ingrid

It is the most wonderful(est) time of the year.  I am reading Junie B. Jones to Zephyr these days and she would definitely say “wonderfulest”, so I will too.

I really do love Christmas.  But more than just loving Christmas, I love the lead up to Christmas because it is at these times when I get to make stuff with the purpose and focus that I normally lack.  Christmas projects give me reason to get organized.  It is at these times when I finally treat my hobbies like a job, and when I arrive at that place, I start to make things that please ME.  I like that.

These last few weeks have been a whirlwind of teaching.  I’ve done 4 classes of ceramics at Beach School, 1 class in my studio, and continued with the weekly sewing class for Portland Public Schools after school programs.  Packed between this work I am making projects of my own.  Clay and fabric are strewn everywhere.  That is a terrible mix, but there you go.

Teaching continues to inspire and challenge me.  It’s hard!  After another week with preschoolers, I am even more in awe of preschool teachers.  I am even more skeptical about homeschooling.  It is NOT something that just anyone can do.  It is a crazy, complex, hard job that requires every tool in the book.  I couldn’t do it, but I sure am glad that Zephyr’s teacher can!  Wow.

My work area in the basement has been subsumed by clay projects from Beach.  I’ve been running the kiln almost nonstop since last Monday, trying to force 33 heavy faces through in order to get them back to glaze.  It is tricky work.  Try to fire too quickly and things blow up, fire too slowly and I would never make it through the workload in time.  Luckily Brad had a few social events that brought him home late a couple nights this last week.  He was able to flip my switches to “High” in the wee hours of the morning, and that’s not a sexy euphemism.

No sooner than the kiln cooled, the faces were back for their glazed firing.  Before the final firing, I always cover the kids’ work with a clear coat of glaze.  It looks shiny and awesome when finished but sort of weird when first applied.  The clear coat is colored a funky green, (I think so that you can tell that you put on the clear coat), and children don’t seem to understand that their work will not turn out green, so I do this step on my own back at my studio in order to not upset anyone.  I got some help this time around.

Inez is certainly my most determined (read “stubborn”) child, but she is also the best worker of the bunch.  As the clear coat doesn’t show much, a 2 year old really can help out putting it on.  She was able to do 5 or 6 of these with me occasionally reaching in to smooth out her work (which she HATED).

As we were working, the “chicks” looked in to see what we were up to.  The chickens will often come up to the back window and peck the sill to get my attention.  Okay, maybe it is to see if I will feed them, but I like their visits anyway.

2 Comments | In: Projects That I Do With My Clever Little Fingers, The Arts | | #

Brad and I were amused by Zephyr after watching Star Wars for the first time.  Of all the interesting and funny things that happened in that movie, he thought the most important was C-3PO walking off in a different direction from R2D2 on Tatooine.  The big line he would repeat to tell this story?  “I’m not going THAT way!  That’s too rocky!”. And then he would laugh like crazy.

Yeah.  I don’t know that I would sum up the movie that way either.  And yet I sort of relate to fixating on minor lines or ideas.

This last week I put the garden to bed for the winter.  I hauled leaves, I hauled chicken manure, and then spread it to a depth of about two feet.  Things should rest and rot down until sometime in April when I will call out the forces and turn the soil (if I am lucky.  Last year it rained well into June, so I won’t count on April).  Before closing the case on the garden I pulled up the last of the onions.  They were small and I really shouldn’t have left them in this late.  Because they were out in the frost, they had a little slime on them, and yet I was so thrilled to have them.  They make me think of Sam in Lord of the Rings who just yearned for a bit of wild onion to improve the campfire food on the way to Mordor.  ”Oh for a bit of wild onion!”  I thought.  ”Oh for a bit of wild onion!”

I don’t know what it is about the yearning for wild onion that was so appealing (and memorable!) to me.  Why do I remember this about those books and not other, probably more important, elements?  While raking leaves, I thought:  maybe the onion is a theme!  If the onion is a theme, then it would be of Sam’s desire to give his best, to nurture his friends, even while in grave danger.  The onion is about a hobbit taking risks, but still desiring the good life—the life that an onion affords.

I don’t think the onion is a theme.

But my onions were good.  I made them into a soup.  Hobbit Onion soup.  Zephyr and I are not so different.

1 Comment | In: food, Projects That I Do With My Clever Little Fingers, urban farming | | #

There is no such thing as Krugly Dolls, but in the interest of not receiving a cease and desist notice tomorrow, I am renaming them.

It all started when my kids picked up a toy catalogue and identified the items in question.  ”Oh, we love them!  Can you get them for us?”.  What?  Buy them?  No way.  I can totally make those suckers.

A quick trip to Joann’s Fabrics and several yards of fleece later, we were ready to embark on the project.  First step was to draw the dolls and make a pattern.

Here is what I did:

Here is what Zephyr did:  (Prepare yourself for preciousness)

I wish I could sew that.

Next we cut out this guy and I attempted to sew without swearing.  I did not accomplish that.

My sewing machine is really, really old, and beset with problems that people with newer models might not have, hence there is more profanity necessary to keep the thing in line.  It jumps up and down if I don’t yell at it a bit.  Despite breaking a needle, tangling a bobbin impossibly, needing to cut a chunk out of this doll’s eye as I somehow wound the thread from the bobbin around part of the foot and the edge of the eyeball (huh?), and taking the Lord’s name in vain, we finally got to the good part.

And the other good part:

We didn't make this green guy. He is a "for real" that we borrowed from a neighbor.

And still more good parts:

10 Comments | In: Awesome!, family, Projects That I Do With My Clever Little Fingers | | #

Sometimes Brad and I are awesome parents.  Brad would say that he is always awesome.  Here is his criteria:  1)  Am I still here?  I am awesome.

In particular, we have achieved a (hopefully) habit-forming awesomeness in the form of Family Art Night.  Back in August Brad and I lamented that neither of us had time to work on our personal art in any meaningful way.  I worried that Zephyr’s drawing skills were somewhat lacking.  Both us noted that Francis was DESPERATELY needy regarding art time.  She wanted MORE.  MORE.  MORE.  “Can you help me make a quilt?  Can you help me create a paper tower that is strong enough to let chickens play on it?  Can you help me make a felt sleeping bag for Nutty the Squirrel?  Can you help me make a hat out of clay?  Can you help me make a robot that actually moves out of plastic milk jugs?  Can you help me weld a STEEL PLAYGROUND FOR MY NEWT?”

What we couldn’t figure out was how to guide the kids without Family Art Night becoming completely subsumed by their wishes, because although we love our kids, part of the goal was that we might also pursue our own interests—-but together.  And I am not one of those people who wants to sacrifice my interests on the alter of my children.  I proposed taking turns guiding their projects.  Brad had some idea about making them leave us alone that wouldn’t work.  We argued and gave up.

But then we tried again with more reasonable expectations.  Yes, the kids need our time, but if our over-arching message is “I will get you going and then you need to do it yourself”, everyone can be happy.  They CAN do it themselves.  They love to make me their art servant, but they can be taught to be self-sufficient.  Hence, Family Art Night sits on Monday evenings.  We have dinner early and then rush down to the basement where we get going on our own projects.  It requires that I plan ahead a bit and have standby ideas and supplies to get them going, but that isn’t an unpleasant task.

Last week Francis felted a mini Totoro, and Zephyr made a beaded necklace.  When they finished those projects, both kids painted with water colors.

I planned a sewing project and knitted on a hat for a friend.  Brad worked on stained glass designs with us and then retired to the computer for more design time.

Inez is the only one who misses out on Family Art Night.  She goes to bed early.

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Meet De Waltina.

I love her.  I finally got the driver of my dreams back in August, and I find I use her just about every week.  She figures prominently in this story.

Remember how I complained at length about my inability to finish projects because I overstate my skills?  Well, I finally finished something (mostly, sort of).

Wink’s hardware is truly the most awesome problem-solving place in all of Portland.  When I first checked it out, I didn’t really understand how they did things—or why, but a few short moments later, I was completely set up with EXACTLY the hardware I needed to complete this weirdo job— and I UNDERSTOOD the glory of Wink’s.  First of all, they have you take a number and wait in line until an actual human can help you.  There are plenty of people behind the counter, so the wait isn’t too long.  The actual human looks at your project, listens to your needs and suggests what might help you complete the project.  The actual human leads you back into the stacks and finds the screws, plates, grommets, etc, and then deposits them IN YOUR HAND.  Isn’t that novel?  Usually I am there at the hardware store holding screws up against samples trying to tell if I have a metric or standard in my hand and then I tear open little drawers with abandon trying to match by sight.  Then because I don’t trust myself, I buy other screws that COULD be the right ones, just in case.  As you can imagine, my way doesn’t always work well.  My way involves chaos.  My way involves too many drill bits (just in case!) and too many not-quite-right tools for the job.

If you remember, this mounting ceramic head project was sort of a pain in the ass.  First of all, when making these heads out of clay, I hadn’t really conceived of how they might go on the wall.  Because I didn’t understand that I would need to attach the heads two ways, I didn’t make standard sized center holes (which meant that I spent a good deal of time today carefully drilling out holes in these finished ceramic pieces, creating dust and mess).  When I created them, I made screw holes, but I somehow thought that screws would be enough.  I hadn’t yet discovered the wonder of two part epoxy—(ahh wonder!), and I hadn’t considered how tightening a screw to hold a HEAVY ceramic head to a wall might make the ceramic part just bust into pieces.  Hmmmm.

At Wink’s they gave me these groovy little plates with center spindles sticking out that I was to screw to the wall, and they pointed me towards Great Goop, two part epoxy.  In the last post about this project, I made it as far as screwing the plates to the wall.

Today, I marked where the screw holes needed to go and drilled guide holes, then I mixed up the epoxy and stirred it for the requisite two minutes.  Then I smeared it on the plate spindle and put it in the center hole on the backside of the head.

Mounting it was tricky.  I could sort of put some screws in to hold the piece to the wall, but because of the roundness of the heads (the HEADS, not the screw heads), I had to put in some screws at an angle.  And because I needed to not overtighten, this wasn’t such a great job for my De Walt driver.  I ended up putting screws in loosely and using duct tape until the epoxy dried, at which point I would tighten the screws by hand.

Decorative screws are funny.  Sometimes they look great but don’t bite worth crap.  I bent some.  Is it me or my screws?

Now I need to wait for the epoxy to dry, get some new (and shorter) screws to fill in the awkward places, and our towel holders are ready to go!

I feel so capable today!  Thanks, De Waltina!

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I spent my free time today trying to figure out how to hang up the ceramic heads in the bathroom.  This involved math.  Math that I find I am still not so great at.  Fortunately I have learned to measure thrice and drill once… or twice.  Okay, so I mis-drilled in one spot, but I figure I can fix that eventually with some spackle, right?  The spot would have been fine if only there was a stud behind there like I remembered.  (Where did that stud go?  Where?)

It made me think about how some math is really taught all wrong.  It would be useful to have math like this:

You had a very beautiful and expensive remodel done in your bathroom.  Now you find that you need to add towel hooks.  The wall space measures 31 3/4.  If you are trying to hang three hooks equidistance a part in this space, where will the first hook hang?  Give the measurement that marks the center of the hook, which measures 4 1/2 inches wide.

Why am I doing this job?  The truth is that I’ve been played by my contractor.  He is smart and I am not.  I showed my hand too readily, eager to show off—I asked what type of cordless drill I should buy, I made small talk about hardware places I had been in town, I told stories about cabinetry work I did with my dad.  In short, I tried to be cool and competent, so at the point where he said, “You can totally handle hanging those heads, right?”, I was stuck.  And I thought, “Yes I COULD handle doing it, but I sure don’t want to.  That will truly take me forever.  Forever.” But what did I say?  ”Oh yeah.  I think I can manage.”  Eager to impress handy men, I really overstate my skills.  A good looking man with a hammer will get me every time.

He could have done this in an hour tops, and here I am going on trip two to the hardware store and month two after the finish date for the remodel.  And so I drill.  I break bits.  I strip screws.  But I think I just might make it.  I’ll let you know next month when I finally finish this damn thing.

I need to put two more of these under the window sill. The plan is that next I will slather the spindle part with epoxy and then attach the ceramic heads to that. I then have decorative screws that I will CAREFULLY put in to further attach the heads to the wall.

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I spent this last Friday working solidly for a few hours on improving our chicken enclosure.  The hens (one in particular, Rita), had been throwing themselves against the door when we came out in the yard.  They are pretty eager to get out in the yard or to see what kinds of treats we might be bringing them.  Whatever the reason, Rita had pulled the mesh wire away from the door frame and it was getting impossible to repair.  In my amazing efficiency, I recycled the last of the chicken wire around here.  (Note to self: You MUST always have at least a little bit of chicken wire around.  I know that it sucks to store, it gets caught on itself and anything else in vicinity in storage, but you WILL need it eventually.)  Anyway, I was flummoxed as to how to repair this door without just finding a whole new screen.  Enter chunks of aluminum siding.  And metal shears.  Why do I have those things lying around but not a simple chunk of chicken wire?  Dunno.

I painstakingly cut out a piece the size of the door—it was a painful, slow process.  You have to cut about a centimeter, then attempt to bend the metal out of the way in order to progress forward.  You can’t do it with bare hands, obviously or you won’t even have hands by the time you finish.  It is hard on your hands, hard on your grip, and hard on your spirit as it seems you are going NOWHERE for a long, long time.  Two hours later, I had a nice piece the size of the bottom of the door.  Pounding the metal onto the door was easy, and it used up this whole pile of stupid nails that I bought accidentally and then was pissed seeing all the time all over the floor in the shed (as they were never the right size, always there when I was reaching for a useful size nail, and constantly reminding me that there were 100 more just like them).  Satisfying.  Using up something that seemed useless.  Ahhhh.  I love that.

After fixing the door, I moved the baby chicks into a larger brooder.  They are big enough to be out with the older hens all day, but the older hens’ roost is too large for their feet still.  The chicks are ending up in nesting boxes for the night where they poop and make a mess.  Their chick food is also irresistibly delicious to the older hens, so I had to find a place where the babies could eat without being cleaned out by the big hens.  Essentially, I switched the straw storage and miscellaneous storage to give the chicks more space.  I chopped up a broken kid chair so that they could practice perching on the rungs, and viola!  Lovely new space for the chicks.

This is why I love our new coop— it is so versatile.

I cleaned out the whole coop and had a mini epiphany— I like cleaning out the coop…. a lot.  I guess technically it is work, but I sure enjoy it.  I like mucking out the coop, moving poop to compost, rhubarb patch, etc.  I don’t know what that means, but it is peaceful to me.

Anyway, the point of this post is that despite the nice new things that I did this last week to ensure on-going health and happiness in my flock, today I went out to check on the birds and one was dead on the floor.  Nothing apparent happened to her.  There wasn’t any sign of predators.  She looked like she just fell off the roost.

We lost Frankie, who was sort of a difficult personality of a chicken.  She wasn’t a super strong bird.  She was small, pretty low (if not the bottom) of the pecking order.  She probably didn’t have a robust immune system either.  She was also relatively young.

The kids are a little sad, as am I, as Frankie was the only chicken in our flock of 10 to spend her entire life in our yard.  We hatched her from an egg last summer.  If you remember, our broody chicken experiment was largely unsuccessful, but Agnes did get two chicks out of the batch of 10 eggs.  One chicken turned out to be a rooster, Helmut, and he went to live with friends in Sheridan.

Bye bye rooster!

Frankie was always a funny looking chick.  She had the misfortune of getting her tail feathers completely stuck in the broken, rotten, stickiness of another egg in the clutch.  Then that stickiness adhered her to her mother’s undersides.  I “lost” her for awhile until I realized she was stuck to her mother.  Detaching her was hard and she lost some tail feathers in the process.  If you have ever lost tail feathers, you know that these things don’t just grow in again right away.  It takes a certain amount of time for the next cycle of feathers to come on through.

Bare butt Frankie and mom Agnes

We’re going to have a funeral and wake for Frankie tonight (with cookies and tea if you want to come).  I’ll be interested to see what Francis comes up with to read for her eulogy.  She is going to work on it during writing time today.  Maybe I’ll post it tomorrow.

Rest in Peace Frankie.

Why can't I keep a barred rock on this farm?

2 Comments | In: Chickens Are Super Fabulous, Projects That I Do With My Clever Little Fingers | | #

This was given to me the other day by two women out walking.  It  says “Good gardening!” on the back.  I didn’t know the ladies, but I guess they go out walking with a bunch of these goat ribbons and then they hand them out when the mood strikes them.  It’s always nice to get approval.  I’ll take it.

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I’m repainting the basement floor… which is a stupid job if I ever heard of one.  First of all, the floor was just painted a year or so ago when the basement was remodeled.  Second, I didn’t care for how it came out then—the color is sort of muddy clay brown, which on clay looks good, but on our floor looks sort of shoddy.  I need to redo it anyway, at least in my studio section, as everything is up off the ground right now and I want to have it looking nice when visitors arrive next week.  If I am going to do something different, I need to redo the ENTIRE floor, which I don’t have time or energy to do.  That would involve essentially evacuating the basement.  Third, it shouldn’t have to be redone but needs touch-ups as the tape that attached paper to PROTECT the floor during the most recent remodeling work, PULLED up the paint.  Irony.  Fourth—I just feel like a big old dumby as I arranged babysitting to get the kids out of the house this morning to enable me to paint the floor.  Out the door they went, off to the zoo, thrilled out of their minds.  I too, thrilled out of my mind to be able to work in quiet, hopped down the stairs and grabbed the brushes, rollers and other painting supplies…. but wait.  Where is the paint?  Whoops.  Here I am ready to paint the floor.  But I have no paint.

Here is my conclusion:

• I am spending my time fixing something that shouldn’t need to be fixed.  Tape pulled up paint on a floor?
• I am spending my time fixing something with a product that didn’t work in the first place.  Tape pulled up paint on a floor?  Certainly don’t use the same paint the next time!
• I am spending my time fixing something that I didn’t love the first time around.  Really, shouldn’t I do something better the next time?  Oh no.  That would take too much time.  Instead I’m sure I will just have to repaint more of the floor next year.
• I’m going to go buy a gallon of something to fix a tiny space where a pint might do.  Now I will have another spare gallon to use up in the future… even though I don’t even like this color.

=  I suck.

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I had a nightmare the other night that all the marionberries had ripened and been picked already.  I was facing the prospect of actually buying jam ALL YEAR LONG.  It terrified me.

After two days of worry and trying to shake my residual fright, I decided to face my fear.  Even though there wasn’t time in the day at all, I dragged the two youngest kids out to Sauvie Island to see for myself.  (Francis is in bike camp this week).  We picked for an hour or so, but it was obvious that the berries will be in the field for another week or maybe even two.  Ahhh.  Sweet reprieve.  I am going to make it.  Midnight berry picking will not be necessary.  Life is kind sometimes.

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