it to a ribbon-covered alligator clip, that also has a magnetic strip inside so it'll hold the finest baby hair. They are $6.75 a set, which, considering the level of detail, means Flora is not paying herself nearly enough. So get in on a good thing while you can!

If you're interested in a set of clips for your gal, drop me a line: nicole(at)honey-bunch.com

get me alice, stat

A bit of a mixed nuts kind of weekend around here. A bit of this, a bit of that. All perfectly unscheduled, which was fine by me. A peaceful, grown-ups only morning of scavenging turned up this sweet MelMac set, which is just what I wanted for an upcoming tea and crafting afternoon. Porcelain cups seemed too fussy for what I have in mind.



In between the furniture painting, garage reorg and mowing half the lawn, we also managed to squeeze in some much needed home maintenance. A door that was threatening to fall off its hinge for years finally did just that, and we could no longer ignore the problem. Bolstered by success we tackled a burned out lightbulb at the top of the landing. Months of navigating a twisty staircase in the dark has given us all some kind of weird spidey sense; I can manage it while carrying a tub of laundry and cradling the phone. But when a five-year old visitor asks "how come you haven't fixed the lightbulb yet?" willful blindness starts to feel like sloth.

In between the this and the that we had drop-in guests. Normally the idea of people arriving on my doorstep without at least an hour or two's notice would freak me out. I need time to stuff things into closets (or in a pinch the oven), whip the shower curtain closed and slap on some make-up. Like most, our house is never really in drop-in condition. But this weekend the house was particularly, well, I'll just say it, dirty. As in dishes in the sink, a bathroom that were it public I would not use, folded laundry covering the coffee table, a hoosier in the hallway blocking the closet door so everything that should be hidden away is now strewn about the floor, and, good god, a poopy diaper fermenting on the porch. It was not good. I was paint-splattered, pony-tailed and quite possibly not even showered when our visitors dropped in at 5:00, stayed for dinner (take-out), coffee and frozen apple crumble.

Sure it was a little embarrassing. But I was enjoying the conversation and counting on four kids tearing up the house to provide some camoflage. I thought I was getting away with it when my mother-in-law, who also happened to come by, cast an eye across the chaos and said "If you make some money this year maybe you can hire a housekeeper." A comment trumped by own mother who observed "You're always getting organized but you never get organized." They are both right. I need a housekeeper. I need an Alice to my Mrs. Brady. Do you know who Sisyphus is? I'd never heard of him until we let go the cleaning lady last year. Getting this house in order has been simultaneously uphill and downhill ever since.

Despite how it sounds, it was a splendid weekend. It was kind of freeing to have people see us at our worst and still want to stay, frozen apple crumble and all.

relax

I've fielded a couple of emails from folks a bit panicked about the painted portrait deadline. Do not fret, please. Take your time and find a photo you truly love. I am happy to extend the offer for another week.

i've got to be me

It is Friday and it is oh so warm and sunny, so I know I am not the only one who wants to yell doodlydoodlydoo at the top of her lungs, swing round a lamp post, kick off her shoes and sit on the porch with a frosty glass of something or other. I am extra enthusiastic today because it has been a long week filled with meetings of one kind or another. A week of too many spreadsheets and a dusty calculator. A week that was far too dull and yet incredibly exciting at the same time. But more on that another time. Today I am happy to just get my hands dirty again. The plague of wasps that kept me from painting any furniture for the past six weeks seems to be over, and so today the driveway is filled with 3 dressers, 1 cabinet, and several chairs all getting a lick of paint and a new lease on life. Cleaning, scraping, sanding, priming and painting a tatty old bureau might not be everyone's idea of a good time, but I love a makeover. I've decided to not take on any more custom orders for furniture. Painting all of my stuff white started to feel more like production - especially when I had to cover an amazing turquoise or candy pink I'd already done - and I really missed the fun of picking a shade that seemed to really suit the piece. It may sound silly but I take a lot of time deciding on colours. I like to get it right. So today I've decided on rain slicker yellow for the chairs, robin's egg blue for one dresser, lavender for another and a watermelon pink night table. I may be alone in my opinion, but I think the world needs less white and a little more oompah-pah.

Happy weekend friends

Letter of the Day: H

"The value of an idea has nothing whatever to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it." - Oscar Wilde

Oh that Mr. Wilde. He always has my number. Barely two days after my plasticky junk rant, look what moved into the house:



A rare Sunday morning garage sale. In my defense, I had nothing to do with this purchase. It was made while I was happily forking over three bucks for this:



And in that short interlude with my back turned, Mr. Honeybunch bought a talking purple vaccuum cleaner. Oh yes, the saucy so-and-so does have quite a bit to say about the state of the house. I might not object if thing actually had a bit of suction, but, no, all it does is judge: "we must clean up this dust!" "let's clean up this mess!" and my favourite, "This place is a pig sty!"

Some battles are uphill all the way. A bit of fortification, however, in the form of this article in the weekend Globe. A *slow* clothes movement. Yes! Yes to quality. Yes to integrity. Yes to buying less but enjoying it more. The purple vacuum? I may be an idealist but I'm no fool: It'll probably outlive us all. I may very well hand it down to Stella's kids as a prized family heirloom. I'm not saying no to plastic. I'm saying no to this:

weekend-ing

The divided plate was gone when I returned to GoodWill, but finding this fellow for $5 made my day. The shade could use some pompoms, don't you think? Mr. Dumpty will live in Henry's room, I think. I haven't lavished nearly as much attention on the little Mister's room, so it's due for some thrifty goodness.

You can't see me, of course, but here I am, on the porch, barefoot as has been the case since mid-April, soaking up the last of summer. I am getting misty. And contemplating a run to the McGregor sock outlet down the road. It seems I may need a pair this weekend. 15-degrees tomorrow? Oh the cruel, cruel jet stream.

On the family sked this weekend:
1. Marineland. I promised.
2. Queen West Art Crawl. Where we bought this last year, and kind of hoped to buy another Steven Nederveen painting, but discovered we can no longer afford his work. Which I suppose is good, investment-wise, but a bummer for our still barren bedroom.

Happy weekend!

good timing

At the nursery school's annual picnic last week Stella won, handily I might add, the sack race, foot race and tied for first in a photo finish in the wheelbarrow race. What can I say? The kid is speedy. But I think it was the mountain of prizes waiting to be won that was really behind her Olympic-worthy performance. She cleaned up, and we came home with a large bag full of stuff. The dreaded plasticky stuff that fills under-the-bed bins, lurks behind the couch, litters the car floor and makes the thwacking sound in the dryer as it falls out of one pocket or another. Of course all of it ultimately ends up in the garbage. The leg that falls off the *walking* dinosaur seconds after its unwrapping. The disappointing ball that doesn't really bounce. The thingy that falls off the thingy, rendering it useless. And on and on. I have a personal ban on plasticky junk: I do not buy it for my kids or for anyone else, but it invades my life just the same.

My sister-in-law sent me this snip from a CNN blog yesterday:
Have you had enough of the china-made recall stories? I'm considering going retro for my toddler nephews... and getting the old-fashioned wooden toys. The kind where you go to a small crafting/antiques/knickknacks tourist town and a guy is standing there actually making them for you at his shop. Today I'll interview a “fortune” magazine guest about whether this is going to be a very different christmas."

Amen to that. If there is any good to come from this toy recall mess, let it be a return to toys that A) actually work B) won't hurt you C) use a little imagination. Now we all know there is a vast difference between the stuff a 4-year old thinks is cool and great and the stuff a 38-year old gets giddy over. But as a keen observer of how my kids play, the thing they return to over and over again is a big box of building blocks Stella's had since she was a baby. They've been turned into the tower of Pisa, castles, boats and, lately, a jail for misbehaving farm animals. They don't break, make noise, get boring after 5 minutes, annoy adults or end up in the garbage. They are perfect, and on that the 4 year old and 38 year old agree.

We are also in agreement over these very sweet new toys. They're handknit by a fair trade cooperative. The veggies and tool belt toys are rattles for little hands, and the donuts and cupcakes are a welcome addition to the play food menu.

PS
Thank you Sue for passing on this recall link. The photos that accompany each product are really helpful when trying to figure out if you have any of this stuff in your house.

Warning: Plot Spoiler

Dear Nan,
before you go any further I must warn you that I have posted a couple of photos of the CD that will be on its way to you and your little loveys in just a day or two. Of course, if you're like me and enjoy peeling back a corner of the wrapping paper - just behind the ribbon where no one will ever know what you've done - then by all means come on in and have a little look.






A snip of thrifted pillowcase, a bit of ticking cotton, a pair of vintage buttons, stitch, stitch, stich, some wobbly embroidery, et voila: a CD envelope. Now I am not a pattern follower. I am a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants crafter. But I am also a bit of a perfectionist and if you're thinking that those two qualities do not mix, well you'd be right. At some point in every project I am ready to chuck it all in the trash can recycle bin. So a confession: I botched the first CD envelope, the one pictured here, and I remade it last night a bit tidier: I embroidered before I sewed in the lining so the knot of stitches is hidden. I am not a neat embroiderer. Correction, I am not an embroiderer at all and goodness knows my grandmother would be appalled by my handiwork here, but what I lack in skill I make up in speed, and I quite like the way it looks all the same.

In case you're wondering what all this swapping business is about, I am making a CD for Nan's kids and she is making one for mine. Nan lives in Sydney. We've never met. But I know from our mutual disdain for The Wiggles and her funny and very pretty blog that if we were neighbours we'd be baking lemon squares for the school bake sale together. And probably arm-wrestling over vintage children's books and Japanese tableware at the thrift store.

The swap was organized by Tracy, an ex-pat now living in California, the lucky devil. I do so love the Internet.

doodleedoodleedoo

Standing around the soggy schoolyard this morning waiting for the bell to ring watching this kid, a fellow JK-er, gleefully running through mud puddles, as five year olds do. His smart navy trousers splattered up to his shins; shoes, and surely socks too, sodden. I know what you're wondering: did I stop him? Nosiree, I did not. He was having a good time. But more truthfully, we all slept in this morning and rushed out the door before the coffee finished brewing, and my judgement is simply not to be trusted before the Folgers sinks in. Yes, I felt a bit bad mother-ish about it, albeit in slow motion. But then, my Ebay of the Day arrived and whaddya know - vindication:




It is from this book by Ruth Krauss and illustrated by Maurice Sendak, one of my favourites.



What would you say about eyebrows? Or a hole in the ground? Well, Miss Krauss, way back in 1952, posed these questions to a group of children at the Harriet Johnson Nursery School and this book of kid-defined words is the result.







And the best one:

I am so saddened by the news about Anita Roddick. I worked for The Body Shop during its hey day in the '80s, and was lucky to meet Anita a few times. She was incredibly inspiring. Electrifying, really. But also kind and funny and generous and so very human. Though I kind of outgrew Body Shop products over the years - Christmas still smells like Raspberry Bathing Bubbles and Milk Bath to me - the company's earth-friendly and fair-trade practices resonated deeply, and continue to inform my work/life philosophy. She was years ahead of everyone on everything: the Amazon, sustainable ingredients, reduce/reuse/recycle, human rights. In our little Body Shop smocks, we were enraptured, evangelical. I'm sure customers wandering in for their kiwi lip balm wondered what the hell a bath shop was doing with t-shirts emblazoned with "Get Your Lawn Off Drugs" or coffee table books about the Kayapo indians in Brazil. But Anita had the gift of story telling and making you really, really care. It was, without a doubt, a life very well lived.

meet my hoosier

I fell in love with the hoosier last Sunday. Isn't it a beauty? Despite what you may think, my house isn't especially vintage-y. Stella's room is the exception. The rest is mid-century garage sale with a dash of Ikea. So I really had no idea where the hoosier was going to go but I knew I had to have it and that I would not regret its purchase. While I would love to use it to bake pies and clip recipes and plan girl scout jamborees I needed to find for it a more practical purpose. Happily it turned out to be a lovely new home for my laptop and office-y stuff. Everything fits just so, and aesthetically it's a vast improvement over the sawhorse table I've been using as a desk for 15 years.

The books, by the way, are originals from the Honeybunch series by Helen Louise Thorndyke. In case you've ever wondered, that's where the name of my shop came from. At the time I was mulling over a bunch of different names but nothing stuck until I stumbled across Honeybunch visits the City at a flea market and something about the combination of silly and sweet (who names their kid Honeybunch?) got to me. Turns out her real name was Gertrude Marion Morton, but Mr. Morton declared it unfitting for a girl so possessed of sunshine and renamed her Bunch of Sweetness, later shortened to Honeybunch. I like it.

Looks like another super-wonderful weekend is upon us. I am checking out early to enjoy it and get ready for the inaugural meeting of the park rejuvenation committee, chez moi. Much to talk about next week. Enjoy your weekend friends.

the long good-bye

First day. Stella, a quiet nervousness. But man I could really use a Kleenex - I even lost a contact lens. The teacher, Miss H., is young and bright and sparkly and shooed us out the door before I was ready to say good-bye. My girl, who I can barely lift anymore, looked small again to me, sitting on the classroom floor waiting for whatever was going to happen to happen.

Party, Party, Party

A sunny day, a big shady tree and tie-dying t-shirts in the backyard. I so love this party. There was also an obstacle course involving water balloons and hockey equipment - all big hits with the under-10 crowd. My trend-y senses are tingling: It seems like simpler, more humble celebrations are coming into vogue. There's Katrina Onstad's "party monsters" article in September's Chatelaine, this article sent to me by my sister (Who is also a fan of the home-baked party. It's the only kind we ever knew.), and this article on HGTV's site .

I love good decorations, yummy food and a fairly organized operation: wine for the grown-ups, no blaring kid music, a well-planned activity and a treat for the ride home. No insanely expensive loot bags, but no plasticky junk either. That the wine will be, as Katrina Onstad describes, "half drunk, clouded with wadded clown napkins and a regurgitated cake chunk sunk to the bottom...", is a given. Indeed, that describes most of my beverages, party or not. Call me a sentimental fool, but I love it all.

Thanks for sending in the party pictures Lisa - looks like a good time.

ethics 101 (or how not to get ahead in business)

Funny, I don't remember donating my old logo to Goodwill, but wow, there it is. On someone's store front not 5 kilometres from my house. Now I'm all for recycling and reusing but it seems to me someone has done more than rifle through my trash can here.

This photo isn't the greatest, I did, after all, take it while driving past with my jaw hanging open, so what you can't see is that the sign is a rich, chocolately brown. The same rich, chocolately brown that I drove my printer and designer up the wall to get right. That I spent a entire week searching Pantone colour cards to find. I might sound glib about all of this but seriously I am flabbergasted. Discouraged. And angry. Honeybunch has been a labour of love for sure, but a labour none the less. I've invested four years and countless late nights, long weekends, savings into creating a little business that I'm pretty darned proud of. Sometimes I make money. Sometimes I don't. But it's always fun and rewarding and I do it because it brings me joy. I'm a little deflated today. It'll pass. I believe in karma not lawsuits, which is a rich irony considering my husband is an IP lawyer. I probably should have listened to his urgings to trademark my art. Lesson #987,654 learned people. Lesson learned.

squeezing every last drop

My oh my, what a fantastico weekend. In no particular order, here is how we spent summer's final days:

...admired a sea of red peppers at the market...



...listened to this fella singing Johnny Cash...



...watched the afternoon sun cast shadows...



...skipped all the way home...



...lunch at Grandma's...



...a stroll at sunset...



...a pair of wonderful finds at the flea market...



...that were perfect for a tea party...even if one of the guests forgot to wear pants...



...a quiet ride home...



...hmmmm--do I or don't I?
(I don't)


...(I do)...



THE END.

oh what the heck

After receiving a handful of Labour Day sale e-newsletters this morning, I was inspired to join the fun. The email has been sent out; I know, 2 newsletters in 1 week is not like me. Not at all. I hope it doesn't seem spam-y. But everyone likes a sale, right?

Here's what I chose:
Munchskins baby care products
Why? Because I loved them the first time I smelled them. Because they are organic and they work (I have been known to use a glop of Sweet Cheeks on my dry elbows). Because they're made by a make-up artist/aromatherapist/mom. They are goodness.

Mally Bibs
Why? Because they do not sell as well as they should, frankly. Yes, they are $$ but I swear it is a purchase you will not regret. These bibs do not ever look tired, stained and shagged-out the way every other bib I've owned does. It is my go-to bib when H is eating something crazy like strawberries, pasta or tomatoes. They clean up a breeze. They hang on the fridge so you always know where they are. Enough?

Wall Candy
Why? Because they are really quite fun to put up. They won't wreck your walls. You can move them around. You can decorate a bland white-box room in, oh, 30 minutes if you're a perfectionist, 10 minutes if you're a bit freer about these things.

Baby Journals
Why? Because having a baby, whether it's your first or your seventh (imagine) is magical and intense and it all passes by so quickly and you think you're going to remember it all but you won't. So it's nice to have a place to jot things down in the moment.

OK, enough chit chat. The sale is on until Monday, or while supplies last, as they say.

Happy, happy weekend friends!

You Should Go

Today, a trip to the African Lion Safari. There was excitement all around: I've wanted to go since I was a kid. I was always curious about what happened to the animals come winter. Now I wonder about them spending their days breathing in car exhaust. If you're not from these parts, the Safari is a drive-through zoo. Essentially. You pass through a Jurassic Park-ish gate, plastered with warnings to not feed the animals, lock your doors and, for the love of god, roll up your windows. From the air conditioned and snack-filled comfort of your car you wind and wend your way through the savannah where zebras, rhinos, giraffe, a magnificent pride of lions and one very cranky ostrich do their thing, mostly oblivious to the long line of mini vans snaking past. If you're lucky - or if you've smeared your windshield with mashed banana (an illicit move but an effective one) - baboons will swarm your car and hitch a ride on the roof. The Safari did not disappoint. There's a nostalgia about it I can't quite explain. Of course that might have been triggered by the jalopy Cadillac in front of us with two kids in the front seat squished between grandma, whose ciggie dangled out the window the entire way, and dad, driving with a third tot on his lap, one hand on the wheel, the other clutching a camera phone. Every window in the car rolled down and the kids hand-feeding the zebras cheese puffs. It was outrageous, of course, but boy it brought back memories. Bottom line: you should go. The Safari rocks.

Zid Zid Love

I left the September Cookie magazine out in last week's rain. I could have bought another I suppose, but instead I waited six days for it to dry out. Does that make me incredibly cheap or just thrifty? So that explains why the photos below are all warped and wavy: the magazine has swollen to three times its original size and the pages are welded together, requiring me to patiently and gently pry them apart so as not to rip any of them. But still, I wanted to share:

I've gushed about Zid Zid Kids before, but I just cannot help myself. Something about Julie Klear and Moulay Essakalli (husband and wife owner/designers) has captured my fancy. I just love everything they do. The colours and fabrics. The simple, childlike forms that are totally sophisticated at the same time. Those big silver poufs make me want to chuck my boring living room chair out the window so we can loll around on these instead. Their whole take on how children play, informed no doubt by how they live and where they live - Marrakech - is genius. Like the children's table that is low to the ground and comes with small floor cushions instead of chairs. I love them. And now thanks to this luscious pictorial, I have lifestyle envy too:

Julie: "The way our lives were in the States, we'd be seeing our kids at dinner - if we were lucky. In Morocco everything shuts down at noon and Zak and Noor are home from school for two hours. So this becomes our family time."

"At first I panicked, I didn't have pointers for how to raise a child in this culture. Then I stopped thinking about what Morocco doesn't have and started thinking about what it does have." On weekends the family goes on outings - to the Atlas mountains where Zak and Noor ride donkeys, or to a beach on the Atlantic where there are flamingos and tide pools.

They rent two adjoining houses, one is where they live, the other is the Zid Zid workshop. "Having the two houses allows us a connection between home and work life," says Essakalli. "The kids understand, though, that each place has a different function. They can come into the work space anytime if they need to, but they respect it for what it is."

It's an inspiring read with beautiful photos that give you a peek inside their home. I love the parenting/cultural differences too: Noor is scaling a metal grate her parents attached to the wall like a Moroccan jungle gym. Real good. But I cannot imagine anyone doing that here.




(Photos below are from Zid Zid's catalogue)Now this is a play room:


I have one of these fab tables - in dark brown with a branch design in the centre - but I'm not sure if I'll actually sell them in the shop: Their weight and bulk make them pricey to ship from Morocco, so they'd sell for about $400. But if you're interested in a bit of a splurge I am happy to place an order for you. Same with the big silver poufs - they'll sell for about $200. I think I have to have one.

not so fast

I'm on the phone with my mother tonight, she's hoping to wangle an invite down for the long weekend. A getaway, she said. You know, one day I'd like to be a guest at my house too: French toast with bananas and cinnamon and real maple syrup, hot coffee, fluffy towels. If you don't mind sleeping on the sofa, of course, or stepping off said sofa onto the wrong end of a piece of Lego. Invitation extended and accepted, our conversation turned to the momentous event almost upon us: just six more days until Kindergarten. "Where did the time go? I can't believe Stella's going to school," said my mother sounding genuinely incredulous. I laugh. Oh how quickly grandparents forget how long the days can be. But the years short, as the saying goes. And here I was all summer long thinking it was no big deal, this first day of Kindergarten. I mean she's been at nursery school since she was nine months old. She's so thoroughly indoctrinated in institution-speak that instead of asking for her colouring books she asks if she can do "creative". So I wasn't expecting to feel whatever that feeling is that keeps bringing tears to my eyes when I think about letting go of that sturdy little hand at the school gate next Thursday. My baby. I think I'll enjoy the moment, tears and all, when it arrives. And 2.75 hours later there is lunch at Chuckie Cheese (how could I say no?), a sure antidote to wistfulness.

My *goal* to live a slow(er) life is not really a goal in the sense of working towards something. It's more of an effort to live more consciously, to be mindful and to find the beauty in daily life. Not always easy. But I do enjoy the journey and finding company along the way. I recently stumbled on this wonderful article called The Unhurried Child by Catherine Newman in a magazine I've never seen before called Wonder Time . She references this book In Praise of Slow, which, ironically, I can't wait to read.