Calico Corn and Second Summer

I’d be lying if I said I like it when the days get shorter and all the summer fruits and vegetables start to be replaced with apples and squash. But it’s happening again, just like it does every year. Fall is here. And if, like me, you are not on board with this seasonal transition, may I recommend a pomegranate or perhaps a fuyu persimmon to take the edge off.

And before you accuse me of hating fall, know there are things I love about it (just not the squash). Take Lambtown. I can’t believe it has already come and gone! Wyatt and I volunteered again in the Wooly Adventures tent. Wet felting, weaving, drop spindling, coloring . . . we pretty much had it all over there. Woven bracelets were definitely the accessory of the weekend, and if I hadn’t been working in the tent, I would have totally made one. It’s such a terrific festival. Always the first weekend in October in Dixon, California. Mark your calendar for next year!

My lunch at Cafe Ohlone last November. So good. A version of the hazelnut chia pudding remains in heavy rotation at our house.

I also like the holidays that sneak up on me in the fall. The ones I know happen, but always forget exactly when they are. This Monday, two-thirds of our family observed Indigenous Peoples’ Day (there was no school for Wyatt, but there was work for Marc). I have two things to share in connection with this holiday. First, the free app: Native Land. It tells you with some accuracy the Indigenous lands you’re on in the United States and Canada (the difficulty of and controversy around mapping Indigenous territories are themselves important discussions addressed in the teacher’s guide on the website). I like this app a lot because the information it provides helps me think about the people who were here first and are still here, as well as how all of us—and the earth—are connected. It’s a great jumping-off point for learning more, too. For example, if you’re in the Bay Area, an easy and delicious way to connect with local Indigenous culture is to visit Cafe Ohlone for an amazing meal.

Second, and along similar lines, our family has adopted different terms for “Fall Things That White People Call Indian.” First, “Indian Corn.” As I told Whole Foods Market a couple of weeks ago, I don’t understand why this term still exists. It’s way past time to move on for several reasons, not the least of which is racism. I proposed that they could change their signage to “Decorative Corn.” I still haven’t heard how they resolved my complaint, but the original sign was gone last I checked. My friend, Susan, helpfully googled “What should we be calling Indian Corn?” Of the various options returned in the search result, she chose “Calico Corn,” and I like it. Following Susan’s example, I googled, “What should we be calling Indian Summer?” Because, again, WHY is this a term? The best answer I found was, “Second Summer.” I’m a fan of this term. If you are, too, I hope that you will use it liberally, even if you’re not having one. As in, “Wow! I thought for sure after that frost, things would warm up again and we’d enjoy a Second Summer.” After all, words matter.

But back to the holiday. This past Monday, Wyatt and I had planned to go downtown to an Indigenous Peoples’ Day celebration at Yerba Buena Gardens, but sometimes, it takes longer to sew your own flannel race car pajama bottoms than you think it will. This fact is especially true when it’s your first pair. So Wyatt sewed, and I consulted and assisted where needed (while knitting his David Bowie Halloween costume—a custom-fit asymmetrical unitard inspired by this tour photo).

Before we get to the pajama pants sewing, though, I need to take a moment with a photo that popped-up in my feed on Monday. It could not have been more perfectly timed. Please note the sewing-sock-gloves. I can only assume the thinking here was, sewing is work; work means gloves.

Present day: same concentration, but no gloves.

Pants sewn, we grabbed a quick, late lunch, and headed for a hike at San Bruno Mountain instead of going downtown. On our hike, we watched for birds we could appreciate but mostly not identify, enjoyed plants some of which we could name (thanks Presidio Nursery Team), and followed the paths away from other people so it felt like we were the only ones in the park. We stayed until just before dusk, and it was absolutely beautiful.

Special Delivery!

Not to bring up a sore subject, but how did you deal with horror of Kavanaugh’s confirmation?

Personally, I spent way too much time reading news, texting with equally irate friends about the news, and contacting senators to voice my strong opposition to his confirmation. I am furious that Kavanaugh is now a United States Supreme Court justice. We will all pay dearly for this decision for generations.

That said, it is possible to be more than one thing at a time (blacked-out drunk and a good student at a fancy school, for example). I’m so angry about the state of our government. But at the same time, I’m overjoyed-grateful about my friend, Raejean, her invention of Summer of Craft, and that she invited me to join it.

Let me catch you up. Raejean and her wife, Saylor, used to live in the Bay Area. Raejean and I worked together as appellate attorneys for several years, and fortunately, our enviable working relationship spilled over into our personal lives so that Raejean, Saylor, Marc, and I all became really good friends. Raejean and Saylor moved away shortly after Wyatt was born, and by now, they have likely adjusted as much as anyone can to the extremes of desert weather where they live. Raejean’s solution to excruciating summer heat has been to treat it like a harsh winter: Stay inside and keep crafting. Over the last few years, Raejean has become an extremely skilled sewist and a bag engineer (a “bagineer,” if you will). She basically declares  “Summer of Craft” when the temperatures reach for the triple digits.

Around the time Raejean invited me to join Summer of Craft 2018, I was deeply hating the handbag I had been using. I liked the general shape and size of it, but loathed everything else, especially its noisy, grabby velcro closure. One day, I texted Raejean to ask if she’d be up for helping me create my dream bag. And by “helping,” I meant I’d tell her what I wanted in a bag and purchase supplies, but the rest would be on her. I was so pleased when she said she was game.

We went back and forth with patterns, revisions, must-have features, closures, fabrics and more. Somewhere along the way, it occurred to me to ask Raejean if there was anything knitted that she or Saylor needed. “Slippers!” she responded. They were down to their last pair or two, which Raejean’s mom had made, and they were anticipating skirmishes over who’d get to wear them when winter finally returned. I immediately got to work designing slippers they’d both like.

Raejean and I made and mailed each other prototypes. And then we made revisions before creating our final pieces. We kept really good notes of what we needed to change, Raejean sewed elegant solutions to complicated bagineer problems, and I kept knitting.

One of the most fun parts of making a thing is choosing the supplies. I have been looking for a project to use Wooly Moss Roots buttons, and they were perfect for my bag.

Summer of Craft broadened unexpectedly towards the end of the summer when Wyatt realized his apron had gotten too small. I asked Raejean about possibly making him a new one. She readily agreed and offered to make him a wallet, too. Overcome by his good fortune, Wyatt offered to weave Raejean and Saylor four potholders in exchange for the apron and wallet.

Raejean made the excellent decision to mail us our things at the beginning of “FBI Week.” I followed her lead. The box she sent arrived on Wednesday. The box that we sent arrived to her on Friday. And can I just tell you, Christmas in October never felt so good.

Wyatt loves using his apron (with the perfect selvedge edge hem and the ties that Raejean let him choose) and feels like a grown-up now that he has a full-sized wallet.

I cannot get enough of using my new bag. It is everything i wanted it to be, and more.

Raejean and Saylor are very pleased with their slippers. Just the right size, just the right amount of squish, and just in time for fall and winter. (And my test knitters are helping me finalize the pattern as I write this post!)

Homework: Sandal Making 101

As I mentioned in my earlier post, I took a sandal making class with Rachel Sees Snails Shoes. It was so fun, and my sandals are so cute, that Wyatt wanted to make a pair for himself. We used the notes and shopping list that Rachel provided to us in the workshop to make Wyatt's sandals.

We are not pros at making sandals. Not in the slightest. This fact will be obvious in so many ways to anyone who knows anything about making sandals and sees my photos. But we tried, we learned, and the project occupied a fair amount of time over spring break. Wyatt also has a pair of sandals that, while stiff to walk in, fit. So I'm calling this experiment a success.

If I made another pair, I'd choose a lighter weight sole, for sure. Or heavier leather for the straps. Except that the straps were from leather our shoemaking friends gave us, and honestly, their generosity should have driven the sole search (ha!) and purchase.

Also? I cannot overstate the importance of the saying, "The right tool for the right job." My goodness. If DIY projects have taught me anything, it's that specialization of individuals (or families) in different crafts was a good move for society. Tools and skill matter so much in craft, and I have a minimum of both when it comes to sandal making. I mean, I can cut thick leather with a utility knife, but the results are far from amazing.

We got many of our sandal making supplies from Baltor O & Sons, which is a 4th generation family owned business in South San Francisco. (See what I mean? Specialization!) It is an amazing warehouse that's full of everything you could ever need to make any kind of shoe. And nothing is labeled. Or priced in any way a customer like me can read. There are employees who can help you, but you're not why they came to work. They are there to do Other Things. That said, everyone there is extremely gracious when you speak up and ask for help, as we did at least 50 times. It served Wyatt and me well to be unfailingly polite while simultaneously owning our profound ignorance.

We got the rest of the supplies from our shoemaker friends. When you're making one pair of kids' sandals, you don't need a pound of shoe nails (assuming you could even figure out which type of nails in the Nails Aisle were the ones you needed to buy) or an entire hide of leather (outside of the scrap bin, leather is sold only by the hide).

Here's what we did.

We finished the sandals by going to our shoemaker friends who didn't judge us or our work even one time, and who evened out all my mistakes with their belt-sander-for-shoes. We paid them in jam, marmalade, and a modest Mitchell's ice cream celebration.

Spring-ing

Now that I've answered Wyatt's big questions about Easter, Passover, God, Jesus, and Moses with various versions of "Some people believe," "Maybe," and "I don't know," it's time to raise a basket of naturally dyed eggs in celebration of spring: May we all enjoy liberation, renewal, and rebirth.

Surely you remember that we're all about annual egg dyeing? Last year's eggs were pretty spectacular. This year, we took a comparative approach and tested two natural dye kits (I purchased both of them). We also prepared dye baths of onion skins (gold), red cabbage (blue), and beets (red) in which to simultaneously cook and dye eggs. This year, we used our new Joule immersion circulator to achieve "perfect" hardboiled eggs. This cooking method is pretty straightforward when you're simply cooking eggs you'll dye in a kit--cook the eggs however you like them (we followed all the recommended steps to make them easiest to peel and went with 45 minutes at 165F), cool them to a temperature you can handle, and then dip-dye-away.

The dye kits are the most fun, because you get almost instant results and can get creative. You can play with resists like leaves and rubber bands, see what works, and then adjust as you go. You can also use multiple colors on one egg. Of the two kits we tried, ColorKitchen, which includes three colors, delivered the most vibrant color the quickest. The other kit, Natural Earth Paint, has four colors, including green. Green has always been difficult for us to get when we try to blend dyes on on our own. Both kits' powdered dyes were contained in individually sealed plastic sleeves. Both kits cost about $10.

The homemade dye baths were a little less straightforward. Last year, I used this method to dye and cook the eggs at the same time. The resulting colors were great; the texture and doneness of the eggs, however, left a lot to be desired. This year, I figured I'd use the same dye recipes but cook the eggs in the dye with the circulator, in one pot.

This part of the experiment? It was a giant pain in the ass. It required so much more temperature testing and fiddling that I anticipated. In the end, I found I was able to keep the individual jars of dye bath at 165F only if the water bath was around 175F. Time will tell whether all the effort was worthwhile in terms of egg texture--we'll turn all these eggs into egg salad tomorrow after Wyatt finds them.

The dye baths we made from food gave a really deep color, but it took 2 days sitting in the dye bath in the refrigerator to achieve it.  I also noticed that the dye coating got weirdly bubbled in spots. The mottling that resulted looks interesting, but it is definitely not interesting enough for me to bother with this particular method ever again.

In conclusion! If you like active egg dyeing, get a kit. If you want a natural egg dye kit that colors eggs pretty quickly and with more time can give you a really deep color, go with ColorKitchen. If you don't mind waiting longer for a more pastel look but like having control over blended colors, go with Natural Earth Paint. If you want to use food to color your eggs, embrace the fact that the dyeing will be mostly NOT interactive. Prepare your dye baths, cook your eggs to your liking, and then place and leave the eggs in the bath in jars in the fridge for several days to color them.

Rookie Cobblers

Several weeks ago, I went to a workshop at my friend's house to learn how to make sandals.

Here they are!

They're orange, and I love them. They are exactly the style I wanted, and they fit perfectly. I didn't go in thinking I'd make orange sandals. Serendipity at its best.

And now? Wyatt wants a pair. He doesn't want a pair exactly like these, of course, but he wants a pair perfect for him, and preferably orange. And why not? I mean, from his perspective, I can obviously make sandals. So why would I hold out on him?

I wouldn't hold out on him. But he has no idea how much assistance Rachel gave me during the workshop. She helped me a lot--I almost made two right sandals before she stepped in. But the truth is, Wyatt has a 2-week long spring break coming up, and aside from finally updating our earthquake kit (dreaded task), we've got few plans. Sandal making could be fun! And best case, we solve some summer footwear issues. Worst case? We don't.

I sat down today to price the tools we'll need, and they are, in total, about the price of the pair of sandals Wyatt likes but whose leather is, in his opinion, too rigid and uncomfortable. In other words, the tools are not that expensive when you consider the sandals he wants-but-doesn't-want will spark arguments and not get worn much.

So we have a plan: Spring Break Sandal Making. I'll let you know how it goes.

Also, in case you're hungry, I have a new recipe to share! We've made Sri Lankan Dal with Coconut and Lime Kale twice now, and it's delicious. It works well with whatever kale or other hearty greens you've got around this time of year. Today, I used a combination of kale and swiss chard, and it was great. One note: The recipe calls for "mustard seeds." I use black mustard seeds, because that seems right to me. Don't skimp on the yogurt when you serve it! It would be a pity to miss out on how it balances the flavors and textures of the dish. 

(In case you're wondering, we are still cleaning out the house. It is spring, after all, which around here means Spring Cleaning. Roughly two weeks until Easter, and we've got the garage and one closet left to go.)

Weird & Wonderful

Mom. What are those fat white or pink skinned babies that shoot arrows at nothing called again? For Valentine’s Day? They look like a church thing. We had them on the wall in kindergarten. It was this picture where there were two of them and they looked like this.

Wyatt arranged his arms and put his chin on them.

They are SO WEIRD.

He's not wrong. Cupids are pretty weird.

And let's be honest. Valentine’s Day is pretty weird. I mean, it's a mid-winter pagan fertility festival the Catholic Church co-opted to celebrate St. Valentine, during which many adults celebrate romance while children all over the United States give out cards to every single person in their class and eat more candy.

I think if you're lucky, you'll experience a Valentine's Day sweet spot at least once during your life. One where, if you want to be in a romantic relationship, you're part of one, and in your bliss and joy, you'll agree on how you want to celebrate the day and each other. Otherwise, Valentine's Day is, as one of my friends has always called it, "Single Awareness Day." And if you're a parent of an elementary school child (or an actual elementary school child), it can also be "Annoying Annual School Project Day."

For the last two years, Wyatt has had no interest in giving out valentines at school. Some kids did, and he was happy to receive them, but that was as far as it went. This year, however, Wyatt came home from school towards the end of January and announced they would be having a Valentine's Day celebration in their classroom. I barely suppressed a groan. I knew the drill--everyone needs to get a valentine, which is fair enough, but there are over 30 kids in his class. Sitting down to write cards and envelopes was going to be torture, even if we did only three a day. He went on, "My teacher says that if we make anything, we have to make something for everyone. And nothing can be store bought." While I wanted nothing to do with the project or the extra “homemade” challenge, I didn't want him to know that. So I asked, offering as much happy, light hearted empowerment as I could, "So, what's your plan?" He replied, "I'm going to make everyone a heart necklace. I have the supplies I need, because I have clay and yarn. But can I please borrow your heart cookie cutter? I don't need your help. I can do it myself." Hell yes, I thought. "That sounds terrific," I said.

Wyatt set to work that afternoon. And he worked on the project most days for the next week. He had probably made 50 hearts by the time he got to stringing the 30th necklace. Why? Because he initially made the stringing holes too small, and the hearts broke when it was time to push the darning needle through with the yarn. He revised his production methods along the way, ditching the toothpick and using a clay knife to make a bigger hole in the new and improved hearts. At one point, I assisted in making a few new hearts because he was so aggravated by the constant breakage, and I know how much it sucks to work on something and feel like you will never, ever finish it.

By the 30th necklace, though? He’d had enough. The last heart was perfect. The hole was just the right size! But he just couldn't bear to push the needle through and tie the last knot. "MOM," he announced, "I'M DONE WITH THIS PROJECT. I should have NEVER thought of it. It was a TERRIBLE idea. I am NOT stringing this last necklace. I don't even CARE. No one will get anything. I'm going to put them ALL IN THE TRASH."

We've all been there, right?

I tried cajoling him. "Come on. There's only one more! You're so CLOSE! You can do it. You've worked so HARD! And they’re so GREAT!" He wasn't having it. He yelled, "I DON'T CARE," and threw himself dramatically onto the sofa. Annoyed at his short-sightedness and unable to accept that it was okay for him to trash hours of work, I said in a serious voice, "I need to go switch the laundry. While I'm away, I want you string that last necklace. I want it to be done when I come back in here."

Much to my surprise, he did it. With that impasse behind him, over the next several days, he went on to wrap and sign all thirty little packages by himself.

If there is a moral to this story, I think it is this: Valentine's Day is flawed, and thanks to that, it's full of learning opportunities. For example, Wyatt learned that determination can require digging deep, and practicing generosity can be hard. I learned it's as important to step back as it is to lend a hand. Also? It's okay to want to throw everything away, but don't actually do it in a fit of rage. Finally, planning ahead is smart. All in all, solid life and love lessons, courtesy of a pretty weird holiday.

Little Chicken

"Mom. I showed Jim the yellow chicken I knitted and you know what he said? He said he'd give me five dollars for it. Can you even BELIEVE that? He only offered me five dollars. Why did he do that? I worked on it for SO MANY WEEKS. I wouldn't sell it to him for less than...NINETY dollars."

Ah, the value of craft. It warms my knitter's heart that Wyatt fully grasps that crafts take time and energy, and that makers should be compensated well for their work. We will discuss market forces another time. Meanwhile, our neighbor, Jim, will have to hunt for a bargain chicken elsewhere.

This little yellow chicken was Wyatt's first knitting project at school. I (obviously) wasn't there to document the process, but this knitting project is even easier than the bunny. The steps are: (1) knit a square with yellow yarn, (2) sew the square on two sides to make a triangle., but leave a little space for stuffing, (3) stuff the chicken, (4) close the stuffing hole (5) get brown yarn and make one stitch for each eye, (6) get orange yarn and do three stitches for the beak.

Looking at crafts from a time, materials, and skills perspective with a child who understands how long it takes to make things means we start from the idea that handmade things should actually be expensive and possibly out of our price range. It means that when we see amazing things, like this wooden village with a candle-powered propeller that costs a small fortune, our conversation goes something like, "Wow! This village is amazing. Look at all the careful work that they did and all the details. We can't spend that much money, but it is really beautiful."

Crafts, cost and value reminds me of the trivets from last year. We're not working on anything nearly as complicated or time-consuming this year. I don't actually have a plan for homemade gifts yet, but every week that goes by means whatever we do will be that much more simple. We can always make some more paper lanterns.

Speaking of lanterns, over the weekend, we went to the German International School's Lantern Walk. It was lovely! While we were there, Wyatt made a lantern out of half of a plastic container that had holes punched in the side to attach a mini LED on a pipe cleaner and a beaded pipe cleaner handle. Some Elmer's glue, tissue paper, ribbon, and stickers made a beautiful, sturdy, and portable lantern.

I don't have a new recipe to share this week, but we recently tried two new (to us) products! The first is a gluten-free gochu jang from Sinto Gourmet. I've been looking for a gluten-free gochu jang for over a year, and this one is amazing. I found it in the refrigerated section of Whole Foods.

The second thing we tried was Beyond Meat burgers. Two out of the three of us thought they were amazing. I, however, was not a fan. I thought the burgers smelled weird out of the package, cooking did not improve the smell, and I could only eat half of mine.  Neither Marc nor Wyatt noticed the smell and said they'd eat them all the time. The ingredient list, however, is pretty long and sciencey-processed-sounding, so "sometimes" might be a better call than "all the time."

I prepared the burgers according the the package instructions (down to using a thermometer to confirm they reached at least 165 degrees before I served them). We also really did them up fancy with condiments and toppings.

Abundance: Beads and Summer Squash

"Mom. Do you think there are people in Ghana who like making beaded necklaces as much as I do?"

"Probably not."

"Really? I mean, THEY HAVE ALL THESE BEAUTIFUL BEADS THERE. OF COURSE there must be people who love doing this as much as I do. There HAVE to be."

Summer of craft is on fire, I tell you. If there's a thing to be sketched, fabric to be stitched, or beads to be strung, we're there.

Wyatt's necklace project was inspired by a quick trip through Qoio on 24th Street. While walking among the cases of all the gorgeous creations, Wyatt spied a box containing strings of beautiful recycled glass beads and announced we should absolutely buy the cobalt blue string so he could make himself a necklace. A quick look at the beads made me think they had been made by Cedi Beads Industry in Odumasi/Kobo, Ghana. The shopkeeper confirmed my suspicions. (Check out this video of a tour--the work the artisans do making the beads by hand is truly remarkable.)

Marc and I toured Cedi Beads Industry in 2010 when we traveled to Ghana to visit my aunt and uncle and other friends and family. The entire trip was amazing, and seeing this particular craft, where people recycle old glass bottles into beautiful beads, was incredible. (Seriously. Watch the video.) As you might guess, I bought a fair number of beads from Mr. Cedi's shop at the factory, and I had some left as of last week. Now I have fewer, but I also have an ecstatic, bead-stringing, necklace-wearing six-year old. That feels like a win to me.

Making a simple necklace is easy, but you do need some supplies. Because I wasn't sure we had everything we needed, I made Wyatt wait a whole day to make his necklace. It wasn't pretty, but he survived. Meanwhile, I dug out the jewelry making kit that I hadn't touched for about eight years, I found one remaining clasp, a bunch of crimp beads, wire, pliers and wire cutters. Wyatt was in luck: we had enough hardware to make one necklace. (If you want to try this project, this tutorial is great and shows exactly the way we made our necklace, down to the Soft Flex Wire.)

Wyatt had so much fun choosing which of my beads to use, and how to alternate them with his beads, taking them off and putting them on the wire to see how different multiples of different colors changed the effect. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to have so many options when making his necklace.

He proudly wore his necklace to camp the next day, and the next. That second day, though, it broke because some kid yanked on it (somewhat mean-spiritedly, apparently). But the teachers helped Wyatt pick all the pieces up and we put the necklace back together with new wire and new crimp beads that evening. Lesson: It's always good to have extra supplies, in case of a catastrophe.

Having an abundance of good craft supplies is the best. Summer is supposed to be about abundance, right? Time, crafts, sun, books, and even fruits and vegetables, too. One thing I'm never excited for this time of year, though, is the abundance of summer squash and zucchini. We got about two pounds (or more?) of it in our farm share box last week. As I unpacked it, I actually said "Ugh," and Wyatt asked, "What are you going to do with THAT?" You see, he's not a fan either. I know, I know, you're shaking your head and thinking zucchini is great! You can make it into noodles! Zoodles! It's healthy! Low carb! Paleo! Whatever. I can't even. It isn't ever going to be a noodle. It's zucchini. And it suffers from being irretrievably watery and terribly textured if you cook it for even a moment too long. Also? It doesn't taste very good. But, I noticed a recipe on the insert with our farm share, and I thought, "This sounds so weird, it might taste amazing." It was for Creamy Courgette and Tarragon Cobbler (by Yotom Ottolenghi, so, there's credibility behind it). And the dish was outstanding. It's not a quick recipe, but it was so good I'm almost looking forward to having too many squash again in a couple of weeks.

Here's how ours looked (after we ate most of it). I didn't think to check for the online version of the recipe with photos until I decided to write this post. When I made the recipe, I could not figure out how I was supposed to pipe the mashed potato. Looking at the recipe photo after the fact, it's obvious. At the time, however, I thought, my poor piping might be the closest I'd ever feel to failing a Great British Baking Show technical challenge.

How to Sew a Pillow Sham

Last Tuesday, Wyatt and I headed back to San Francisco after more than a week in Massachusetts. While we were gone, we enjoyed two fireworks shows, a parade, family, friends, the beach, ice cream almost every day, a water balloon fight, and bumper boats. Coming home to Marc was so good, but the transition back to life as usual was jarring.

"What are we going to DO today, Mom?" Wyatt asked me on Wednesday morning. "Go to the grocery store!" I replied with forced enthusiasm that fooled neither of us. Wyatt buried his face in a pillow and whined about how much he didn't want to go. I went on, "I was also thinking, maybe you'd want to learn to use the sewing machine. We could make you new pillow shams." "What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously, as he rolled half his face up from the pillow. "Like I can do the sewing? Myself? And how do we make them? Out of what? Mom. Can I sew them?"

I'm sure there are simpler first sewing projects we could have done. But his bed needed new shams to go with his new quilt.  I know I've said this before, but my aunt's quilting is truly amazing. She really outdid herself on this rainbow quilt project, too. So many seams, so many quilting lines, and such impeccable color choices for each block. Wyatt's rainbow quilt turned out to be everything he had dreamed it would be when he chose the pattern. But as you can see, his old shams didn't even come close to matching.

(Summer of Craft to the rescue!)

After going to the grocery store ("First, we have to do the stuff we HAVE to do..." UGGGHH), we stopped at Discount Fabrics. Wyatt perused all the fake fur and flashy spangly sparkles, but ultimately chose emerald green cotton for one sham and dark purple cotton for the other. I almost told him that people usually have shams that match, but I'm so glad I caught myself before I did. I mean, what a dumb thing to say to a kid, never mind to a kid with a new rainbow quilt.

There are so many online tutorials to make pillow shams. If you want a tutorial, check out this one or this one. I was going to follow one of these, but then deciphering the instructions started to suck the joy out of the project for me. As I quickly learned, I can't read a tutorial and manage a six-year old's first sewing project at the same time without feeling grumpy and shouty. I opted to use Wyatt's old shams as a guide.

We bought one yard of green and one of purple, and both fabrics were 60 inches wide. We washed and dried the fabric, and Wyatt ironed it. In addition to learning where to point what I named the iron's "cow pusher" (I just remembered it's actually called a cow catcher on a train, but whatever, the train connection gave ironing new life), he learned what it smells like when you scorch fabric. We decided even though you can sort of see the scorch marks, it's not that bad.

Measuring the squares.

Laying out the two pieces.

Pinning the two pieces.

Sewing! Finally!

Pressing the seam open.

Laying out the sham to determine where the fold should be.

Just before stitching the seam on the top and bottom of the rectangle.

For each standard-sized sham, I cut one rectangle that was 21" tall and as long as the fabric. Then, I cut another smaller rectangle that was 21" tall and about 2/3 as long as the pillow. Wyatt and I pinned the two rectangles together and seamed them with a 1/2" seam allowance. That seam falls at the pillow's end. Wyatt pressed it open. Next, we ironed, pinned, and hemmed the raw edges that would form the opening for the pillow. The next step was pinning the final two seams of the sham. I wish I'd had more overlap at the opening (it seems like about 5" is ideal), but you get what you get when you "measure" using mostly your eyeballs. Once again, Wyatt and I concluded it was fine. Wyatt stitched these seams as well.

If you do this project, you may want to trim the seam allowances (we didn't). Turn the sham right-side-out, paying good attention to the points of the corners, and you're done (unless you feel it needs more ironing). The second sham took us about 90 minutes to make. The first one was closer to 2 hours. Your mileage may vary.

My friend, Pam, who writes a blog called Mathy Moments, came to mind as I was working on this project with Wyatt. After all, this project is FULL OF FUN MATH. (Please visit Pam's blog if you think "fun math" sounds impossible, or if fun and math are already synonymous to you. She's got you covered, either way.) With Wyatt, I kept things conceptual and simple, and I didn't get hung up on precision. Too many details would have derailed our momentum and postponed dinner indefinitely. Still, we talked about shapes, what seams we should do in which order, how we should arrange the seams and hems so they'd all be on the wrong side of the fabric, how the sham we were copying was made, how to measure things, how to get straight lines, and how drawing straight lines on on fabric (instead of paper) makes things trickier. Wyatt also got to experience how you kind of have to counter-steer a sewing machine to find a straight line after you've lost it, and how if you use more fabric for your seams, the pocket for the pillow will be smaller.

I think the big lesson, though, is that using a sewing machine is super fun, and enjoying new pillow shams you made yourself (that also happen to match your new clothes from Primary) is pretty great too.

Ted's scarf by Benjamin.

How to Knit a Bunny

It has been awhile since Wyatt has participated in the craft exchange with Benjamin.

On his last turn, in February, Benjamin sent Wyatt the most incredible felted owl in a nest. And then, for Wyatt's birthday, he sent Wyatt a teddy bear scarf he had knitted, and he also sent him a copy of Testing the Ice: A True Story About Jackie Robinson.

Since about April, Wyatt has been focused on learning to knit. For anyone who has ever tried to learn to knit, you know how slow and frustrating it can be. Even with the rhyme ("In through the front door, running 'round the back, peeping through the window, and off jumps Jack!"), stuff happens that you truly hate. Stitches get too tight, your head starts to hurt, stitches drop, you find that you have wrapped yarn in weird ways that make no sense, and sometimes, you want to scream, "STUPID JACK!!" and then hurl the whole mess across the room.

But, eventually, it gets easier. Soon, you can do two rows without stopping, and some days you can do four. And eventually, after a couple of months, you find that you are so close to having a square, you just keep knitting until your eyes cross and you're there! It's a square! Then you can wander around the house with your knitted square for a bit, hugging it, pulling it by its yarn tail and pretending it's a pet, all the while celebrating that it's a square, free and safely cast-off from the needles.

But then? It's time to make it into a bunny. (I learned how to make a bunny from the parent craft circle.) Here's how we did it.

You'll need: Bunny-colored yarn, white yarn, knitting needles, a blunt tapestry needle, stuffing fluff, a smallish bunny-butt-sized flat stone, and if you want a face, buttons and some pink yarn for a nose.

Knit a Square:

Take your bunny-colored yarn and appropriately sized needles for that yarn to get a nice cushy square. Wyatt has been using some pretty fluffy, low-twist yarn and size 10 needles. Cast on 20 stitches. Knit row after row, maintaining your stitch count of 20, until you have a square. You can check for square-ness by folding a lower corner up to the needle. When you see one triangle with no left-over rectangle, you'll know you have a square. (Or you can use a ruler and measure until the sides are even.) Cast off your square and dance around!

Make the Bunny's Head and Ears:

Take some masking tape and make a triangle like this. Thread a tapestry needle with a length of yarn about 8 inches longer than the perimeter of the triangle. If you can, choose a yarn that constrasts a little bit with the bunny yarn you've used so that you can see your stitches. Using a running stitch (over-under-over-under with your needle), and starting at the left corner, leave a 3- to 4-inch tail and stitch along the outer edge of masking tape from the left corner up to the top, and down the other side of the triangle. Tear off the two pieces of tape where you have just stitched, then stitch across the hypotenuse on the inside of the remaining piece of masking tape.

When your last stitch meets your first stitch, you're done with the triangle. Take hold of both ends of the yarn and gently pull the yarn so that you cinch the triangle together. Work the stitches and fabric gently because you don't want to break the yarn!

The head will appear at the center of the triangle, and the ears will take shape from there. It's so fun when the head appears! Before you cinch it super tight, stuff it with fluff so it's sort of firm. Then take the remaining yarn and stitch the stuffing hole closed.

Make the Bunny's Body:

Using an overhand (or whip stitch), close the bunny's spine. Stuff the bunny's body with fluff so it's sort of firm. Drop in the flat, bunny-butt-sized stone. Using a running stitch, go around the edge of the hole, leaving a tail of yarn at the beginning. Cinch the hole closed, pulling gently. Tie it and stitch the hole shut.

Make the Bunny's Tail:

Make a pompom. I hate making pompoms so much. There are a ton of online tutorials for how to make pompoms. Have a look around and see which one you like. (We go with the two cardboard donuts technique. ) Maybe you'll love making pompoms. Let me know if you do, because I am in favor of anyone but me making them. Trim the pompom to the size you like and then stitch the pompom to where the tail should be.

Finishing:

Weave in any loose ends and trim them. If you want, stitch on buttons for eyes and a little triangle for the nose.

Take some pictures of your bunny before you send it to your friend. Finally, cast on a new square to start a bunny for yourself.

Breakfast For Dinner

I know three people who love eating breakfast for dinner: Wyatt, our friend Margaret, and me. And when I say love, I mean we LOVE IT. We anticipate it, plan it, cook it, and eat it with a level of gusto that many people reserve for Christmas or Thanksgiving.

BFD didn't start out as BFD. It started as Margaret coming over to have drinks and do crafts with me after Wyatt was in bed. It was terrific. I got friend time while we worked on fun projects, taught each other new skills, and talked about big things. Also, her being game for a pretty scruffy and low-rent version of a night out freed me from the stress of worrying I'd be late meeting her somewhere or would have to cancel at the last minute because Marc was delayed. Soon, though Wyatt understandably began complaining that he wasn't getting any Margaret time on those craft evenings, so we invited her to come over for dinner, too. I cooked and served actual dinner food. That combination of dinner-crafts-and-drinks was even better. But, the evolution was complete when we realized our shared love of BFD. If you ask me, when you add art or craft to BFD, an evening reaches new heights.

I think BFD with Margaret may be a tradition already. We always make waffles,* bacon, and some form of eggs (scrambled, frittata, or mini-frittata-in-muffin-tins-with-chive-flowers-on-top). We also have salad--fruit or vegetable. One salad was roasted beets with greens, goat cheese, and a citrus dressing. Another was cut fruit. It's quite the celebratory spread. Usually, Wyatt and I cook some of the things, and Margaret brings some of the things and finishes cooking or assembling them at our house.

Last week, Margaret had a free afternoon, so she came over early. She gave us a drawing lesson.

And then we cooked together. I learned how to cook bacon in the oven, and Margaret got to see me make the waffles in real time. Wyatt thought the flowers growing on the chives would be a lovely garnish to the mini-frittatas, so he was Chief Frittata Decorator.

Then, we ate together. We all agreed BFD was even more incredible than usual. Marc concurred later (but his love of BFD is less overwhelming than Margaret's, Wyatt's and mine).

After Wyatt was in bed, Margaret and I had more time to catch-up, uncensored.

Going out is fun, and being fancy can be SO FUN. But "out" and "fancy" are hard for me to muster these days. Lately, I'm so grateful for a friend like Margaret who meets me--literally and figuratively--where I am.

*For waffles, I make a double recipe of Pamela's waffles. I substitute half of the baking mix with It's Wholesome Hi-Protein Pancake mix, add more water until the batter is the right consistency, and strategically drop in blueberries just before closing the waffle iron.

Monday, Redeemed

On Monday, I woke up with Marc's alarm and swore. I had been dreaming it was still the weekend and I was in no mood to be an adult. To make things worse, for the next hour, most things I did--or even touched--confirmed I really should not have gotten out of bed. I became so grumpy, in fact, that Wyatt started remarking on my face, eventually saying, "Every time you come out of the laundry room, you look more and more grumpy. I think you're thinking about the stuff you just dropped behind the dryer and that you can't reach, right? Maybe you should stop going in there."  And then he gave me extra hugs.

I got Wyatt to school on time, and then I organized my day around a bunch of stuff that didn't end up happening. But I focused on the bright spot: Monday was the day our new quilt was arriving! Or so the package tracking report said.

Have you ever made a quilt? Me neither. But my Aunt Lauren has now made several, including ours. My role was merely to help plan our quilt. In case you're interested, it's the green quilt in this collection, but in a queen size, which looks like this (and not the colors I wanted), so I did some pattern tracing, color reassigning, and yardage calculations to start. Then Lauren did all the actual work, cutting, piecing, quilting, and hand finishing it. She shipped the masterpiece to me a week ago.

As Monday continued to slip by with no visit from UPS, I mused that they only seem to deliver late in the day when I'm waiting for something. And while they probably would have left the package for me, I didn't really want to risk not being home for it, so Wyatt and I hung around all afternoon.

Around 4:00 pm, I could wait no longer to get ingredients for dinner. I decided to just leave a note for the UPS driver. Wyatt and I walked over to Baron's Meats, the butcher shop that had opened, for the first time, four hours earlier. When we arrived, we saw full cases of meat and seafood, but no signs identifying cuts or prices for any of their wares. I asked about the missing information, and one of the butchers explained the signs were stuck in traffic on a UPS truck. Imagine that.

I let Wyatt choose dinner, and he went for mussels. We cooked them using the recipe for Steamed Mussels with Parsley and Pepper from the cookbook Simply French. This recipe is pretty similar to the one I used. I made a green salad with red wine vinaigrette, and Wyatt fried some potatoes, because why not. We also had some homemade gluten-free sourdough bread on the side. I saved a third of the mussels to cook for Marc when he got home.

At 7:00 pm, just as I was resigning myself to the quilt arriving on Tuesday, it came! The quilt is so much more amazing in person than I had imagined it would be. Marc and I are thinking it deserves (and, yes, we deserve) at least some new sheets and shams to do it justice.

Bye, February

Welp, there went February. And on March 1? We begin the annual 40-day clear-out. Marc and Wyatt are soooooooo excited. (That's what it means when you groan and roll your eyes, right? That you're excited?)

Okay, so maybe no one is really excited about doing it. But we'll be lighter and happier when it's done, so we'll get there. Or we'll get through it. Either way, it's happening.

But February! I shouldn't be so dismissive. It has been as good a short month as anyone could ask for. Last week was "ski week" for people who do that. For us, it was just a regular week, only there was no school. We visited the Botanical Garden one day between rain storms. We sat by the fountain and explored all the paths. We saw camellias, daffodils, and magnolias in blossom.

We also spent three glorious hours working in the Presidio Nursery on Wednesday afternoon in the sun after days and days of pouring rain. We're planning to go again this week. Weed by weed (and for me, call by call as well), we are becoming the volunteers and citizens we need to be.

I also finally made it to an Asian grocery store to find the ingredients I was missing so I could cook from the amazing book that Sarah sent me, The Food of Thailand: A Journey For Food Lovers. The grocery shopping adventure was humbling. It took me 90 minutes, but I got the five items on my list. Tonight's dinner was Neua Phat Bai Hohrapha/Beef with Thai Sweet Basil Leaves. If you follow the recipe here and substitute 1 medium onion, finely sliced, for the shallot, you will have the recipe I used. If, like Marc, you want to skip the beef, substitute 1 large Asian eggplant, cut into 1/2 inch cubes, and stir-fry a few minutes longer with about three tablespoons of oil.

And speaking of Sarah! Wyatt received the most delightful craft from Benjamin today. Perfect timing, once again, after a rough day getting back into the school groove.

Wyatt lifted the box and shook it gently, remarking, "This is so light it feels empty! I AM SO EXCITED TO SEE WHAT IS AS LIGHT AS AIR!"

Is this not the most delightful, quizzically-wise-looking needle-felted owl in a nest? After examining the owl and taking it in and out of the nest, Wyatt remarked, "Mom. Can you BELIEVE Benjamin made this whole thing? It must have taken him FOREVER, because you know how hard it is to needle-felt big things like this owl...and the nest! Look how they fit so perfectly together. Do you think we should make some eggs for the nest? We could, right? They're like the balls we made for the trivets."

Of course we could make eggs for the nest. (And how great is it to give a craft to someone who knows how hard you must have worked on it? I love that part.)

The owl is currently keeping watch over everything important from Wyatt's nightstand.

Dude.

"Dude" is such a versatile word. Sure, it's really casual and not particularly respectful, but I love it. It is one of the few words in the English language where you can apply many different intonations and get an equal number of different meanings.

"Dude" even works beautifully without voice intonation, like in texts, as my friend Sarah proved this week. She texted me, "Dude," followed by a photo of her poor son, Benjamin, who was sitting as close as possible to the toilet, resting his head on the seat. "Dude" says it all, including the sarcastic, "Thanks, barfing flu," the frantic, "I know I should really seriously avoid using bleach on everything, but here I go anyway," the weary, "How long will this last?" and the empathetic, "My poor, sick, sad child."

It's December, or The First Month When Everyone Gets Sick, and after hearing from Sarah (they're across the country from us, but that fact matters little to a worrier of my caliber), I've been annoying my family even more than usual by reminding them to really wash their hands, like for at least the entire recommended 20 seconds ("Sing the alphabet, but slowly!" Or, "Sing 'Happy Birthday' twice!"). But some version of the barfing flu squiggled into our home anyway. Wyatt woke upon Sunday yelling for me and saying with a quiver in his voice and chin that his stomach felt "oogie." Of course it did. Sunday was his school's Winter Fair, the one-day, super fun, winter holiday fairyland extravaganza that everyone, including him, looks forward to all year. Woe. It was not to be this year. Marc went to the fair to handle his shift for the little passenger train that would carry children up and down the road, and I stayed home with Wyatt. I texted Sarah, "Dude," followed by a photo of Wyatt in a similar pose to Benjamin on Thursday. She welcomed me to the Galactic Wormhole of Doom and Sh*ttiness ("GWODAS"), and I thanked her for her hospitality.

Over the course of the next several hours, I sat on the bathroom floor and read the rest of Laura Ingalls Wilder's On the Banks of Plum Creek to Wyatt. The end of Plum Creek really puts the GWODAS of a short-lived barfing flu (he perked-up before noon) in a modern home into perspective. I seriously cannot imagine living the last hundred pages of that book (or really any of it, but especially the end). The endless swarms of noisily munching grasshoppers who blocked out the sun and ate all the crops two years in a row, Pa's having to walk 600 miles round-trip (once in holey boots) so he could earn some money before winter, twice-weekly blizzards that would easily blind you, swallow you up and freeze you and your children to death, fiery fireballs of tumbleweeds that jumped over trenches to burn your house down, and don't forget all the regular work of being a farmer and homesteader. The whole scenario is its own, special kind of uber-GWODAS, and I am a spoiled whiner by comparison.

Comparisons aside, however, the truth remains that community improves whatever GWODAS we find ourselves in. Mr. Nelson helped beat back the fiery fireballs of tumbleweeds to save the the Ingalls' house from burning to the ground; Sarah helped me keep my perspective and sense of humor while I was wedged into the corner on the floor of the bathroom near my inconsolable child on Sunday morning.

Community matters, and friendships across many miles matter, too. This story about the Transcontinental Barfing Twins reminded me that I have not yet shared the most recent installment of our Craft Pals exchange (read about earlier exchanges here and here). It's awfully heartwarming.

At the end of September, our doorbell rang. The mail carrier had a package for Wyatt. It was from Benjamin, and Wyatt was so surprised and pleased he could hardly contain himself. Benjamin had sent Wyatt the most glorious set of homemade, handpainted story stones, all about a fishing adventure. There's a trout, a fishing pole, a mystery trout that got away, a worm on a hook, an island, a dock, a sailboat, a whale, the weather, an umbrella, a buck-toothed shark, assorted bait, another hook that the mystery trout ate the bait from and sneakily escaped, an octopus, and a jellyfish. This set has all the elements of so many epic adventures, and we have enjoyed many excellent stories thanks to these stones.

It took Wyatt and me awhile to figure out what to send Benjamin in return. We were thinking about it, and talking about it, but we were also working on the felted trivets all the time, so the weeks got away from us a little bit. Inspiration struck after our friend, Anne, gave Wyatt a National Parks Journal for writing and sketching. It's a great little book, and Wyatt has been working on drawing plants from our garden and things from his imagination ever since he received it. Wyatt thought Benjamin would enjoy a notebook, but not just any notebook. It needed to be special. I suggested we get an unlined blank notebook and decorate it somehow. Wyatt agreed, and he and I made a trip to SCRAP in San Francisco for inspiration and supplies.

SCRAP is a magical place. The flamingos at the top of this post greeted us outside, and after that, we explored pretty much every corner of the shop. We found everything we needed at SCRAP for the bargain price of $3.15. Everything, that is, except for the notebook (which we were particular about), and the yarn, glue sticks, googly eyes, and thread that I already had.

Wyatt decided he wanted to make a cat notebook. And he sketched this prototype.

We made the notebook by ironing the fabrics, cutting lightweight batting the same size as the cover, covering the batting-covered cover with fabric, and decorating the book like a cat. Sadly, our hot glue-gun didn't work well for sticking the fabrics together (because it's a low-temperature version, maybe?), so I did more stitching than I had anticipated, but that was fine. Wyatt finger-knitted the whiskers, tail, closure, and collar. He also chose the button, applied all the hot glue we could use, and held me to a high standard in terms of his art direction.

The hardest part about sending off this package was parting with the working kick-scooter key chain that Wyatt had found at SCRAP. He searched in endless bins there, but only found one (in contrast to the boxes and boxes of medals; he got himself a medal, too, because he "had always wanted one, and Benjamin probably had, too.")

Once the package had arrived, Sarah sent the best ever thank you video from Benjamin. It brought Wyatt the biggest, goofiest grin and giggle each time he watched it.

I know I've said it before, but I absolutely love this tangible exchange of thoughtfulness, care, and creativity.

I hope everyone reading this post enjoys a healthful December and beyond. But just in case that proves impossible, here's a recipe for pancakes that has proven delicious and easy on recovering stomachs in our house for the last couple of years. The recipe is courtesy of Sweetsmith in Adelaide, South Australia. Gluten-free, dairy-free, and refined-sugar free, these pancakes would also be good in times of good health.

Ingredients:

• 1 cup rice flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 2/3 cup rice milk (or nut milk)
• 1 egg
• 1 teaspoon of cinnamon
• 1 tablespoon honey
• 1 grated apple

Directions:

Sift flour and baking powder. Mix with all other ingredients. Cook on a griddle (I use coconut oil on the griddle) and flip once they are golden brown on the first side. After both sides are golden brown, eat!

Thanksgiving Trivets (or Don't Make Everything Yourself)

As I basked in the afterglow of Thanksgiving this year, I thought back to last year and the 10-Hour Vegetarian Pot Pie (otherwise known as the Worst Thanksgiving Food Ever To Grace Our Table). This year's Thanksgiving couldn't have been more delicious, wonderful, or more different from any Thanksgiving Marc, Wyatt and I have had as a family. We were three out of sixteen guests at my cousins' home. Many of the guests were my relatives, but some were not, and all of them were interesting, kind, funny and great eaters. I loved eating the things I'm not good at cooking, including turkey, dressing, gravy, and pecan pie. I also loved eating the foods I thought I was really good at cooking, like mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce, because, as it turns out, mine are not as good as theirs. I've never been so glad we brought bottles of wine, and I have already written a thank you note to our hosts. With any luck, we will become part of their Thanksgiving tradition for ever and ever amen.

Just like at the family reunion this year, I have no photos of our dinner or brunch gatherings. But I did get some photos of Patrick Amiot's outstanding junk art near the house where we stayed overnight. Marc also got some after dark.

One Thanksgiving lesson I'm taking with me as we launch headlong into the holiday season is: There's no reason for me to make (or do) everything myself. For example, other peoples' food might be better, it is more fun to do things with friends, and it's easy to improve on holiday traditions if we all bring more joy into the celebration.

This lesson applies equally to making gifts. Don't get me wrong—I love homemade gifts and I love making them for special people who will treasure them. But some handmade gifts are worth making myself, and some handmade gifts are worth buying. One item that is definitely worth buying is this beautiful trivet from Vilt Van Ver (Dutch for "Felt From Far"). You can purchase trivets, coasters, and other products from various retailers, including this one.  Vilt Van Ver's products are stunning, totally handmade, sustainable, and fair trade certified. The trivets are only $39, which is a screaming deal. How do I know? Keep reading.

When Wyatt and I went to the Museum of Craft and Design in August, I spotted a stack of Vilt Van Ver trivets in the (amazing) gift shop. Each was $40, and as Wyatt and I looked at one, we discussed the felted garland Benjamin had made for Wyatt, and we said, "We could TOTALLY make this." I also recall naively thinking that $40 was kind of steep for a felted-ball-trivet. (It isn't. Forty bucks is a steal.) So I took a photo of the trivet on the shelf, and we went home where I did some research about making felt balls. I also checked the Vilt Van Ver website for details, like dimensions and number of balls required. After learning each trivet requires 100 felt balls, I inexplicably decided we'd make two trivets, one for each of Wyatt's kindergarten teachers. After all, it was only August, and how long could 200 felt balls take? Ha.

We bought our first eight ounces of wool roving (for $40, or the retail price of a trivet, for anyone who's keeping track), and I figured out through trial and error that each ball would require two grams of roving. From there, a little math showed one trivet would require almost this entire eight-ounce bag of roving. So, I knew that eventually, we'd need more wool. I also started to wonder if the project would get the better of us. Each ball was taking about 15 minutes to felt. But I got faster. After about a zillion balls, I could hand-felt one two-gram ball of wool in about three-and-a-half minutes. Wyatt required about 30 minutes per ball; he was down to about 15 minutes by the bazillionth ball.

We bought eight more ounces of multi-colored wool roving (from a different retailer, this time for $20) about a month later. Most days through September and October, we rolled a few balls and then set them in a sunny window to dry. We made felt balls inside the house and out in the garden. Whenever there was a spare moment or couple of hours, we were felting balls. Fun fact: Even when a felt ball feels dry on the outside, it is still not dry! Mold dulled our earliest, vibrant, woolly balls, all because I left them together in a bowl, on top of each other, for a few days after they seemed dry. We soon started leaving the balls in one layer in a giant glass baking dishes because NOBODY wants moldy balls.

Once all the balls were made, we rejoiced for a week with the following call and response: "Guess what we don't have to do today?" "MAKE FELTED BALLS!" Even better, the cracks in my hands from all the felting in hot water and dish soap finally began to heal.

To make the trivets, we sorted the balls by color, and then strung each ball, one by one, onto upholstery thread, ten balls per thread. I then assembled the twenty strings of ten balls into two trivets. I pulled all the strings tight, had to restring a few, and I used a needle-felting tool to hide the knots on the ends of each of the strings.

The trivets turned out well. They are imperfectly beautiful, because even after felting so many balls, only the occasional ball turned out perfectly spherical and wrinkle-free. Wyatt's were often better than mine, but as grown woman with a sense of time and my own mortality, there was no way I was spending 30 minutes (or even 15 minutes) per ball.

We finished ahead of schedule, completing the trivets before Thanksgiving. The balls did not beat us, but it's only because I stubbornly refused to let them win. I am happy we completed the project. We made great gifts, and Wyatt and I experienced thanks to hours (and hours) of our own work and shriveled fingers, the value of skilled artisans who make beautiful things. Basically, Velt Van Ver deserves our business.

We decided to give the teachers their trivets on the Friday before Thanksgiving break. One reason for giving the gifts early was so that they could enjoy the trivets now and through the holiday season. Our other reasons are much less laudable, involving ego and pride. Making trivets out of 200 hand-felted balls was a bonkers (and enormous) undertaking. Those trivets (and we) needed our own day of gift-giving to shine.

How To Make A Paper Lantern

It's Thanksgiving week! In addition to pressing civic matters,* there are feasts to cook, family and friends to see, and centerpieces to make. If, like me, you're more of a just-in-time holiday decorator, these paper lanterns are perfect because there's still plenty of time to finish one, or even some, before Thursday.

And before you offer some excuse about not being "crafty enough," or being "too busy," let me assure you that this is a straightforward craft that requires very little time or particular skill, and yet it still provides a huge visual impact, especially after dusk. It would brighten your Thanksgiving hosts' table or your own.

I learned how to make these lanterns at the Parent Craft Circle at Wyatt's school last Wednesday. By Thursday, Wyatt and I had already made two more lanterns.  I love learning new things from inspiring people. Yoriko, the handwork teacher at Wyatt's school who facilitates the Craft Circle, is not only inspiring, she's infinitely knowledgeable, patient, clear, and she's one of those incredible listeners who hears not only the words you say, but also the words you choose not to say, and she responds with a rare depth of sensitivity and clarity. As you might imagine, Craft Circle with Yoriko is pretty terrific.

When I told Yoriko I was planning to write this how-to blog post for lanterns, she was enthusiastic about my spreading the lantern love, and she even sent me additional photos. Here is a photo of her own glowing lanterns (at least one of the lanterns is several years old, and when it is not lantern season, she unfolds it and stores it in her bookcase—how great is that?), as well as some of our paintings from the Craft Circle.

How To Make A Paper Lantern

Gather Your Supplies:

• Watercolor paper that's at least 15" on its shortest side (a 15" square yields a lantern that is approx. 6" from point to point; a 19" square yields a lantern that is approx. 8" from point to point).
• Watercolors
• Brushes
• Jar (or cup) with water for rinsing brushes
• Scissors
• Neutral cooking oil
• LED votive candle (a real votive is a real fire hazard in a paper lantern).

Make Your Painting:

Cut your watercolor paper into a square. (If you have a long rectangle left, like we did, you can paint the rectangle, too. Once dry, you can cut it into pieces to use as gift cards.)

Create a wet-in-wet watercolor painting. An easy way to paint wet-in-wet is to put your square of paper in a basin if you have one large enough, or in the bathtub or shower if you don't. As you paint with watercolors on the wet paper, the pigments will spread, bloom, and blend fluidly. The center of the painting will be the center of the lantern; don't bother trying to paint figures or anything in particular. Abstract clouds of color work well for this project.

Even very small children can participate in this part of the project—just choose colors that when they blend, you get a beautiful result (try red and yellow, or red and blue).

Let the painting dry.

Oil Your Painting:

Take a neutral cooking oil (like canola or some other vegetable oil) and with a paper towel or a rag, apply a thin layer of oil to the painted or unpainted side of the paper. The oil helps the paper to become translucent, and it also makes the paper easier to fold. We applied the oil twice, and after the second coat, the paper was translucent.

Wait to begin folding until the oil has soaked in and the paper feels dry.

Fold Your Lantern:

Most of the following steps are to create an octagon with guide-folds. The lantern itself takes shape in the last three steps. Yoriko explained that the folding of the lantern is a project that is best for about seventh grade level or above. I let Wyatt participate in the folding by having him crease the folds I made.

While your painting dries, you may want to practice folding the lantern by using a regular old 8.5" x 11" piece of paper that you turn into a 8.5" x 8.5" square. You'll have your technique perfected by the time your painting is ready to go.

Make the Octagon:

Fold the square along the diagonal:

Fold the triangle in half, point-to-point:

Unfold the paper—you will have four triangles.

Fold the square in half to make a rectangle:

Fold the rectangle in half to make a square:

Unfold the paper—you will have 8 triangular sections radiating from the center of the paper.

You need 16 triangular sections, so fold your square along one of the guide-folds to make a rectangle. Notice the triangles. Take the outside edge of a triangle, line it up with the next fold, and make a crease. Fold that bisected triangle towards the back. Repeat from the edge with the next triangle.

Open the paper—you will have 16 triangular sections radiating from the center of the paper:

Fold the paper along one of the guide-folds so that the four corners of the square stick out like this:

Take your scissors and cut-off the triangles that are sticking-out. You may want to fold the triangles first so you have a guide-fold to cut.

You now have an octagon.

Fold the octagon into a square:

Open up the folds, turn the paper 45 degrees, and fold another square like the one you just did. Open the flaps.

Fold the Lantern:

Look at the painted side of your paper, and find a "kite-shape." Fold the paper along the guide-folds you created so that you're tucking-in the edges around each of the kite shapes:

You'll end up with stack of 8 "kites":

Is this step hard to follow? You can check out a no-frills video of it here. Fold the top triangle of each of the 8 "kites" down:

Gently begin to open up your lantern. Smush the bottom so that it flattens out and the lantern can sit level. Add light and you're done!

There are lots of different ways to make this type of lantern, including according to this tutorial. Check it out and see which way makes the most sense to you.

* This week, I am calling my representatives to remind them, once again, how unacceptable I find the President Elect's appointment of racists and bigots; I am participating in Senator Paul Ryan's telephone survey to register my support for the imperfect-yet-necessary Affordable Care Act (Call (202) 225-0600, press 2 to weigh-in on the issue, listen to a couple of paragraphs of partisan commentary about the ACA, press 1 in support of the ACA, and leave a voicemail if you want); and I am gathering with some friends to plan how we will get more involved in our communities.

Hapa Zome (The Beauty of Hitting Flowers with Hammers)

In June 2015, I attended a workshop by Plants People at West Coast Craft. The workshop was on one of those Sundays when there couldn't have been more traffic or less parking around Fort Mason. It was so bad that, looking back, it is remarkable that my friend Margaret, her friend Aisling, and I all managed to make it to the class, never mind create beautiful flower prints. But we did.

"Hapa Zome" is the name that India Flint gave the natural dyeing process of placing flowers on fabric, folding the fabric, and then hitting the fabric firmly and repeatedly with a hammer (or mallet) to transfer the flower pigments to the cloth. The color transfer and prints you get are incredible. Even when you think you've totally messed it up, the petals move, and you don't achieve even remotely what you had imagined, the result is lovely. And there's no better craft than this one if you're feeling impatient, frustrated or you just want to hit stuff. 

Ever since the workshop, Margaret and I have been saying how much we wanted to do the project again.  We finally got around to it a few weekends ago. Margaret (whose many talents include floral design) picked up the flowers from the Flower Mart and bought the alum, Maja got the silk scarves, and I brought spray bottles, mallets, and towels.

We sprayed our scarves with a solution of water and alum, and then got to hammering, spraying more of the alum solution as needed. (Alum is the mordant we used, and mordant is what helps color stay on fabric rather than just disappear).

We put cardboard on the table under the towels, but three strong women hammering is no joke. By the time we were done, one of the bolts holding Margaret's table together had worked its way off a screw and onto the floor. My point is, choose your hammering surface carefully and look for loose bolts when you're done. You might opt for no towels, as well, if you want a crisper imprint of the flowers. Try it and see what happens. We mixed our alum and water solution without any regard for science or dyeing authority. If you want to do it "right," you can consult natural dye resources for ratios of the amount of mordant to use for a given amount of fabric and prepare the fabric accordingly. You can also choose flowers that are commonly used for natural dyeing in order to get a more lasting result. The wonderful thing about this process (or disappointing thing, depending on how much you love your initial result) is that over time, the colors of the flower imprints shift, fade, and change. As that happens, or as you find other flowers you like, you can add more prints to your piece.

Wyatt was more than just a little bit jealous that I spent the afternoon with Margaret (she was his teacher before she became my friend), and he refused to accept that he wouldn't be hammering flowers himself. So he and I did another scarf the next day.

He loved the whole process. I mean, who wouldn't? Swinging a heavy mallet also tired him out, so there's that, too.

So, definitely try flower hammering.

Also! I have a new soup recipe to share: Sweet Potato Coconut Curry Soup. No photos, but it's orange like the sweet potatoes in it, and it's great. Don't let the list of ingredients scare you off--most of them are for the spiced chickpeas/garbanzo beans (which I haven't yet made because we had some leftover from Nopalito). The soup is so great, in fact, that Wyatt brought it for lunch a couple of times last week, and the teachers asked for tastes and then asked me for the recipe. My adjustments to the recipe as are: a pinch or two of cayenne (instead of 1/4 tsp, because one of us doesn't like things too spicy), 1 tablespoon of curry powder (instead of 2 tablespoons), and a sprinkle of coconut vinegar or sherry vinegar to finish the soup just before serving. The recipe also doubles very well, and when I added a cup of water that one time I was short on coconut milk, the soup was still just as good.

Last but not least, I hope your Halloween was as good as this little panda's was.

Music, Mending, and Lambtown

Even though I remain really reluctant to embrace the season of apples, squash, and soup, October has gotten off to a truly terrific start. The first weekend was full of so much fun that Wyatt skipped school on Friday so we could fit it all in. And then last week, I published my fourth knitting pattern. More about that in next week's post, but meanwhile, YAY ME.

Last weekend was Wyatt's most anticipated annual musical event: Hardly Strictly Bluegrass. We went on Friday before things got too crazy. This is us (actually Wyatt and my knitting, I guess) outside the gates for the concert for middle-schoolers on Friday morning. The music at the festival was great, but the highlight for me this year was watching Wyatt make friends with a four-year old and a three-year old near us at one of the stages—he gave them pony rides on his back, and then they all had a dance party. As if all of that goodness wasn't enough to make a winning Friday, we ended the day on an even higher note after we picked up my friend Debbie at the BART station. We spent the late afternoon and evening with her playing Trouble (which she had brought for Wyatt), making and eating pizzas, and catching up. 

On Saturday, I attended Katrina Rodabaugh's Sashiko Mending Workshop at Handcraft Studio School in El Cerrito. Bonus: Maja came too. I have been waiting for this workshop since June when I found Katrina's work and she promised me in an email that she'd be back in the Bay Area to teach in the fall. True to her word, I got to learn from her in person. She spoke about her journey into slow fashion and the reasons why it's important to disrupt the cycle of fast fashion's trends whenever we can. I loved the books and resources she brought to share. "Sustainable fashion" can be challenging, as I learned in my own little way last year making Wyatt's elephant costume. (Read about that here and here.) During the mending workshop, we hand-stitched a tea quilt (which is thinner and smaller than a potholder, but bigger than a coaster), learned methods of mending, and we witnessed how some simple stitches by our own hands made our patch jobs look beautiful and intentional. Some might even say our embroidery was on-trend. The stack of clothes I need to mend is now one pair of jeans shorter, and I have the confidence and know-how to tackle the rest. Now all I need to do is make the time . . . mending has this way of staying at the bottom of my list of things to do.

Sunday was Lambtown! All three of us went this time, and this year, Lambtown had all the things Wyatt had been looking forward to (music, petting zoo, pony rides, cooking demonstrations), along with a new attractions: a train he could ride on with or without his parents and an interactive farm equipment display. The sheepdog competition was very entertaining, and I learned that Marc knows A LOT about sheepdog trials. (The things a person can hold back in a long-term, committed relationship never fail to surprise me.) We visited with Brooke at the Sincere Sheep booth, where she had displayed my patterns beautifully, and I stopped in to see Kira of Kira K. Designs just next door. Wyatt got to watch carding and blending again at Dreamy Goat Design Studio, and I learned about Shaggy Bear Farms in Scio, Oregon, where they specialize in rare sheep (and their fiber).

I added Gotland and East Friesian roving to the collection of different rovings I have been spinning into yarn. I'm planning to knit all my beginner yarn into a modern, log-cabin style, sampler blanket. My stash of handspun yarn is slowly growing. Here's the stash so far:

Roadworks Steamroller Printing Festival

"My favorite part was the STEAMROLLERS!"

Of course it was. How could it have been anything else?

Every year, The San Francisco Center for the Book puts on this terrific, free event. It is part fundraiser (through the sale of the steamroller prints), part education, and part hands-on fun. For some unfathomable reason, this is the first year we have ever attended.

My favorite part was the entire event. There are few things I enjoy more than fonts, hand lettering, or enormous, heavy, mechanical tools that look like they could kill you but, in their highest and best use, make beautiful things. I'm in awe of the people who can use them and of the works they create.

And Wyatt is right. The steamroller printer was pretty amazing. As he remarked as we were walking up, the whole street smelled as if people had been lighting sparklers all morning. So festive! We arrived early, and Wyatt got as close as he possibly could to the steamrollers. One of the drivers let him throw coal into the fire. If you want to see a steamroller making the first print of the day, I posted a video of it here.

Outside on Rhode Island Street, there were printing tables, artists, vendors, and examples of all the steamroller prints you could purchase.

The Rhinoceros Project, a "participatory watermark sewing circle," was also set up outside. As the creators explain on their website, 

We will produce [our watermark of Albrecht Durer’s 1515 woodblock “The Rhinoceros”] through hand sewing on silk. Using embroidery stitches on fabric, we will recreate Durer’s Rhinoceros line-by-line, enlarged to life size. In order to achieve this goal, we are embarking on a series of participatory sewing circles, taking place at San Francisco locations such as Ramon’s Tailor and the San Francisco Center for the Book. When complete, the watermark will be stretched on a frame, and paper pulp will be poured into the frame to create our Rhinoceros watermark in handmade paper.  We aim to make a total of three, referencing the remaining three Northern White rhinoceri.

I participated, naturally. My little line of sewing is the very tidy one. The part I liked best about this project is that some people sat down, watched, and then said, "I want to help, but I don't know how to do it!" and the project creators taught anyone who was interested how to embroider the lines of the enormous rhinoceros.

Inside The Center for the Book, there were volunteers helping people make prints on all kinds of machines, other volunteers explaining what the various machines did, and a book petting zoo.

Marc, Wyatt and I left wanting to learn how to physically make a book using all of the tools we saw. But one of us isn't yet old enough to take a class at The Center for the Book. Fortunately, we learned we can visit more machines at The American Bookbinding Museum downtown. Yet another gem I never knew existed. I love San Francisco.

Tomato, Tomahto

"Mom! Dad said to ask you if the tomAHtoes are done yet!"

[squeals and peals of laughter followed]

I used to love heirloom tomatoes best, but after I met dry farmed tomatoes, I barely looked back. Dry farmed tomatoes tend to be firm, on the small side, and I've only seen them in red instead of striped, purple or green. They look like a classic tomato—like those tomato pincushions that you might find in a sewing box. But unlike a pincushion (or any other tomato I've had) their flavor is intense and, frankly, outstanding.

Tomatoes are everywhere lately. In fact, Wyatt and I recently saw a stunning sculpture made of tomatoes (the pincushion variety) at the Museum of Craft and Design in San Francisco.

This piece, made of tomato shaped pincushions, wood, plaster, and mirrors is called "Rose Window," and it is part of Marianne Lettieri's exhibit, "Reflections." It is on display at the Museum of Craft and Design in San Francisco through January 22, 2017.

I've been meaning to go to the Museum of Craft and Design since it moved to the Dogpatch neighborhood three years ago. When I learned that Poco Dolce chocolates was having their tasting week just a couple of blocks away, though, I suddenly decided it was time to actually go. I was looking forward to Marianne Lettieri's exhibit, which she obviously created with me in mind. As the website describes, "Reflections contextualizes overlooked relics of home making. The ritual of repetitive acts and the accumulation of objects in the domestic sphere each create a physical reminder of the passage of time." Wyatt was excited to pump water through Anja Ulfeldt's "Of Sound Mind and Objects" installation, "Domestic Infrastructure #2." After walking through all the exhibits, both of us considered the "Beyond the Pour" to be a delightful bonus. Seeing glimpses of artists' creative processes and how art can find its way on to a wine bottle was fun.

"Domestic Infrastructure #2"

"Sisters of Biscuits and Pies"

"The Art of Manliness"

The chocolate tasting up the street was outstanding, too. After trying three of the chocolates twice (just to be sure we could rank them properly), we agreed that the Peanut Butter and Honey Cups were the best.

On the way back to the car, Wyatt spotted an ice cream sign and thought that it would be best to see what they had inside. So we did. Sure enough, they had ice cream. Wyatt had bubble gum flavor and I chose toffee brittle.

But back to tomatoes! Stuffed tomatoes, specifically. Until this weekend, I've never eaten one I loved, but I'm now a convert. On Friday, I heard a great review of Rachel Roddy's cookbook, My Kitchen in Rome. The commenters highly recommended her recipe for stuffed tomatoes. Lucky for all of us, the recipe is available online at Roddy's website and through The Guardian. The recipe takes awhile, although most of the time is waiting time. But I promise, it's worth it. In fact, all three of us agree it is worth every single minute.

The recipe creates a baked, creamy and vibrant tomato-basil flavored risotto inside a beautiful tomato shell. I used dry farmed tomatoes, but choose whatever tomato you like the best.

I'm going to make this recipe at least once more before tomatoes are no longer in season, and you should, too. Here are my tips for getting the most out of the recipe:

• Roddy advises letting the arborio rice soak for at least 45 minutes. I let it soak for 2 hours at room temperature, and I'm glad I did. The rice had absorbed a lot more of the tomato juice at the end of 2 hours than it had after 45 minutes.
• The recipe The Guardian provides says to cut the potatoes (whose function, as far as I can tell, is to absorb the tomato juice in the pan--don't skip them!) into "chips." Had I consulted Marc for a British to American translation of this description, he would have told me "little wedges." I didn't consult, bought little potatoes, left them unpeeled, and I cut them into small rounds. This approach worked fine.
• If, like me, all of your rice doesn't fit in the tomatoes, oil a little baking dish and put the remaining rice in it. Cover the dish with an oven-proof lid or tight foil and pop it in the oven with the tomatoes. The rice cooks up perfectly, and it will be done when the tomatoes are done.
• Make more than you think you want to eat in one day. The tomatoes reheat extremely well, covered, in a 350 degree oven, with a splash of water in the bottom of the dish. Plan for leftovers!

Tomatoes filled, before baking.

Hats back on! Ready for the oven.

Baked, rested, and ready to eat!