Winter Pinks

How does this Canadian chase away the frigid winter blues?

First she replaces the boring brass buttons of her favorite pink wool cardigan with these pretty vintage rhinestone ones.  Never mind that the button holes are too small ... happiness isn’t always about being practical.

Next she asks her mom to please knit her warm pink mittens.

Then she suggests to her husband that this soft pink scarf would make a nice Valentine’s Day gift.

And finally, she puts lovely blushing ranunculus blossoms on her mantle.

(Artificial, schmartificial ... these won't die!)  How do you cure the winter blues?


Note to Self #2

You know you’re in Palm Springs, California when you turn on the tv and the first thing you hear is:


Talk about target marketing!  If you’re not familiar with Palm Springs, it’s basically a desert haven for wealthy, retired people who like to golf.  Emphasis on the word retired.

By the way, coming up with a photo for this post was tricky.  Having no rubber tubing on hand, my only ideas were this handle or a small puddle of yellow-colored water on the white bathroom floor tiles ...

... you're welcome.


"Thank You, Laura Ashley"

I’m a home body.  And I don’t get out much socially.  But this past weekend I went to dinner with some friends – a special group that boasts an English Masters student, advertising account manager, kindergarten teacher, neonatal respiratory therapist, flight attendant and … me.

About every six months or so, one of us will shoot out a reminder email that we’re due for a get together.  Then we spend a week coordinating schedules to find a date that’s a month or two away.  We rarely manage to get all six of us, but we lucked out this time.

Our history goes back some 20 years when we were young sales associates at a Laura Ashley store.  Our mutual love for the Laura Ashley brand is what we had in common.  Our time spent working together led us to becoming friends.  And despite our shop closing 10 years ago (and most of us leaving our jobs before then) we Laura Girls have maintained a great friendship.

Over the years we’ve shared in the success of graduations, praised new jobs, celebrated two weddings (three were child brides, and we’re still rooting for you Chica!), had several house-warmings, rejoiced at nine baby showers and mourned at four funerals.

When we get together we do all the usual things:  reminisce about the store, the other people we worked with, the customers, the products (don’t kid yourself, if we ever decided to get rid of all our Laura Ashley treasures – and that would NEVER happen – it’d be one sweet garage sale!).  We lament how the Laura Ashley of the 90’s is gone forever.

We share photos & stories, catch up, laugh/cry about how the aging process is affecting us, sympathize over difficult situations and just enjoy being in each other’s company. 

We all – husbands included – find it remarkable and pretty special that a part-time job at a little store so long ago could have forged such a long-lasting bond among six girls.

I think of myself as a Laura Girl because of how much I loved the style.  But I call myself a Laura Girl because I’m a proud member of this select little circle of friends.

If it’s true that you can judge people by the company they keep, then I’m deeply honored & humbled.  Thank you ladies for keeping me in your lives.  I love you all.


Becoming an Expert on All Things Yucky

In other words, being a parent.

Why is it that many childhood illnesses sound so ... gross?  The names alone fill every parent with shame - especially when they have to call the school to say something like, "She won't be in today because she has HAND, FOOT & MOUTH DISEASE."  (And the reply on the other end of the phone is a profesionally sympathetic and yet still slightly eeked out, "Oh, ok.")  Despite the embarrassment, you want to alert the teacher in case other children fall ill.

But I'll tell you exactly how to make your child feel better:  let her have ice cream for breakfast, followed by an all-you-can-eat buffet of rainbow colored popsicles (in between bouts of Tylenol, medicinal mouthwash & frequent hand-washing) while watching High School Musical 3 over & over & over ...

And now I have a date with my washing machine and some bleach ...  'cause apparently this thing is highly contagious.


Anecdote First, Then Apology

Scene:  Waiting room of a walk-in medical clinic.  It’s been five minutes since the main characters - a mother and her 6 year old daughter - arrived.  Several other really sick people are also waiting and they got in earlier. 

The mother didn’t come prepared for a long wait.  She’s reluctantly reading an old, germy issue of People magazine, trying to enjoy red carpet fashions and decide who looked better in the same dress while attempting to avoid contact with the invisible human debris that is lurking on the pages just waiting to infect her. 

The daughter is becoming restless with boredom.  The mother searches her coat pockets for a cell phone which miraculously a) she has with her and b) isn’t dead.  The mother offers the phone to the daughter who is excited to have something fun to play with instead of the Fisher Price house that’s seen better days.  After a few minutes of playing a game on the cell phone…

Daughter:  Mummy.    Mummy.    MUmmy.

Mother:  Yes?

Daughter:  Can I play with the calculator?

Mother:  What calculator?

Daughter:  The one on your phone.

Mother:  There’s a calculator on my phone?

Daughter:  Yes, right here.  See?

Mother:  (A little surprised, she smiles and gently shaking her head as she admires her daughter’s intelligence.)  Hmm. Whatta ya know.  Sure.

A few minutes of calculating go by.

Daughter:  Mummy.    Mummy.    MUmmy.

Mother:  Mhmmm?

Daughter:  Can I use the camera?

Mother:  What camera?

Daughter:  The one on your phone.

Mother:  There’s a camera on my phone?

Daughter:  Yes, right here.  See?

Mother:  (A little more surprised and slightly concerned at how much more her daughter knows about her phone than she does, she furrows her eyebrows.)  Uh.  Ok.

Several photos later …

Daughter:  Mummy.  Mummy.  MUmmy.

Mother:  What is it, Honey?

Daughter:  Can I video you?

Mother:  You can record video with my phone?

Daughter:  Yes, like this.  See?

Mother:  (Suddenly looks terrified as she realizes she doesn’t even have a ticket for the technology transport that’s leaving the station with her daughter at the helm.)

                              *          *          *          *          *

This story is intended to illustrate my occasional technical ineptitude.  And to help explain that if you tried to subscribe to my blog last week (probably most if not all of you are my closest & dearest friends because I emailed you and begged you to), it wasn’t set up properly.  Sorry ‘bout that.  But it’s working now (see column on right), if you want to try again. 

Between you and me, it’s a miracle I even have this blog.  And I did it all by myself.  Well, except for the several dozen emails to/from the Technical Support Dept, but they just sent me links to videos on how to fix my setup issues … and kindly reassured me a few times that I didn’t need to cry.


Note to Self #1

Every now and then, I'll be sharing little pearls of wisdom - sometimes funny things, often things resulting from my forgetfullness, bad judgement, laziness, absentmindedness, etc.  My goal is to help you avoid the same mistakes.  And/or to make you smile.

Here's the first installment.  Read, learn and enjoy.


  • ask your daughter to pick out her favorite fabric from your sewing room stash ("Oh no reason, Sweetheart.  Just curious.")
  • wait until she’s at school to start making her a birthday gift
  • smugly hide the evidence before she comes home, but then
  • forget to dispose of the scraps in the garbage can

Because when said short person notices the remnants you WILL be asked:  "Mommy, what are you making with my fabric?"

Parenthood requires you to be good at a lot of things - like thinking on your feet, remaining calm under pressure ... and lying.


Paisley & Me

I used to dislike paisley.  Almost to the point of hating it.

As in had a negative emotional response whenever I saw it. 

I have absolutely no idea why.  I don’t recall a bad experience with it.  (I did, however, endure the “what were you thinking” fashion sense as a child in the 70s ...) 

Anyhow, one day I learned the symbolism of the paisley motif:  it depicts a sprouting seed and symbolizes new life.  If you can give me the back story or history of something, I'm usually far more interested in it.   This new piece of information made me look at paisley in a different way with a softer, more compassionate attitude.

Since then I’ve developed a sort of friendship with paisley, mostly as it relates to quilting fabric in my stash (don't think I'd ever have drapes made with it or a sofa covered in it).

For example, when it comes to choosing fabrics for a project, I think about more than just color. 

I also pay attention to these print elements – all of which contribute to the project's end result:

  • scale (small, medium, large)
  • subject matter (flora, fauna, geometric, ...)
  • direction (parallel, diagonal, random, ...)
  • movement (busy, quiet, ...)
  • personality (traditional, delicate, sweet, ...)
  • mood (happy, serene, vibrant, ...)
  • texture (printed, woven, glazed, ...)

For me, paisley can be very … bossy.

But sometimes it adds just the right amount of something to perk up a quilt. 

Regardless of my continuing hit & miss results with paisley, I don’t ignore it anymore. 

Sometimes I invite it to play with the other prints in my stash. 

And on a really good day, it makes its way into one of my quilts.

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