speaking of daisies

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I spent some time at the library the other day flipping through the craft books on display and guess what I found: embroidered daisies! These wouldn’t hide a t-shirt hole very well, but they’re really cute. I like that they’re not your average stitched daisy.

resource: The book is The Gentle Art of Stitching: 40 Projects Inspired by Everyday Beauty (amazon link). It has some interesting projects — too bad there isn’t a “look inside” option on amazon.

bizarre beasts!

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Driving down 14th Street last summer all I ever heard was: “Mom! We need to see the Bizarre Beasts! They’re at Morrill Hall!” However, we never managed to make it for one reason or another.

On Sunday my daughter went to a birthday party at Morrill Hall. We had long since forgotten about the Bizarre Beasts, until we wandered into the exhibit hall and Oh! My! Goodness! a squeal that rattled even the oldest dinosaur bones.

It’s a small exhibit, but she loved it. She also had a blast at the party. I’m guessing we’ll be spending more time at Morrill Hall in the future.

fabric infinity scarf

fabric cowl

I’ve had this fabric in my stash for so long that I don’t remember where I found it. It has always been destined for my sister-in-law who loves horses. I always thought I’d make it into a tote bag because it’s a tricky print. Lay it out flat and it’s kind of busy. I never imagined I’d make it into an article of clothing.

But then I happened across a pattern for a fabric infinity scarf and couldn’t stop thinking about it. I dug it out, wrapped it around my neck and you know what? It looked really nice! I liked this pattern so much, I even set aside some brown and black flannel to make a scarf for myself. Now I just need to sew it!

resource: You can find the tutorial for this scarf over at The Cottage Home.

mending: t-shirt holes

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I usually don’t spend time mending holes in my daughter’s shirts. She’s growing so fast that it doesn’t seem to make sense. However, sometimes holes happen to a favorite shirt — one we bought a little big so she could wear it a long time.

Usually, holes show up in sleeves and seams — easy places to hide a few stitches. This one was right in front. I was extra careful, but there was no hiding anything. So I decided to turn it into a decorative element.

I don’t do a lot of embroidery. I’m not the best at it, but I sewed a little daisy in matching thread. The result is actually kind of cute. I’ve seen people mend holes with a star stitch, but I think this is a little nicer. Of course, it would help if all of the petals turned out the same size!

inspiration from space

india

Col. Chris Hadfield is a Canadian astronaut living on the International Space Station. I started following him on twitter because my daughter is studying Sally Ride in school. He posts cool stuff like the kind of food he eats and how his watch floats around his wrist.

bahamas

The past few days, though, he has been posting some phenomenal photos of earth. They almost look like paintings and are beautiful displays of color and texture.

australia

If you’re the kind of person who looks to the world around you for inspiration, you should definitely be following him on twitter. His photos are posted on a tumblr blog, as well. In case you were wondering, the images above are of Mumbai, India; The Bahamas; and The Australian Outback.

your daughter has new artwork

owls in the snow

I love getting email with this in the subject line: “Your daughter has new artwork!”

Not all of the art projects from school come home right away. They are saved and put together in a book that the children bring home on the last day of school. In the meantime, parents get emails of the artwork so they can see what the children have been creating.

I love these little owls. The description that came with this painting said: “Students made these Snowy Owls by using different painting and printmaking techniques. Can you see how we used pieces of cardboard to print the branches in our trees? Or the way we used the “wrong end” of a paintbrush to create the falling snow? How about our thumbprints that became the owls sitting in the trees?”

My daughter is a big fan of Ed Emberly’s thumbprint book series. (amazon link) I’m guessing she loved this project.

a beautiful poem

I have watched Richard Blanco deliver the inaugural poem quite a few times today. It really is beautiful. The transcript is below, but if you have a few minutes, I recommend listening to him read it. He captures the heart and soul of America. I love how he mentions his mom and dad, too. How sweet!

One Today

One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.

My face, your face, millions of faces in morning’s mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper —
bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives —
to teach geometry, or ring up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.

All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the “I have a dream” we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won’t explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.

One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father’s cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.

The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind — our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day’s gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.

Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across cafe tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos días
in the language my mother taught me — in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.

One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.

One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn’t give what you wanted.

We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always — home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country — all of us —
facing the stars
hope — a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it — together.