Patches & Paws

My race, storified.

2012-01-31T09:16:00.000-06:00

More on the race later, but I Storified the whole thing...

See for yourself here. (Spoiler alert: I finished. And felt awesome.)

13.1

2012-01-25T15:08:00.003-06:00

It's been nearly a year since I first started running. It hasn't been easy. It hasn't always been fun. But somehow over the hundreds of miles, it's become an undeniable part of me.

I leave on Friday to go to Miami where, God willing, I'll finish my first half marathon. Last February, I couldn't run for more than a minute. This month, I toughed out an 11-miler when it was 9 degrees outside and five days later did sprints when it was a down-right frigid -8. Sunday, winding though the streets of a new and strange city, I hope to cover 13.1 miles before I collapse at the finish.

There's a lot to say about the journey. And a lot of stories to share. (Like the time a well-meaning colleague said I was aiming for distances beyond my ability. Or the first time I got scared about having to run for 20 whole minutes -- an inconceivable amount of time when you've just started. There was my first five miler, which left me so giddy I called my mom from the running path, still panting so much her first question to me was "What's wrong!?" And of course the 15K where I spent MILES dead freakin' last in a field of 20,000+ runners, which also happened to be the time I realize you cannot run and cry at the same time -- especially when police are yelling out you because you're going too slowly. But those are stories for another time.)

For now, as I pack my bags, I want to say this: It wouldn't have been possible without my friends.

From my friend who came over to keep me company during my first Couch to 5K workout ...
To my pals who ran with me in races and stood on the sidelines in freezing, raining and burning hot weather to cheer me on...
To the peeps who've listened to me endlessly prattle on about nothing but ridiculous details ...
To training partners who've become like family ...
And to the people at the table during carboloading dinners...

My friend's 5-year-old sent me this letter for good luck.

Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

I haven't said a lot on this blog lately, because sometimes it's hard to really process how much your life has changed when you're in the eye of the storm. But 30 pounds, three sports bras, two pairs of sneakers and one well-used stick of body glide later, I'm beginning to wrap my head around it.

So there you have it. As they say: Running changes everything.

Say a prayer for me on Sunday.

Love,
Noodles

P.S. If all goes according to plan, I'll be sharing details from the weekend on Twitter and under the #runnoodleesrun hashtag.

Ear Worms

2011-09-28T18:35:00.001-05:00

I'm still mulling over a super-introspective running post, so for the time being, I thought I'd let you listen to some of the songs I've been loving recently.

First up: Old Enough, by The Raconteurs, featuring Ricky Skaggs and Ashley Monroe:

Continuing the Ashley Monroe theme (don't you just love her old-timey voice?) here's the Pistol Annies singing Hell on Heels.

Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons:

And last, but God knows, not least: Alison Krauss & Union Station's Lie Awake, which is a track on their newest album. Which, P.S. you should listen to RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND.

Ferrous Wheel

2011-09-12T21:10:00.000-05:00

Image via ThinkGeek.com

How is it possible that I *don't* own this tshirt? ThinkGeek.com, I think I love you.

Sunshine

2011-09-05T19:54:00.000-05:00

This weekend Chicago was, in a word, succulent. Sunday was everything you'd want September to be: it was in the 60s and low 70s, sunny, breezy, virtually no humidity. Like I said, perfect.

My friend was visiting from St. Louis so we wound up downtown, walking along the water and visiting the Bean. Since this is not exactly shaping up to the most exciting blog post in the history of blogging, I figured I'd cut my losses now. And rather than continue gushing about how gorgeous it was, I'll just show you some photos.

Chicago's Burnham Harbor. Snapped on my cell phone.

The Bean.


Can you see us? Hint: I'm in black. She's in white.


More Bean, reflecting the area north of Millennium Park.


Aon Building, BCBS, and other bits of downtown Chicago.


Julie's photo of a bike.

Guest Post: Why I Run

2011-08-23T05:16:00.001-05:00

Today I'm super honored (and a wee bit nervous) to contribute a post to Jennifer Luitweiler's series Why I Run.

Jennifer is one of my biggest runner cheerleaders on The Twitter. For that I am both forever grateful and forever bummed that we aren't friends in real life.

If you like to run, or think you MIGHT like to run, you should check out her forthcoming book, Run With Me: An Accidental Runner and the Power of the Poo.

So please, click over to her blog and read my contribution. And know that I'll be over here sweating bullets while you do.

Liquid Awesome

2011-08-22T04:09:00.000-05:00

My wonderful friend Margaret surprised me at church today with a present. It's a lavender running shirt from One More Mile, which means it comes with a hearty side of fab.

I KNOW, RIGHT?!?!

I've been meaning to do a post on running gear (because isn't that exciting!? No? Oh.), but I thought I'd post pictures of my super-sassy awesome shirt and show you a few more of my favorites by One More Mile. (The first time I encountered this company, I saw a woman wearing one of their tanks that said: "This IS my race pace." After that, it was love at first sight. Seriously, check out their website and show them some love. This is not a paid endorsement, I just dig awesome.)

Dear God: Please let there be someone behind me to read this.

Who moved the finish line?

I know, I know. I'm almost there.

I'm not slow; I'm just getting my money's worth from the entry fee.


I thought they said "rum."

You can thank me now for making you look faster.

WTF! Where's the finish?

So tell me, is there anything sporty like this that entertains you? Any great slogans you love?

Speaking of....

2011-08-15T21:07:00.000-05:00

Speaking of books, the super-awesome Nicole over at Nicole is Better just posted about her experience plowing through the entire Harry Potter series (for the first time) in the last two weeks.

An excerpt from her post:

The upside of this is that Harry Potter makes your heart feel good. The downside is that you’ll quickly realize how boring your stupid ordinary life is, and you’ll be very sad when the books are over and no one around you is making cars fly or spontaneously morphing into a dog. See also: cooking dinner by bewitching knives to chop the ingredients, disappearing from one place and immediately appearing in another, regrowing broken bones, and fighting dragons. Nothing gives you street cred like fighting a fucking dragon.

Damn, I have a girl-crush on her. Anyway. Read it. Remember the books. Peace out.

Turning pages

2011-08-14T18:09:00.000-05:00

A brief selection of my summer reading.

Last week, I found myself splayed on the sofa one afternoon after work, windows open, dog barking, house a mess, and run sidelined for the afternoon. Why? I was finishing a book. And I refused to put it down until I was done.

Ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you I'm a year-round book geek. But there's just something about summer and endless reading that goes together like peanut butter and jelly. (Milk and chocolate? My credit card and a shoe store?)

I've made heavy use of the Chicago Public Library's book request service this summer, plowing my way through more than a dozen books since the end of May. I won't pretend I'm reading super-intellectual books, But after a semester at seminary, I decided to sideline the deep stuff and bury my nose in Jodi Picoult, Anne Brashares, Jennifer Weiner and Sara Gruen. I've also tried to knock off a fair share of YA books (word to Maureen Johnson!), Tina Fey's autobiography, and some nonfiction thrown in, too.

So that's what I've been reading. What about you? Do you dive into a certain type of books in the summer? Or is it a 12-months-a-year affair? Anything you're dying to recommend?

The Least Amish Amish Craft Fair In History

2011-08-10T05:06:00.000-05:00

I found myself in Indiana's Amish country this past weekend and on my way back to Chicago I took a side trip to Napanee, Ind. That's how I wound up at Amish Acres, a sort of Colonial Williamsburg knockoff of the Amish variety. Except, you know, without any actual Amish on site.

They happened to be having an arts and craft festival that featured some truly hideous things. (One guy was selling carved wooden signs that said "Tequila makes my clothes fall off." Like I said, TOTALLY. NOT. AMISH.) But amidst the calico and spice dips and rag quilts (side bar: rag quilts? No. Just no.) there were some cool pieces of folk art.

And thus, I present to you, a selection of the non-heinous items at The World's least Amish Amish Arts & Craft Festival.


Spoon art.

Carved wood gnomes. GNOMES, PEOPLE!

There were lots of letter pictures.

I'm bummed I lost this artist's card, but her mixed-media work was cool

A dala horse.

Reclaimed metal turkey! Gobble.

Reclaimed metal flowers. I ALMOST bought one.

This was the most Amish thing there.

A pageland eulogy.

2011-08-09T17:36:00.001-05:00

Thanks to my editing gig, I don't write much for work these days. So when I was asked to write an essay about the end of the 200-year-old U.S. House of Representatives Page Program, I jumped at the chance. (I also almost yakked before the thing got posted, but that's another story.)

Here's my short piece on the year I spent as a high school junior living and working on Capitol Hill and how it changed my life.

Enjoy.

- Noodles, whose cover is officially blown by posting a link to something with my name on it. But that's OK.

Overexposed.

2011-08-02T08:13:00.000-05:00

I've been braving the fully manual setting on my camera this summer. It's been an adventure. In not all awesome ways. But sometimes, your dumb mistakes turn out to look sorta cool. Witness: my peony. Mayhaps there's a metaphor in there somewhere.

So tell me, what are you working on this summer?

Unitedish States of ... Something

2011-08-02T04:41:00.002-05:00

As viewed by hipsters:

Created by HaleyForEtsy

As viewed by New Yorkers:

Via Funny or Die

Click to enlarge. (That's what she said.)

AmazingAwesomeTasticFabuRificness

2011-08-01T19:15:00.001-05:00

The Popster is whiz in the kitchen, so I know that when I get an e-mail from him about a new and easy recipe he's whipped up, there's an above-average chance it'll be awesome. And, true to form, his latest concoction didn't disappoint. In fact, it was so good that I made it twice in one weekend. (You know, for research. And because it takes about 10 minutes to make.)

I offered to let him name the recipe before I blogged about it. He demurred. So as punishment, I'm calling this Dad's Speedy Summer Corn Niblets and he'll have to deal with the fact that his internet infamy comes with a stupid name. (You're welcome, pops. Next time, come up with a title.)

Depending on whether you're making this as a main item or a side, this recipe serves about 1 as a large-sized main dish and 2 as a generous side. It's super easy and delicious. Do not expect left overs. If you want to make a larger batch, figure you'll want about two ears of corn per person.

And please, for the love of God and all that is holy, do not buy bland grocery store corn for this recipe. (Do not even think about buying, shudder, frozen corn. No. Just no.) This dish is ALL about highlighting the super sweetness of fresh summer corn. Run, do not walk, to your local farmer's market or farm stand to buy your corn. (And while you're there, pick up some bell peppers and shallots. Your tummy and your local farmer will thank you.)

Ingredient list:
3 ears of local, farm-fresh corn
1 fresh bell pepper, any color (or, hell, mix and match. Go wild.)
1-2 shallots (I used two, but I like shallots.)
1 clove garlic, the bigger the better. (This is optional. If you are a vampire, do not add garlic.)
Tabasco sauce (several shakes)
Worcestershire sauce (several shakes)
Olive oil (I used grape seed because it was all I had.)

First things first, get everything out. Look at that pretty produce I picked up fresh from Chicago's Green City Market.


The ingredients.

Next, you're going to shuck the corn and cut off the kernels from the cob with a chef's knife and put them in a bowl. Do not cut your finger. Trust me.

Corn, removed from the cob.

While you're cutting things, dice up a sweet pepper and your shallots. Put the pepper in with the corn. Throw your shallots and your garlic in a saute pan with some oil and saute.


Shallots and garlic, sweating in oil.

Once your shallots are getting clearish, dump in your corn and peppers. Stir on medium-high heat for 2 or 3 minutes. Inhale the sweet smell.


The corn mix.

Next, it's time for spice. Add a few splashes of Tabasco (or in this case, my ~~generic~~ awesome Louisiana hot sauce.) Then two or three shakes of Worchestershire. Mix together and then continue to saute until corn and peppers are cooked, but still crispish. (Another minute or so.)


Mmmmm. Spicy.

Serve, and voila!I ate the whole damn thing for dinner and was one happy camper.

Voila! Bon Appetite.

Say it with me, people: Thanks, Dad!

These things made me giggle.

2011-07-28T04:29:00.002-05:00

Random selection of my nerd humor, courtesy of one of my pinterest boards. You're welcome.

This is a post about an ironing board.

2011-07-26T04:41:00.001-05:00

Do not let the title of this post fool you. This is not a euphemism. This post really is about an ironing board. Specifically, this ironing board. Perhaps you'll agree with me that it has seen better days. (Note: All photos shot and edited on my iPhone because I was too lazy to do anything else.)

It's not just that this ironing board is The Ugliest Ironing Board in the History of Ironing Boards. It's that this particular ironing board has also lost a chunk of its padding, making it a shitty ironing board to try to use for its intended ironing purpose. (It's still great at holding groceries, fabric, books and laundry.) Adding insult to ironing injury: my condo is roughly the size of a shoe box. Add that to the fact that I keep my ironing board out a lot because, as anyone who has a sewing habit can tell you, you use your iron a damn lot when your sewing machine is going. Also: I am too lazy to put it back.

All this is to say that the World's Ugliest Ironing Board has been spending a lot of time front and center in my living room. Say it with me: BARF.

I keep thinking I'll sew a new cover. I don't. I keep looking at covers when I see the in the store and almost buy them. But they're too old-lady/paisley/vomit-colored. So I don't.

But on Friday, I found myself clicking through Etsy. Ten minutes and $33 later, I had a new ironing board pad and cover winging their way to me from this super-fabulous store.

For the curious, I disassembled my old cover/pad and discovered this disturbing-looking, totally flattened, and sorta crumbling bit o' foam underneath. It was sad.

Yes. Totally time for an upgrade. Here's the new pad in its bag. For the curious (com'n, nerd out with me), the pad is quilted and teflon-coated. This means it reflects heat, which is kick-ass when you're ironing.

Here's the cover. It's Joel Dewberry's Modern Meadow Sunflower.

Here's an extremely phallic-looking shot of the ironing board with its new pad. Sorta like a quilted space-like uber Trojan, no?

And finally, voila: here 'tis. The finished product. (Try to ignore the shit storm of clutter around it. If I was too lazy to use my real camera, you've GOT to believe I was too lazy to tidy up.)

So there you have it: Six photos and 400 words on my new ironing board cover. And one dick joke thrown in for good measure. (You're welcome.) (That's what she said.)

In which I make a to-do list

2011-07-25T05:00:00.001-05:00

My I-Want-To-Make-This-Awesome-Thing-Right-Now list is getting bitch-ass long. (Yes, I used bitch-ass. Your point?)

Anywho, since I am spending more time thinking of things I want to make instead of finishing the projects I have to do (I'm looking at your quilt back, Modern Gal.) I thought I'd show you some things on my crafty to-do list.

I want to make this super-awesome quilt using Anna Maria Horner's latest fabric line, Loulouthi. I like that the big blocks show off the big patterns, and mean that the quilt wouldn't take very long to put together. (I like to plow through projects, not spend years on them. I am all about crafty instant gratification.)

(Photo by Pins & Bobbins; Pattern by Stitched in Color.)

This awesome needlepoint pattern. Keep in mind, I don't needlepoint. But I grew up watching my mom do it and I've been dying to learn and this kit by Modern Needleworks has me drooling, in large part because nothing about it says grandma. And because it's a full kit that has the pattern painted on the canvas. I may be a math nerd at the office, but I refuse to stitch things that require me to count to recreate a pattern. (I'm looking at you Counted Cross Stitch.)

A version of this pillow by The Rebel Homemaker, with warmer colors in the panels.

Anything that could even come, maybe, possibly, sorta close to look as awesome as this stitching by Prints Charming.

And, last but certainly not least, this kick-ass crewel sampler made by Alicia Paulson. The practical among you will point out that I don't know how to do crewel. I will grit my teeth and stomp my feet and say, so?!? And then figure out how to learn.

So that's some of what I've been drooling over. What are you and your fingers itching to get into?

Foodgasms and farmers' markets

2011-07-24T15:29:00.005-05:00

You would think that after five years in Chicago, I would have -- at some point -- made my way to the Green City Market. Well, er, oopsies. Better late than never, no?

For those non-Chicagoans, GCM is a farmers' market that sells all local, sustainably grown food from farms in Illinois, Indiana, Michigan and Wisconsin. Everything is delicious and in season. And is like foodgasm central. Also, they sell a lot of kale.

$35 in organic produce later (including, for the curious, at least two varieties of kale and one bag of quickly consumed cheese curds.), I had to stop buying things and start taking pictures of them to at least keep my budget from full-on imploding.

But serious, y'all. Look at this food porn! If you're trapped in the city, this is just about heaven.

The last two shots were taken in my living room while I was cooking up a great sweet corn side dish. If you play nice, I'll pass along the recipe.

Over and out. I gotta go eat.

It is hot.

2011-07-21T14:15:00.002-05:00

So naturally, this was my dinner last night.

Totally reasonable on Chicago's first 100-degree day in six years, right? RIGHT!?

So much to say. So much to say.

2011-07-20T14:41:00.003-05:00

"The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated." - Mark Twain

Yes. I started a post with a quote. I'm that uncreative girl. Sue me.

Surliness aside, I thought I'd pop back to these parts to say hello and dispel any rumors (among the four of you who read this blog) that I've vanished. In fact, here I am! In all my saucy glory, alive and kicking.

Here's a much-abbreviated, much-forgotten summary of the past many months.

_ I started running. Yes. Me. And not like that last time, either. In fact, dare I say, I've become a wanna-be Sporty Spice since last we left this space. I started in February, doing the Couch to 5K program. I was running for 60 seconds at a time my first week, with the goal of doing a 5K by my 30th birthday in May. Somehow, some way, the process clicked and for the first time, I actually started to get the hang of it. I rocked the 5K with the help of some fabulous girlfriends who ran alongside me as part of the b-day celebration. (Sadly, I opted to leave a birthday tiara at home.) And after that, I kept going. And this Sunday, I shocked just about everyone (and most especially myself) and ran my first-ever 10K, running every freakin' step of the 6.2 miles. Craziest of all is that I knew after the hard run, I'd need to take a few days off to recover and I'm already antsy to get back out there. Say it with me: WTF.

_ I got to see The Modern Gal get hitched to her super awesome Modern Mister, who is technically known as The Modern Love Machine, but don't you just like Modern Mister better? As one would expect from someone with The Modern Moniker, her wedding was super fun and super chill and all around awesome, despite the crazy Memphis heat and the fact that one of the photographers had to go to the hospital to get stitches the morning of the wedding after getting thwacked in the head while shooting the guys playing disc golf. Unlike other weddings I've been to, where it's obvious people are trying too hard or trying to fit themselves into very specific boxes of what they think The Perfect Wedding should be, The Modern Matrimony (or, Modtrimony as we called it on Twitter) was completely authentic to this couple. It was a lovely, refreshing change.

_ I went to DC to hang out with my peeps. It was our annual reunion. We ate lots of crabs.

_ I turned 30. And celebrated by the aforementioned 5K, which was followed by karaoke. I have yet to have an Oh-My-God-I'm-30 Crisis. I take this as a good sign that this decade is going to kick ass.

_ I've sewed. A lot. And embroidered. And stuff.

_ I spent far too much money on stuff.

_ I read many awesome books.

_ I took a seminary class. And decided I should not, not NOT go to seminary. What was I thinking?

_ Despite all that, I made a new Chicago BFF, who of course is leaving in several short weeks for a new adventure in New Jersey where she's off to ... wait for it ... seminary. Follow her adventures here. And note I'm already lobbying for inclusion as a sermon anecdote sometime in the future.

_ I developed an unhealthy obsession with banana pudding. Please, if you're in Chicago, make me some.

_ Oh, and three days after my last post it snowed buckets and buckets and buckets. Today's 98 degrees.

There you go. You've been caught up on the past five months. Or something.

Feel better? Me, too.

Nesting doll(s)

2011-01-30T13:22:00.004-06:00

I can't stop embroidering. Or wanting to make pillows. Luckily, the two seem to go together. (Well, they go together if you're a crafty freak.)

A few weekends ago, I stitched this super-cute Russian nesting doll, using a pattern from Sublime Stitching.

Looks adorable, no?

I started adding sashing when my machine crapped out on me. (Apparently, one cannot sew quilts for two years and not have the insides cleaned. Note to self.) It's since been repaired, but here's the work-in-progress. The fabric on the left will be the backing.

Gorgeous

2011-01-27T14:03:00.002-06:00

My current brain worm.

Doesn't this line just give you chills? "And promise not to promise any more." Sigh. Perfect winter song.

Pillowy Pillows

2011-01-24T17:52:00.002-06:00

Because I'm me (and by "me," I mean, strange) the highlight of my staycation was finally getting around to some of those lingering projects. (And by "lingering projects" I mean sewing, which is why the burned-out lightbulbs in the impossible-to-remove light fixture are still dark.)

Anywho, this brings me to these pillows that I recovered, using my stash of Anna Maria Horner's Little Folks voile. I used the dobby yellow print as the center and did some simple piecing with two other fabrics around it. Because the voile is so sheer, I added a layer of fabric stabilizer to the back.

I used some Little Folks flannel on the back and, inspired by some sewing I did with The Modern Gal the weekend before, made a simple envelope enclosure on the back.

I did two pillows before my sewing machine crapped out on me (a story for another time), but I love how they turned out. Simple and sweet, and perfect for my living room.

On books and tree rings.

2011-01-22T13:48:00.004-06:00

I’ve spent the past few days puttering around my condo during staycation. Staycation during the winter means you don’t really LEAVE the house. (Have I mentioned I love staycation? You can stay in jammies for days, people. DAYS.)

The pragmatic side of me knew I had to use this time to organize, which is how I found myself spending a good solid hour tidying my book shelves. Before you fall over the fact that I spent a full-on 60 minutes playing with books floor-to-ceiling shelves, you need to know that at my core I’m a word nerd who’s never once been without a library card or a list of books to read. (Sidebar of a true story: I was such a delinquent book returner in my youth that in kindergarten my mother gave me a lecture about my overdue books, telling me that one day, if I continued my wayward habits, they’d destroy my credit rating. Take this time to imagine the blank stare a pig-tailed six-year-old gives to someone after this lecture.)

But I digress.

While I was moving shelves, sorting books, dusting and declutterring, I realized that in a way my bookshelves tell the story of my life. From photography to progressive theology, bookshelves are like tree rings that tell a story of a tree and its environment. There’s my entire collection of Paulo Coelho’s works translated in English, which I managed to accumulate after a friend gave me The Alchemist as a college graduation gift. There’s my father’s old photography books, that he gave me to me when I got my hands of my first SLR. There’s some of my favorite children's books, both from when I was kid (hello, Misty of Chincoteague) and some I’ve picked up along the way because I wanted to have them on my shelves. (Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.) There’s vintage sewing books, feminist theory, Irish literature and some American poetry anthologies. There’s the Jodi Picoult I love to read on vacation along with books on yoga, journalism, politics, public health and tons of fiction that I just haven’t been able to part with over the years. (I have a rule that book collection cannot expand beyond the confines of the shelves that hold them, so I always prune a few times a year.)

There was a New York Times essay a few years ago that talked about how bookshelves can be used to judge a perspective date. It was snarky and sometimes snotty, but at its core is this pretty important truth that we are what we read. Or, maybe it’s that we read what we are.

I guess for me, the books I hold on to after sending off a pile to Goodwill are the books that sort of mark the stages of my life.

What do you think?

2011-01-13T18:12:00.003-06:00

I'm playing with Aimee Ray's Doodle Stitch Along on Flickr. Here's my pretty-basic version of the assignment.

Embroidered Christmas.

2011-01-10T16:40:00.005-06:00

I've come a long way since my sock puppet days. (Although, I believe such maturity probably comes along with, you know, being legally able to drive, vote, drink, lose my 401(k) during a particularly bad day in the market...)

Anyway, even though it's after Christmas AND after Epiphany, which means I'm all kinds of late, I thought I'd show off some pictures of some little handmade gifty things I made for the holidays. I forgot to take pictures of some Christmas tea towels I whipped up for my family, but I did snap some pictures of Christmas ornaments I made as hostess gifts.

For the curious, I just downloaded a fun font, then traced it onto the fabric and stitched from there.

Then, since I couldn't stop embroidering, I made this awesome sexy librarian pillow for my badass librarian friend. I used a Sublime Stitching pattern and just did some basic piecing of fabric around the border.

And then, since I STILL couldn't stop embroidering, I made this pillow for me.

Portrait of a young artist

2011-01-10T16:34:00.005-06:00

When I went home for Christmas, my mother dug up a little treasure to remind me that I've always been a wee bit crafty. Or, at least, had ambitions about being crafty. Or was simply a deranged child.

Witness: The puppet I "made" one day when I was in kindergarten. You'll note that in this case, "made" means attached-yarn-to-a-sock-with-lots-and-lots-and-lots-of-tape.

Keep in mind, this wasn't a class project. This was me. One day on a weekend. (Apparently sock puppets are what happens when you're an only child in rural Maryland. Except not the kind that lend themselves to puppetting because you forget to create a face that allows for the hand to bend. My puppet could only look shocked and move her head left to right.)

I think the lace trim at the bottom of the sock shows a certain finesse well beyond my years.

I would like to note, however, that the fact that almost 25 years later, the yarn and tape are still firmly attached. Solid craftsmanship, eh?

Craft Porn.

2011-01-01T09:25:00.003-06:00

Ok, ok. It's not porn. Hold your horses.

Instead, this is a super-awesome compilation of 100 of the best crafty-type tutorials posted in 2010 from around the interwebs. If you're a reader of the big craft blogs, you'll have already seen some of these, but others were new to me. And, of course, totally drool-worthy.

Big props to The Long Thread, which has been compiling its annual Top 100 list for three years now.

Happy crafting.

Need some help?

2010-12-31T08:42:00.002-06:00

Still not sure on what your word of the year should be? Christine Kane just put up a cool "discovery tool" to help you figure it out. It's free to download, here.

In which I stretch.

2010-12-29T18:27:00.004-06:00

Stretch. That's it. That's my word for 2011.

I love the literal and figurative idea of stretching. It's about reaching, pushing, and sometimes pushing through. It's about moving beyond where you are and going some place that might not feel too comfortable at first.

I want to stretch beyond who I am, which, admittedly, is someone who sometimes feels like she's prone to staying in a bit of a holding pattern. I want to push myself to try new things and learn more and generally be comfortable in a place where I might be uncomfortable. It's not about radical change, it's just about becoming more limber -- bit by bit.

For the curious: I'll take a big stretchy step in February when I take my first grad school class in spirituality at McCormick Theological Seminary. (Full disclosure: I'm auditing it, so it's not the world's biggest thing, but stretching is about baby steps!) Another one will follow in the coming weeks when I start lending a hand at my local quilt store on Saturdays.

Literally, stretch is also about committing more to yoga. I'm still sweaty from this afternoon's class (where, by the way, I rocked out the wheel pose), and I'm hoping to make it to at least one of two special workshops being held at my studio this week. One is on New Year's Eve and the other is bright and early(ish) New Year's Day. I like the idea of starting 2011 by fully embracing at least one form of the stretch plan.

Meanwhile, as I wrap up The Sparkle Initiative, I've also been thinking about way to commemorate a the year. I think I've settled on this, with a bit of tweaking.

I've been loving reading about your words of the year. (And, of course, all the posts on Christine Kane's blog where people explain what they choose and why.) Keep 'em coming.

Peace out.

Image via: Elizabeth-Mae Swenson

Word of the Year.

2010-12-28T18:15:00.003-06:00

Last year, I decided to follow the footsteps of the inestimable Christine Kane and choose a word of the year as a way to set a personal intention for the next 12 months. After some wrangling, I went with "sparkle." (For background on the WOTY, click here. Or, better yet, click on over to her blog and see the other words people have chosen and why.)

Eleven months and 27-ish days later, I think I gave it admirable effort. There were moments of radiance and some definite moments of ... well, not. But like I said here, my goal with sparkle was simple.

"I feel like sparkle just ... fits. Everywhere. It encompasses so many of the areas of my life I'd like to improve. It's a reminder of how to behave. What kind of result I should seek from my actions. How to treat others. And how to be."

Now it's almost 2011 (gasp, wasn't it August like 3 seconds ago?) and I've got to come up with another word. And, of course, so do you. So if you played along last year -- or want to get in on the action, it's not too late to pick a word that defines your intention for the year.

Think about it. Feel free to post your word and your rationale below and on your own blog. And let me know how you did on your word for 2010. When I pick my word, I'll put up a post here. And, like last year, I'm happy to make little photographic presents for you guys to help carry you and your word through the year.

Happy thinking.

Lots of love,
Your Sparkler.

And to all a good night.

2010-12-24T19:37:00.004-06:00

I know it's been quite around these parts, but live in my world certainly hasn't. I hope to return to being blogtastic in the new year. Until then, I offer you this lovely video of Jesse the Wonder Dog, decorating a tree. Because, really, there are few things more cute than a terrier, no?

Merry Christmas. May yours be warm, merry and bright.

Made to kick some ass.

2010-11-15T09:37:00.002-06:00

There's a great blog post up on Jezebel about body image, weight loss, healthy, lady mags and society that is so amazing it just begs to be shared.

As someone who's struggled with weight and body image for the better part of my life, and is now trying to accept that it's not about how look, but I feel, I love the idea that exercise and eating right isn't about conforming to some size-six ideal that we think we should be. (Because, er, size six ain't never gonna happen with these hips.) Instead, it's about growing strong, and being strong, so we can do the things we love. Regardless of our size.

This paragraph is just full of awesomeness:

Your body was made for so much more than being looked at, deprived of food, and enjoyed by others. Your body was made for kicking some ass.

And so is this part:

Physical fitness doesn't have to be about anyone else but you or about anything else but becoming stronger. It's time we stopped associated exercise with a form of conformity and surrender, because do so is to deprive yourself of the potential that your body offers you.

And this part:

Maybe we should stop letting those things dictate how we see our bodies and start seeing our bodies as instruments of power rather than smorgasbords for others to feast on. Your body isn't a passive painting or a photograph, your body is a tool.

I think that's one of the many reasons why I'm loving yoga. I took a beginners' workshop this summer and have been going at least once a week, almost every week, since June. I'm not the most bendy person in my class, in fact, I'm far from it. But I love the way I feel when I'm doing it. And I love that I can feel myself growing stronger each week, holding tree pose higher or longer than I have, making my way -- wobbly arms and all -- through side plank.

So, amen to Morning Gloria for her post. And here's to all of us being strong. And kick ass.

Soupapalooza

2010-10-23T19:24:00.002-05:00

Hello, blog peeps. Fast question:

What's your favorite soup recipe? May I have a copy?

(More explanation to come later.)

Lots of love (and soup),

Noodles

A little help from my friend. (Or, my new goal.)

2010-10-23T09:44:00.002-05:00

Ahem, ahem. Attention. Is this thing on? I just wanted to let everyone know that I now, officially, have a new goal in life. What is it you ask? World peace? A cure for AIDS? A business model that finally makes newspapers profitable again?

Hahahaha. Of course not. My new goal: To get the Macy Mutt to take over all chore-related duties at home.

Hahaha, you say. IMPOSSIBLE. There's a little thing called opposable thumbs standing in between you and your goal, Noodles.

Pawshaw, I say. Just watch.

Love. Love. Love.

2010-10-19T15:13:00.002-05:00

Written by Katie at Y our Courageous Life and posted on Kind Over Matter.

Awesome sentiment, don't you think?

Christmas Quilt. Redux.

2010-10-18T19:50:00.004-05:00

I started working on this in August. Got sidetracked by life. Picked it up again briefly in September for a few days. Got sidetracked by life. Blogged about it. Got sidetracked by life. And finally just sat down for five hours this weekend to piece the top quilt together.

I'm planning to back it with a thin teal fleece while quilting it with a warm red thread. Here's a few pictures of the quilt, outside my church on Sunday morning.

The pattern, in case you're curious, is an improvised In and Out quilt by Blue Underground Studios. I added sashing (the white bits on the side) and tweaked the dimensions. I'm still debating the best way to quilt it.

Thoughts?

P.S. One of the cool things about the original quilt pattern is that it was inspired by Chicago's urban architecture. It's a reflection of the windows in downtown building. Click on the "in and out" link above to visualize.

Summer fades to fall.

2010-09-22T17:15:00.004-05:00

The leaves are changing. I smell fireplaces burning at the huge houses down the street. The air is crisp. (So what if it was 80-something yesterday?) It's fall in Chicago. And fall is, by far, my favorite season. Sure, sure it's my best wardrobe. And who doesn't love the return of boots and sweaters? But I love the circle of life that comes with fall. I love the idea that just like leaves, we shed the things we've outgrown and no longer need, take time to hunker down and be and rejuvenate, and then bloom, renewed when we're ready to shine. It's corny, I know. But to me, fall is powerful. It's always been.

Of course, in Chicago fall lasts approximately 3 weeks before winter sets in. (Truth: my first year here I was at work and got sent out to cover an Oprah taping with Bono on Michigan Ave. for the kick off of Project Red. It was Oct. 6. And it snowed while we were waiting in a scrum outside the Gap.) So when it's this gorgeous weather in between the stiffling heat of summer and the too-cool-to-sleep-with-the-windows-open of late fall and the early hints of winter, one of the single purposes of my life in the Windy City is to be outside.

Which is why I found myself in Oak Park three weeks ago hanging with some of my best friends in the world, cooking out, sipping wine, letting the puppies go nuts and basking in the awesomeness of the changing seasons.

Here are some pictures of a simple-yet-lovely afternoon.

And so my bloggy peeps, what about you? Is it fall in your world yet? What do you do as the temperature changes? What do you love about the season?

Fa-la-la-la-laing

2010-09-20T17:48:00.004-05:00

My calendar says September. My mind is on late December and the Christmas holidays. The season sneaks up so quickly, especially when I have the comical idea in my head (and with the best of intentions) that I'm going to try to do handmade gifts for my best girlfriends.

So what am I doing right this very moment? (I mean, other than typing this blog, smartass? Don't make me come over there.) Making up my holiday shopping list. Relatives, 'rents, girlfriends, and church friends are going on there and everything from fresh-baked bread and cookies to something Amy Butlery and AWESOME are on my list.

Of course, I'm me. So I'm freaking out about how I'll get everything done in time. And budgeted accordingly. But, whatever. I LOVE the holidays. I love the smell of the kitchen and the way my condo smells when I come home to my fresh(ish)-cut tree. I love the colors. The smiles. I love the time together with the people I love the most. I love caroling on the church porch. I even like the snow and the cheesy animatronic window displays at ~~Marshall Field's~~ Macy's.

Mmmmmmmmm.

So before I get it in my head that I'm going to bake some sugar cookies RIGHT! THIS! SECOND!, I thought I'd ask where you are in your Christmas planning? Are you one of those obnoxious people who's done by July? Are you a Christmas Eve at the mall type person? Handmade? Latest gadgets?

Scene from my life.

2010-09-15T18:48:00.009-05:00

Who: Me and my across-the-country co-worker bff.
What: A scene from my life. Or, why you should never get between me and my coffee fix.
When: Today, roughly 2 p.m.
Where: My desk.
Why: Because I'm an asshole.
How: IM conversation.

And, scene!

Me: So, I know I'm trying to be all mindful and not material and shit, but the effing coffee shop didn't give me my double-tall, extra-hot, non-fat latte.
Me: Instead, I just walked back to my desk and found out that all I got a regular Chai.
Me: Fuckers.
Her: So you're being the opposite.
Me: Yes. And I want my latte back. I'm bitter.

....
(At this point, we veer off topic. And I continue my amazement/bafflement/ashamed-at-my-own-materialism rant after discovering our church's young adult volunteer and his five housemates live on a $550 monthly household food/toiletry budget and they each get $100/month to cover ALL their incidental expenses. While living in Chicago. Then we talk about her two friends who've been laid off. Then we feel shitty. And grateful for what we have.)
...

Her: We really are lucky. This isn't shit to complain about.
Me: I know. But I'd be EVEN LUCKIER if I had the caffeine I needed.

This is why I'm an asshole. A tired, uncaffeinated asshole.

Fancy pants.

2010-09-15T06:39:00.001-05:00

Discussion time.

My big summer accomplishment, other than not killing myself while hiking in Hawaii, was getting into yoga. I'm loving the practice, even though I have to remind myself that it is about the discipline of practice not perfection. While I go to a super low-key, not pretentious studio, I can't help but notice that practically every chick in the freakin' room has a Lululemon logo some on the back of her pants. Or on her top. Or both. Or sometimes on other items, too.

Which brings me to this question. As these pants really so magic as to justify their roughly $100 price tag? Because, I've gotta say .... Unless they're going to clean my house, walk my dog in the snow, do my dishes and pour me a cocktail as I walk in the door at the end of the day, I'm not entirely sure why I need $108 stretchy pants. Even if they *DO* make my ass look magic. (Especially when my $20 pair of Nike pants that I bought at Nordstrom Rack appear to be doing just fine. Thank you very much.)

And so, I offer this up to you. Beyond their trendiness and the cachet that comes with wearing that Lululemon curlicque logo, what's the deal? Worth the price? Are they made by magical yogic elves? Or do we just love their super-awesome bags so much that we need to buy the pants to justify carting our lunch around with their fancy-pants logo?

Operators are standing by.

WHEEE

2010-09-14T22:17:00.002-05:00

Thanks to my love of my DVR, and the fact that I haven't regularly watched live TV in probably three years, I'm way out of the loop when it comes to commercials. Like... waaaaaaaay out of the loop. Which explains why when a coworker showed me this video at the office this week, I about peed my pants.

For the record, I hate to be the dumbass who sends some link that everyone saw three months ago. But at the risk of being that person, OMG. WATCH. THIS.

You are welcome.

Christmas. In September.

2010-09-14T06:46:00.000-05:00

Sometime in late August I was standing in my ~~dining nook~~ sewing room wearing thread-covered yoga pants and a ratty sport bra, hair askew, while I was sweating like I'd just finished a bikram class. I was plowing my way through a bottle of wine and slicing Christmas fabric (yes, Christmas fabric. Bite me.) while the mutt princess stared at me.

At that moment a single thought flashed in my head: this, right here, is why I'm single.

Relationship woes aside (and, for record, that moment was sort of perfect. Or would have been if it involved a better cutting table and some cheese. Preferably brie. Or gouda. Or really, anything. I'm not picky when it comes to my favorite food group.), I'm plowing my way through a Christmas quilt. Because, what says ~~August~~ September -- like sleighbells and shit?

Here's a sneak peak.

P.S. If someone hasn't already, I'm declaring turquoise as a Christmas color. Don't even try to disagree with me.

Me. With jazz hands.

2010-09-13T21:27:00.004-05:00

There's a lot brewing in my world right now. And so I thought I could best illustrate how I feel with the help of one Laura Bell Bundy as the inestimable Elle Woods.

The most prominent change is a probably a new job at my company. I'm super psyched, even though it comes with pre-dawn work hours. (Also, since I am eternal cynic, I should offer the caveat that it's still early, but so far all systems are go.)

So that's me. What's up in your world?

A prayer for peace.

2010-09-12T16:17:00.004-05:00

I mistakenly thought it was my turn to offer a prayer for peace during today's church service. So I spent a bit of time last night trying to put pen to paper (or in this case, fingers to keys) to come up with something to say about the topic. Given the past events of the week, I wasn't exactly lacking material.

Since it's an ungiven prayer, I thought I'd offer it up here. (Apologies if prayers aren't your thing.)

God, if ever there was a time to pray for peace, it’s now.

We’re too easily swayed by voices that seek to divide us. The news this week has been filled with daily reminders that all too often our society defaults to hatred and separation, instead of remembering Jesus’ mandate of love and radical inclusion.

We are too eager to separate ourselves. Us and them. The haves and the have nots. The right. And the unrighteous.

And so today, we ask you to help us remember the importance of peace -- in all its forms. Within ourselves, in our homes, our communities, between orientations and nations, races and religions.

The Psalmists remind us that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. So we ask you today to help us honor that gift, and make sure peace stays with us during every step we take, filling our hearts and our minds as we walk in this world.

Amen.

Please pass the peace to your neighbor.

Exercise pains

2010-09-11T19:58:00.003-05:00

Visual representation of me. While exercising. Complete with Rocky music.

(Via gawker.)

Underpants conundrum.

2010-09-10T08:36:00.001-05:00

Unless you're one of those twig girls (at which point, there's an above average chance that we are not friends unless you are fabulously cool), you've had this great Bridget Jones-type dilemma.

You have a date. You're getting dressed. Do you choose the underwear that makes your outfit look good, or that looks good when you're out of your outfit? (In case my mom is reading, er, this is something I have NO EXPERIENCE WITH. WHATSOEVER. Or something.)

I tried to find the clip from the movie where Bridget wrestles with granny panties or a black thong, but the Interwebs didn't want to to cooperate. But I'm going out on a limb to say you get the dilemma.

All of this is a set up for this fab totally-humiliating-because-we've-been-there blog post about forgetting about Spanx. In it Vanessa raises a fairly interesting question after getting caught with her spanx on:

This makes me wonder what guys really think about our undergarment arsenal of
push up bras, chicken cutlets, wired and boned full-body contraptions that make us
look oh-so-much better.

So, riddle me this, peeps. What DO you think? Been there? Got a story? Does it even matter?

Discuss away.

Books to live by.

2010-09-09T21:10:00.005-05:00

I'm a word nerd. A book addict. A bibliophile. But there's one book that I will always and forever (and once more, just for feeling) give people as a gift.

It's The Alchemist by the amazing Brazilian author Paulo Coelho.

It's not my favorite book by him. (That honor goes to Veronika Decides to Die.) But I can't help but feel like it's one of those books that sticks with you and finds a way of being pulled off your shelf when you need it the most. The ideas of following a journey, personal legends and the decisions that come with marching through life _ not just as a passive participant but as an actor _ are just so, so poignant. And powerful.

Some of my favorite quotes come from this book:

"When you want something, all the world conspires in helping you to achieve it."

"He had worked for an entire year to make a dream come true, and that dream, minute by minute, was becoming less important. Maybe because that wasn't really his dream."

"We are afraid of losing what we have, whether it's our life or our possessions and property. But this fear evaporates when we understand that our life stories and the history of the world were written by the same hand."

"Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself."

I love this book so much I made my friend Sebastian, who is currently kicking it in New York City for a few weeks, buy it immediately. Or else face bodily harm.

As you can see from this picture he sent me today, he wisely obliged.

So, tell me my dear blog peeps... What about you? What's your favorite book to give people? Why?

Intolerance.

2010-09-08T20:34:00.004-05:00

Because I can't stop hitting "publish post" tonight... (It may be the wine.)

And because I can't get certain news stories out of my head ... (It may be the job.)

And because I think this is worthy of some good debate... (It may be the Presbyterian polity wonk in me.)

I'll pose this question that I'm currently wrestling with. (And yes, I know I ended my sentence with a preposition. Shut up.)

Am I allowed to be intolerant of intolerance? Because I am, but then I feel hypocritical.

Discuss.

Kindness

2010-09-08T19:15:00.003-05:00

One of my favorite blogs is Kind over Matter, which is like a daily dose of feel good moments. When The Modern Gal and I were talking about it sometimes feels like the world is going to hell in a jerky-mean-asshole of a handbasket, it's the kindness of the things like the card drops on that Website that make me feel better.

This video exemplifies so much of the philosophy that I love and I wish we, as a society, embraced more often.

Pour Kind Over Matter from Kind Over Matter on Vimeo.

Peace.

In which I eat scallops and die happy

2010-09-08T19:00:00.003-05:00

Every since I came back from Hawaii I've been fighting a losing battle with a newly developed food craving for scallops.

SCALLOPS, y'all. Yes. Scallops.

Not, like, coconut. Or chocolate, or fresh fruit, or any of the normal things people crave. Me? I want scallops. (For the record the last Great Noodles Food Craving was kale. But leafy greens don't have the staying power that the NECTAR OF THE SEA DOES.)

Specifically I want sea scallops finely seared with a bit of clarified butter, Tabasco sauce, and salt and pepper to taste. (Also: scallops? BAH. Crappy. Knock. Off. Food.)

And no, I'm not pregnant. I'm just a Maryland girl at heart with seafood running through my veins. If anything, I blame genetics.

So on that note, off to go sear me some dinner. Y-U-M.

P.S. Of course, one of the many problems with this new addiction of mine, aside from its apparent weirdness, is the fact that sea scallops are effing expensive. At Whole Foods, a pound will run you $19.99. I know, I know, it's Whole Foods. But they're SO DAMN GOOD. I'm currently plowing my way through a pack of frozen sea scallops from Trader Joe's that I bought for the lovely price of $12.99. SCALLLLLLLOOPS.

P.P. S. What are you craving lately?

Being a grownup. And puppies.

2010-09-06T19:12:00.014-05:00

In light of great recent conversations with The Modern Gal...
And the fact that I didn't win last year's Real Simple Life Lessons essay contest...
Which means I can now publish this little not-winning essay entry of mine...
And because with every passing day I'm increasingly convinced that maybe, just maybe, my life is one that's meant to be filled with fur babies instead of not real ones...
Which is totally fine and dandy, despite what society says... (For a great post on that, click here)
And because there hasn't been a post about the Mutt Princess in a while ...

I give you last year's essay for Real Simple on the topic of when I knew I was finally a grownup. Feel free to add your own "eureka" moment below. (With apologies to my mom, who made me promise I'd never write about her on the blog.)

___
My parents preferred a purebred. My heart was set on a mutt.

It was a few weeks after my 24th birthday and I was still unpacking boxes from my recent move to Indianapolis _ a new and thoroughly Midwestern place where I could hear the roar of the engines at Speedway if the wind blew just right. This was corn country, far from my East Coast roots and the lush mountains of Tennessee where I’d spent the past three years soaking up southern culture (and some moonshine) as a newspaper reporter.

I’d moved to Tennessee right after college, loading my little Civic with whatever it would hold and renting a furnished apartment in a falling-down Victorian house from an elderly man who recited Bible verses and made me promise not to let men stay the night. I didn’t intend to stay longer than six months. But I fell in love with the place and the people, and somewhere along the way it became home.

When the offer came for a bigger and better job hundreds of miles north, I knew turning it down wasn’t an option. But after three years, uprooting my life seemed almost unimaginable.

In Indianapolis I had a house to call my own. Two whole bedrooms _ and a fenced-in yard _ that I could decorate however I wanted. But new places can be impenetrable when you’re young and unattached and unconnected to the community. My office was small and my coworkers were older. I didn’t have any friends there or know where to find new ones.

I was alone, and bored, and 100 percent homesick for the life I’d left behind. So, I did what any girl would do. I decided to get a dog.

At the office, I alt-tabbed my way through Petfinder.com. I wanted a small female dog _ not small enough to ride daintily in a purse, but small enough to comfortably sit shotgun in my aging car.

My parents always had purebreds. First, it was an English foxhound who, according to family lore, anchored herself firmly underneath my crib and let out a headache-inducing howl the second I began to whimper. (Bonus: no baby monitor for me.) Later, it was a small, scruffy border terrier whose breed was selected through a multiple choice questionnaire devised by my mathematician mother. I wasn’t convinced one way or another what breed of dog was right for me. But I knew there were dogs that needed a home. And I was ready to open mine to one who did.

She was honey yellow, with a curly tail and mismatched ears, and her name at the time was Sasha. She was a puppy, but housebroken. She could fetch. And, when I first saw her at the pound, she snuggled on my lap like it was the softest pillow ever.

It was love at first sight. My heart melted. I named her Macy Mae, loaded her into my car and headed home to begin life as a team.

Twenty-four hours later, I knew something was wrong. My new sidekick wasn’t eating and couldn’t keep food down. By the next morning, she wobbled when she walked. I held her in my arms when the vet told me the bad news. She had parvo, a usually fatal intestinal virus. By that point she was too sick to even stand.

If Macy could survive _ a big if _ getting her healthy would be expensive and cost far more money that I had, especially after such a big move. They told me to consider putting her down.
I knew a dog was a responsibility _ financial and otherwise. But I wasn’t prepared to pay $2,000 for a furry little critter who stumbled into my life two days before. I was sobbing by this point, as I held her and looked into her big, brown eyes. I did the math, said a prayer, and gave them my credit card.

I was her only chance. And in a way, she’d turn out to be mine.

The fight that followed with my family was one I’m not sure I’ll never forget.

“You should have gotten a purebred,” my well-meaning mother said on the telephone a time zone away. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d gone to a breeder.”

That was when I hung up the phone. I probably blamed the dropped call on a bad connection. But I was angry. Furious. How could she think that? I loved this dog. She was my responsibility.
More than that, she was MINE. And I wouldn’t let her go without a fight.

It’s strange how some moments _ milliseconds, really _ completely change who you are.

Somewhere that day my reality shifted from being a girl alone in a strange place, who still asked her parents for permission, to being an independent woman who was firmly in control. Through my tears, I realized I was the one in charge of my life. I didn’t need an OK from my mother or my father. Or their validation. I just needed me.

Some people say they don’t feel grownup until they buy a house, get a 401(k), grieve the loss of a parent, or hold their newborns for the first time. For me, my first twinge of adulthood came that first time I realized that I was responsible for a something that depended totally on me, even if that something was a funny –looking pound puppy who most likely wouldn’t survive the night.

One week later, I brought her home. Wrapped in a blanket and shivering, Macy’s ribs traced an outline through her fur. She still wasn’t healthy, but she’d eventually recover. My credit card balance never did.

Four years (and three rounds of yet-to-be-successful obedience training later), Macy and I are still a team. She may be genetically incapable of learning to stay, but she’s still managed to teach me a lot. She’s licked away tears cried over breakups and shown me that there’s such a thing as unconditional love. She’s taught me pet people are, for the most part, kind and generous; that dog parks are great ways to make friends in a new city; and any bar that lets you drink a pint with a furry friend in tow is going to be, unquestionably, fabulous. She’s taught me that the world feels like a better place after a game of fetch; that there’s beauty, even at 5:30 a.m., walking through snow drifts with a dog by your side. There’s bigger things too, about how you can surprise yourself with strength you never knew you had; that learning to be comfortable with who you is never easy and never quick, and that being a grownup means putting others first.

She's a constant reminder that someone’s pedigree isn’t what matters; it’s who they are today that counts.

As an adult, profound moments come when you least expect them. Mine just happened to come with a cold wet nose, a curlicue tail, and lopsided ears.

Wedding Quilt. A Tour.

2010-09-01T19:14:00.012-05:00

One month shy of the Emily Post wedding gift limit, I was finally able to send off Currer Bell's wedding quilt. I've written about the super-slow progress on the project before. It kept getting sidelined by baby quilts and other assorted projects that I could power through. In this one, though, there was no powering. It was just lots of work all the way through.

But I'm so, SO glad I did. I think it looks great and I really like the totally different double sides of it. They have such alternate vibes, but yet they fit together. A fitting metaphor for a marriage, no? (Note to self: existential thoughts about quilts and quilt design makes you STRANGE.)

Anyway, because I am a strings-attached friend, I made Currer and her man, Hot Pants, send me pictures of the quilt once they'd received it. And they totally delivered.

To start with, I should note that the theme of the quilt was birds. They used a bird theme prominently in their wedding decor, and I wanted to use this awesome Alexander Henry "starling" fabric as the centerpiece of my blocks.

From there, I modified this pattern by Oh, Franson and built four concentric color-themed squares (with four different fabrics per square) around the piece of the Starling fabric. (Incidentally, this quilt pattern is where I learned about the Starling design.)

From there, I added white sashing (borders for you non-sewer types.) And the front winds up looking like this.

Here's another view:

The back is totally different. It's a scrappy Urban Amish quilt, a pattern designed by the always awesome ladies at Quiltology.

Next I added two borders _ one white and one in this kelly green fabric by Denyse Schmidt.

The quilting is done in a kelly green stipple pattern and I did the binding in something that for the life of me I cannot remember. What I do remember is sitting in a rocking chair in the back of our unairconditioned church sanctuary with the quilt in my lap working on the binding during a service. And loving every sweaty minute of it.

The quilt winds up be a solid snuggling size for one person, or two people who just want a light blanket. Here's Currer Bell holding it up.

Front:

Back:

Crazy view:

Woot!

Hawaii Pictures. Part III.

2010-08-30T19:56:00.003-05:00

.
Sunset over Hanalei Bay.

Wise words

2010-08-30T19:41:00.002-05:00

"You drown not by falling into a river, but by staying submerged in it."

As tweeted today by Paulo Coelho.

Quilted baby goodness.

2010-08-30T19:23:00.004-05:00

Or maybe it should be baby quilted goodness? Either way, behold this gender-neutral baby quilt I made for my friend Sara and her little boy Ben. (Who, at the time, we did not know was a boy.)

I don't know who's cuter! The quilt, the kid or the onesie (which is a gift from my awesome friend Emily.)

Here's a look at the front of the quilt, sans baby.

And the back:

The quilt is less scrappy than my usual ones, although I made it entirely out of stuff already in my stash. Also, it's the second-ever quilt I quilted by myself. Hell to the yeah.

Hawaii Pictures. Part II.

2010-07-11T20:54:00.007-05:00

I'm sure you're SO excited to see more of my Hawaii photos -- none of these are super impressive, but are all little snippets of what it was like to be on the island. In case you want more eye candy, Part I can be found here. Hoping to finish editing the massive collection this week!

Sign for a sort-of hidden beach off the beaten path.

This is what the beach looked like when you got there.

On Kauai, the Kilauea Lighthouse is famous. It's the most northern part of the state's most northern island.

Isn't the sky amazing? Speaking of amazing sky (or really, an amazing shade of blue) check out the color of the water here.

On my last day, I tooled around and saw a small sign pointing me in the direction of the oldest Catholic church on Kauai. St. Raphael was founded in 1841 and since I'm a sucker for churches, I stopped to take a bunch of pictures.

There were great icons and statues inside.

And there was also a great little cemetery nearby. Yes, I did type the phrase "great little cementery." What of it?

On Kauai, everyone said "mahalo" instead of thank you. This was possibly my favorite use of "mahalo" in print.

One of the places I wanted to visit was Lumahai Beach on Kauai's north shore. It's where they filmed part of South Pacific ("I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair!") It's a hike to reach the beach, and it's also one of the islands most dangerous in the winter time. That's because the steeply sloping sand create a strong undertow and the waves crash right on the shore. You actually have to hike down a pretty steep dirt trail to reach the beach and along the way, there's all sorts of signs to reminds you that you're about to risk life and limb. At least three of the six signs ended with "you could be swept out and drown." Noted, Kauai. Noted.

But Lumahai is actually pretty awesome in the summer time when the waves are gentle. We saw an amazing beach wedding take place on the sand. It was just the bride, the groom, and officiant, a photographer and a guitar player. No guests. No family. No ridiculous party full of details no one will remember, but that probably overshadowed the point of the wedding -- you know, to be MARRIED. It was, quite honestly, one of those moments that restored my faith in people. It was a ceremony that was just about the two people and not about what other people thought or what other people wanted. Somehow, the bride hiked down the path in her dress. When she got to sand, she tossed off her shoes.

And last but not least, this is a picture of the sidewalk at the Kauai Coffee Company. With more than 3,100 acres, it's the country's largest coffee plantation. And note, to travelers: unlimited. free. samples.

And last but not least, a bird of paradise flower.

In which I make things.

2010-07-06T21:13:00.005-05:00

Because I am a dumbass, I forgot to take pictures of this project while I was working on it. But sometimes, there's something even better than a picture of a finished sewing project on a hanger. What is it? A finished sewing project on a person!

Meet my friend Emily. Or should I say, Rev. Emily.

That's her at her ordination service late last month. And that lovely green number she's wearing around her neck? That's the stole I made for her as an ordination present. Green happens to be her favorite color and it's also the liturgical color for ordinary time, which is a hefty chunk of the liturgical year. (Non church geeks click here to find out what the hell I'm talking about.)

Anyhoodles, since I love Emily and she is 800 percent fabulous, I knew I wanted to make a stole for her big day. I didn't use a pattern, but if I make another one, I'll tweak it a bit so it wasn't so wide. The hardest part was getting the stole to lay flat along the back, so I borrowed a bunch of stoles from my pastor friend and tried to figure out what worked best. (BTW, I have a lot of minister friends. And seminary friends. And yet I have the world's foulest mouth. They love me anyway, because that's the kind of people they are.)

Here's a strangely cropped picture showing Em serving communion to her hubby. Note the pretty back of the stole. Say it with me: Ooooh. Pretty.

And here's an even more strangely cropped picture showing the full stole. It's a little rigid because I put interfacing on both sides, but I hope once it gets a few washings that it softens up a bit.

Even though I forgot to take pictures of the project (and here's where I should give a shoutout to Emily for letting me use her pictures of the blog, since I am a horrible friend and missed the whole service because I was drinking mai tai's on the beach in Hawaii), I had a ton of fun making it. It actually was a pretty simple project and I love the idea of making something for clergy who aren't into the standard stoles that are a) heavily brocaded and look like they were made with my grandmother's old draperies or b) look like they should be accompanied by Birks and a rousing chorus of Kumbaya. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) I really hope I get to make some more!

It's hard to see here, but there's a smattering of stuff from different designers including Denyse Schmidt, Amy Butler, Anna Maria Horner and Art Gallery Fabrics in there. I used mostly fat quarters and lined the back with two different Amy Butler prints.

Woot! And, may I be one of many to say congrats Rev. Emily! I'm so proud of you!

Hawaii Pictures. Part I.

2010-07-05T19:29:00.005-05:00

Hello, bloggy peeps. So check it: I went to Hawaii! For a week! It was awesome! Beyond words! So much so that all I can do is talk in exclamation points!!

Anyway, since I'm a rather huge freak, I managed to take something like 1,800 photographs during my week on Kauai. That, of course, means the editing process is going to be nothing short of a beast. But I started today and made a dent.

Here are some of my favorite shots from the first batch.

Enjoy!

_____

After a storm, I spied this double rainbow over Shipwreck's Beach. That's dad in the swing, taking his own pictures. Did I mention the light in Hawaii is effing stunning?

Fresh papayas, for sale in Hanapepe.

Sails of a catamaran, cruising in the Pacific along the Na Pali coastline.

Sunrise over Poipu Beach, by our hotel.

Random graffiti along a back road.

Flowers on the edge of a cliff looking over into a valley along the Na Pali coastline.

Plumeria flowers were EVERYWHERE. I wanted to take them all back home with me.

Awesome warehouse painted like a dive flag just off the dock in Port Allen.

More to come.

Logging off? Confessions of a...

2010-05-28T07:05:00.003-05:00

Confession: I'm an Internet addict. I tweet. I Facebook. I check email within 30 seconds of its arrival. I use AIM. Gchat. The office internal IM system. Hell, I don't even think about going to the store without my phone and its ability to offer insta-Google. Why would I? You never know when there could be a produce crisis and I may suddenly really need to know the difference between kale and Italian kale.

I've been thinking a lot about how wired I am and how it fuels distraction in my life, in part because I just finished reading A.J. Jacobs' latest book, "The Guinea Pig Diaries." In one chapter he spends a month doing nothing but "unitasking" because he says we've multitasked ourselves away from our ability to focus.

In the 18th century, there were things like "attention athletes" who spent hours and days focusing on ONE THING and one thing only.

"Oh, to be born in the golden age of attention," he writes. "When Lincoln and Douglas could have three-hour debates, or the faithful could pray without ceasing for four hours. When people would look at a painting for an afternoon. Paintings! They're like TV, but they don't move."

Today, though, the average U.S. student gives up working on a complicated math problem after only 9.5 minutes. (Because he writes it better than I ever will, I'll keep quoting.) Jacobs says the "culture of distraction changes the way we think." It, literally, reroutes our brain, which makes us anything but the brightest, happiest, conscious people we wish we were.

So, what the hell happened to us? Turns out we basically started screwing ourselves out of the ability to focus sometime around the Industrial Revolution. That's when, as Jacobs says, "we began to fetishize speed and equate quickness with intelligence."

Personally, I can barely sit in silence without my mind suddenly doing the mental equivalent of crunking. Prayer? OMG. Try to find time to sit and quietly reflect? Pashaw. Ride the bus and just focus singularly on the beauty of Lake Michigan? Such effing effort. That's when my brain suddenly decides it MUST comes up with an 8-point plan on how to clean my floorboards. Floorboards, people! Right! This! Very! Second! (This is hysterical because, well, a solid 80 percent of the time you can't even SEE my floorboards, what with the giant mountain of clothes everywhere. But that's beside the point. Or maybe it IS the point.) Hell, I can't even talk on the phone without doing something else: emailing, typing, cleaning, lounging in a bubble bath, walking the dog, cooking dinner, driving my car. I do, however, draw the line at toilet talking. Because, I'm sure you REALLY wanted to know that.

My point... my point... where was I? Oh, right. Yes. Focus. Technology.

In essence, we've (and me, specifically here) somehow acquired this cultural ADD and then proceeded to magnify it with our increasingly wired lifestyle.

I know I do.

Once a few years ago when I was felled by a particularly violent stomach flu, I spent the night crouched on the floor of the bathroom holding on to my Blackberry so I could tweet and text my woe. In between heaving.

Sure, I was never a Focus McFocuserson. Hell, Currer Bell once nearly kicked me out of a Zen meditation group because I couldn't stop fidgeting. But I swear, with each passing day it feels like it's harder and harder to do one thing -- and do it well from start to finish without interruptions

Do you feel that way, too?

All of this is swirling around in my brain today while I was a) at work; b) at lunch; c) riding the L; d) trying on my FABULOUS new prescription sunglasses; e) did I mention they were fabulous; f) basking in the sun on the ride home; g) walking the mutt dog; h) watching 2 episodes of NCIS while eating dinner and sorting fabric scraps and mocking SATC2 for simply existing.

Yet somehow, in the midst of all the noise of my mind, I came across this: 8 reporters at The Washington Post tried to unplug for a week. They nearly lost their minds. Then they wrote about it.

Think about it: no e-mail. No iPhone. No quick Googling. No YouTube to see the latest Greyson Chance video. I don't think I could it. A full-on wired hiatus. A technological Sabbath.

It makes my busy brain hurt to think about.

I wonder if I could even go a day. Could you? I wonder how I could become better at quieting my my monkey mind that bounces all around like a 3-year-old riding the wave of a raging sugar high.

I guess what I'm saying is this. My name is Noodles. I'm wired. And I'm an addict. And I bet you are too.

Image found here.

God. In brief.

2010-05-27T06:50:00.002-05:00

N.B.: If faithy type things make you squeamish, come back next time for more tawdriness or sewing thingies!!

The pastor at my church challenged our congregation to get in on a previous blog challenge over at Patheos.

The assignment: Describe who or what is God in ... wait for it ... 100 words or less.

There were tons of responses -- many of them powerful. She specifically cited this entry by educator and community builder Callid Keefe-Perry.

Bird Shadows/Holy spirit. My God is in the next room, cooking unseen feasts and humming; moments of ache before the rain when the whole June cloud is ready to burst through though no drop has yet fallen; dandelion blades that insist adamantly they must reside directly in the middle of your neighbor's blacktopped suburban driveway; sights of the shadow of a bird flitting by the sill near the bed of an aging Grace, who can no longer move but counts herself lucky because at least she can still see. This is my God: expectant and grinning, wild and near.

This is SO up my alley. I mean, I may be verbose. But damn do I appreciate a good, briefly written piece. So I decided to accept her challenge. And now I want to pass it along to you. Your God doesn't have to be one of a particular faith (or any faith for that matter. I believe God is unique to everyone.)

Here's my answer in 99 words. Maybe on a different day at a different time, I'd write something different. But for now, here's mine.

My God is an affirmation, loving me simply because I am. He is raw, strong and powerful. She is subtle, gentle and soft. God has high standards (like Tim Gunn) and says to me: "Make it work." Then "Let me help." God is the face of a red and frightened newborn that bursts, screaming into this world. God is the peaceful, gnarled hands of a grandmother waiting to go home. God is dichotomous and mysterious. Confusing. Simple. Beyond and within. My God is along for the ride, happy to be by my side. God knows the feeling is mutual.

So take some time and think about it. And then take a stab at the assignment in the comments, on your own blog, in your journal, or where ever.

Peace. And good luck.

In which I make a mess. And progress.

2010-04-28T21:28:00.005-05:00

N.B. If I owe you a long-awaited wedding present that's really going to be more like a Happy First Anniversary! present, read at your own risk.

Many moons ago I started working on a wedding quilt. Started, being the operative word. The pattern was taking forever. None of my colors seemed to go together. I ripped out every seam and started over. A lot. It was just ... icky. Luckily (or at least, luckily if you enjoy procrastinating) everyone on the planet decided to have babies, which kept me up to my eyeballs in baby quilts for a while.

But birthin' season is almost over so now I MUST return to the wedding quilt, which is inspired by this.

I spent about three hours working tonight and only made three blocks. Sigh. I forgot how much is involved in this, especially since I can't use my favorite fast-sewing technique of strip-piecing.

After what felt like an hour of cutting, I had this. One glorious mess. (This is just a part of it.)

I had a hard time taking pictures of the finished blocks. Plus, it's getting late, I'm tired and I don't feel like playing with photoshop to fix the crappy lighting. So pretend this looks STUNNING. Is actually a picture of the whole block. Has cool colors that aren't funky in the light. Is straight. And then multiply it. By a lot. And then your mind can enjoy its imaginary-for-now-but-soon-to-be-actualized awesomeness.

The end.

I solemly swear ...

2010-04-18T19:27:00.003-05:00

... That I am up to NO GOOD.

Something new.

2010-04-15T21:47:00.004-05:00

So what if snowed last week? Or if there is frost forecast for the weekend? Pshaw! Today, there was sun. Lots of it. And somehow, in the past 24 hours, things finally started blooming.

Say what you will about Chicago's horrific winters. (And God knows, I've used a few choice four-letter words to describe them.) But there's nothing like surviving that dark and frigid drudgery to make you appreciate the beginning of spring.

(Shot Thursday afternoon in Lakeview.)

Nothing but rim.

2010-04-09T17:59:00.002-05:00

Spotted on my walk home from the L.

That's a lot of stolen bike. But one mighty U-lock.

It wasn't me.

2010-04-07T17:37:00.003-05:00

Neighbors in my condo building are cranky. And cranky people leave passive aggressive notes. Specifically, cranky people leave notes on the bulletin board at the entry of the building. This is today's.

So far there have been nasty notes to a unit owner who's dog was spotted in the back yard (egads!). Complaints about stolen cupcakes. (Seriously, who leaves a package of cupcakes in a public lobby of a 91-unit building for 2+ days and expects to find them?) And other assorted gripes about bad neighboritis.

Now, I don't meant to belittle the thefts. Afterall, I lost my beloved mountain bike two years ago to a thief who got into a back stairwell and rode it away. But the anonymous notes? Really?

Ah, life a condo.

Photoshop and inspiration.

2010-04-06T10:16:00.001-05:00

I don't know how to use it. But damn if that doesn't keep me from trying. From my collection of Easter pictures. Anyone with mad PhotoShop Elements skills, I'll swap lessons for quilt instructions!

A bedroom problem.

2010-04-06T07:35:00.000-05:00

No no, you dirty birds!! I have an, ahem, different bedroom problem. Specifically? This.

Not sure what you're looking at? It's one of the several big-ass scuff marks my stupid headboard has put on my wall. And NO, pervy! Not from that. Please. Anyhoodles....

I've hated my headboard since I got it, but it was cheap and that was -- and is -- good enough for me and my tight budget. Still, I was getting fed up with the scratches. And finally on Friday, while frantically preparing for my parents' arrival, I decided to bite the bullet and make a headboard cover.

To make the slip cover I used five-inch nine-patches I started piecing together about a year ago, hoping to finally make myself a quilt for JUST ME. Since my project kept getting put aside by baby quilts and wedding projects and giving sewing lessons to friends and all manner of assorted other things, I finally accepted the idea that my bedspread quilt just wasn't meant to be. And with that, I dug into my pile of nine-patches.

With that I mind, I measured the headboard (a queen-size is 60 inches), grabbed five of my favorite blocks, arranged them in a way I liked and sewed them together using the standard quarter-inch seam. They formed a strip that was about 68 inches long at that point, so I trimmed 3 inches off each side to fit my length while still allowing room for a seam allowance Then I added white sashing at the top (3.5 inches wide x the length of the piece) and bottom (5 inches wide x the length of the piece). I hemmed the bottom sashing piece to keep raw edges away and did the same thing on white backing that ran the length and width of my patchwork top.

And, voila! Super pretty AND functional headboard that looks awesome and keeps the piece o' crap from further marring my walls.

The whole project was super easy and took me about 40 minutes to do. Alas: I was in such a rush that I didn't think to take pictures for a proper tutorial. So these will have to suffice.

But, tell me. Whatcha think??

Scenes from a Sunday morning.

2010-04-05T19:15:00.005-05:00

Easter dawned dark with an angry sky and an angrier wind. Some of the 30 of us gathered along the shores of Lake Michigan were wrapped in blankets by the time the service began at 7 a.m. Some wore gloves and scarves. Others didn't even bring coats.

But as we stood huddled together in a circle, singing songs of praise about the miracle of Easter, the sky began to soften. The sun fought through the clouds.

And it wasn't really that cold any more.

Light overcoming dark. Warm replacing winter. Rebirth defeating death. It was a fitting metaphor for an Easter morning.

The seagulls were squawking. (Was our singing THAT bad?)

The sun won. And by the time the service was done and we were headed to church for breakfast to finish the rest of a long day of services, it was radiant outside. And our prayer flags flapped in the breeze inviting people in.

Inside, light streamed through the windows.

The flowers smelled like spring.

And we were so, so happy.

He's a walking man.

2010-04-01T07:05:00.004-05:00

Meet new friend Matt. He's all kinds of lovely. And smart. And awesome -- after all, he loves to play with the Macy Mutt.

Oh yeah, and he's spending the next nine months walking across the country. You read that right. Nine months. One very, very long cross-country trek.

He left Rockaway Beach, N.Y. on Saturday and expects to wind up at Rockaway Beach, Ore. when 2011 rolls around.

Now, you might think Matt's a wee bit nuts to try this. (Ok, you might be a wee bit right. But let's not get all judgey on the boy. Glass houses and all, right?) But sane or not, you've got to admit: this is kind of neat. And brave. And scary. And exciting. And crazy. And ... And...

So why the hell is he doing this? He admits to a need for adventure and some reinvention of his life. But there's more to it than that. I'll let him explain, from his FAQ:

There’s also no obstacle to stopping and exploring things when you’re walking. When I’m driving, I find myself saying “Oh, I should have stopped there” as I go flying by something that looks interesting. The idea of having to impede your progress, turn the car around, and find a place to park is such a mental barrier to exploring when you’re driving. Even on a bike there’s a hesitancy to stop and climb off the saddle to go check something out. But it’s easy when you’re walking. You don’t have to stop what you’re doing; you just walk in a different direction for a little and have a look around.

But perhaps the thing I find most important about walking is how connected it makes me feel to the space I’m passing through. I think it’s because walking is the way we experience our homes. We walk to the fridge, we walk to bed, we walk around the yard. We walk to the copy machine, we walk to the coffee machine, we walk around the grocery store. So this is that same familiar stride, that most basic form of locomotion we know so well, but through vast, immense, unknown places. It’s a way to live a continuous line across the country as if it were my home.

I’m very drawn to the simplicity of this whole pursuit. Each day I’ll wake up, pack all my possessions back in my cart, and walk a little farther. That’s it. That’s the extent of my world. I’m just walkin’. I think everyone dreams about such a simple existence from time to time, when the worries and pressures of modern life start to accumulate. This is my chance to live that dream for a while, and see how the reality compares to the fantasy.

He outlines the logistics on his blog: what's in his cart (A LOT), where he'll sleep (he's got camping gear but he's also hoping to rely on the kindness of strangers), how long he'll walk each day (far enough to make my fat ass go "ugh.") etc. But the coolest thing on his Web site is turning out to be the pictures of what he sees and the people he's encountered. While I'm sure this journey won't be all puppies and bunnies and roses and compassion of strangers -- in fact, I know there will be a lot of hardship and some dangerous situations -- he's off to a good start so far.

In Boonton, N.J., the pastor at a local Presbyterian (yay!) church, let him come in out of the rain and made him tea and soup. She even brought him the Haggadah, since it's Passover! (10-to-1 he becomes part of a Holy Week sermon. Just saying. I know my preachers.) The next day, the owner of a hardware store refused to let him pay for the supplies he was buying.

I know these stories abound in the communities along the Appalachian Trail, where it takes folks about six months to thru-hike from Georgia to Maine. But this is far from that area and Matt is far from a sight folks are used to seeing. It's been so refreshing to see the kindness of strangers as they interact with him. I know he's just starting, but I can't wait to see what happens.

So, if you live along his route and happen to see a scruffy looking dude pushing a modified jogging stroller with a sign that says "We may never meet again" do me a favor: Buy him some coffee, let him shower and rest his feet. And let him repay you with the awesome stories of his journey. You'll be glad you did.

In which music gets stuck in my head

2010-03-31T19:42:00.003-05:00

Today was The Day Of The Brainworm. Some people, like, say, you, might try to get rid of the brainworm by listening to another song. I try to drown the brainworm. By listening to the tune over. And over. And over again.

This is to explain why I listened to this song no less than three dozen times while sitting in the office today doing work.

Laugh all you want, but COM'N! Who didn't L-O-V-E Sister Act? And OMG, nuns! Rocking out in Latin. Fact: I had "mater ad mater inter marata" in my head all morning while dancing in my chair. Oh ... my high school Latin teach would have been so proud.

Of course, Hail, Holy Queen was only one of the morning songs. Since Spring has, however fleetingly, decided to make an appearance in Chicago, I decided to skip one of my morning buses and walk across the Loop. It was before 7 a.m. and the sun was rising and birds were chirping and it was just effing stunning. And then, somehow, this popped into my head. And stayed there.

For the record, there were so many good versions of this on YouTube. I liked this because, I'm presuming that since it's an Italian choir, they don't speak English. I love the idea of American gospel music (something of which I admit I know nothing about) going overseas. Plus, I dig the soloist.

And finally, since apparently I have churchy music on the brain, my afternoon musical moment came after Holy Week services, where the final hymn was "What Wondrous Love Is This." No offense to the organ player and all, but it's my experience that bluegrass makes almost all spirituals better. Judge for yourself.

A seasonally appropriate lion.

2010-03-31T08:00:00.001-05:00

I don't know about you, but I love bizarre neighborhood quirks. And no, not the kind of quirks that come from bitchy neighbors and ridiculous zoning regulations. I'm talking about little things that are the heart and soul of your community. In mine, it's a weird little concrete lion who has the most diverse wardrobe you've ever seen.

I don't know the history of The Montrose Lion, a yard ornament in a too-tiny-for-people fenced in area of a nearby condo building. And damn, does he have a wardrobe. In my years here, I've seen him in a Santa suit at Christmas time, New Year's glasses, a variety of Halloween get ups (my favorite is his Zorro costume), a kid's Cubs jacket, a Bears helmet, a summer dress and Valentine's attire. I could go on. The best part about the lion's wardrobe is that it's all ratty and beaten up -- what with it having to exist outside in Chicago's famously horrendous weather.

But that doesn't stop whoever dresses him from making sure he still looks his best.

I bet at this point, words have stopped doing justice for this little neighborhood treasure. Click here to see him with his 4th of July accessories. Or for a more up-to-the-moment look, behold this picture I snapped tonight, showing the lion in his Easter best. (Sidebar: Let's hear it for the cell phone camera, huh?)

Doesn't he look SMASHING?

Picture perfect.

2010-03-30T01:30:00.000-05:00

While my friends were prepping the nursery for a paint job ahead of the arrival of Baby No. 2, I entertained their fabulous 3-year-old princess and her best friend (who is also the mutt dog's bestie), a Boston terrier named Pica. We had a MARVELOUS time at the park.

The princess brought her dog and some books and a ball. I brought my camera. Behold: the fruits of my photographic labor. (With an assist from The Pioneer Woman's photoshop accents.)

I speak for the trees.

2010-03-29T18:25:00.002-05:00

I felt like I should save this for Earth Day, but oh well. I came across these tree trunks-turned-public folk art. Is it weird to be captivated by the eyes? They're so ... Well, I love them.

Since it's Holy Week and Passover and I'm trying to be extra mindful about the Celtic spirituality idea of finding holy in the ordinary, I thought I'd remind us of this quote from the Lorax:

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.

Quilty goodness for a baby

2010-03-29T18:03:00.004-05:00

I made a quilt for a new baby who is expected to arrive just in time for Mother's Day!! His name is a secret, although I lobbied for Charlie Blagojevich or Daley Blagojevich. His parents wouldn't hear any of it. Alas.

Dimensions are 40x40 and it's made up for simple 4x4 blocks I cut using stuff from my stash.

This is a close up of the quilt top before I quilted it.

Yes. You read that right. I quilted it. All by myself. Yay me! Who cares if the lines weren't totally straight??

Here's a view of the back:

And finally, a fancy pants little shot:

In which I clean. Sorta.

2010-02-11T08:12:00.001-06:00

So, I've been on a staycation this week. (Jealous?)

And while it hasn't been nearly as productive as I would have liked, I'm proud to say that I've been watching TV, eating brownie batter, bubble bathing, reading, reading, reading and sleeping to my little heart's content.

Of course, I've done less organizing, cleaning and sewing than I hoped. But I don't go back to work until Tuesday, so there's still time.

When I was taking pictures of the fruits of my power tool labor, I thought I'd take a few pictures of my FINALLY clean bedroom and show off some of my favoritey little things.

OMG! ISN'T THIS THE MOST EXCITING THING EVER!?! .... Or, uh, something.

Up first. What I'm reading right now. And after being forced to read it in school, I've got to say, I'm pleasantly surprised. In fact, I sorta love this book. Go Bronte sisters.

Next we go to who I came from. Ish. This is a pictures of my great grandmother on her wedding day. Next to it is some fancy pants letter press of a fiddle (an instrument I occasionally play, if given enough alcohol first), made by Yee Haw Industries and sent to me by the always awesome Currer Bell as a birthday present last year.

Speaking of Currer Bell, here's a great lamp she and some of my Chattanooga besties bought me for a birthday many many moons ago. See that stuff in the background? That's the 8 gazillion inches of snow that fell in Chicago.

The lamp lives on my desk, which for the next 10 minutes will remain organized. Or so I hope. I spend more time than is healthy here. Occupational hazard, and all.

Next, some desk lovelies. Some make me laugh. Some inspire me. Some are just, well, crude. But then again so am I. It's why you heart me.

A Christmas card I couldn't bear to send and instead I try to remember the message all year. Look closely: You can see a Noodles in the reflection. Aww.

My little desk Jesus!! He hangs out next to the post card. Yes. I love to be weird. In fact, I delight in it.

And then finally, my beloved bulletin board. Made by my grandfather when my mom was little, it's a stalwart.

The end. Please, tip your tour guide.

Grawr! And necklaces!

2010-02-10T20:04:00.005-06:00

This afternoon I used a power tool! All by my cute little self! Ok, technically I used the cordless drill I've owned for years and used every so often. But whatever. I'm always impressed when I manage to measure twice, drill once successfully. Especially when I do it with all my digits intact.

Anyway, I've had a wall hanger thingy for years that I got God knows where. Back in the fall I painted it and just haven't gotten around to hanging it. Until today.

Behold! The perfect necklace organizer.

Of course, I lack the abilty to take just ONE picture of something. Here's a close up of one of my favorite necklaces that I got a cool store in Milwaukee. Any guesses why I love it so much?

(Fact: The necklace behind it is an old typewriter key with my first initial.)

And since it's Valentine's Day, here's a close up of my red necklaces. I like this because the Asian-themed one is a piece I bought in Chinatown during my trip to San Francisco. The other one belonged to my grandmother, who died last month. I got to take home a few pieces of jewelry that she had and I love it. It's a little long for me (what with the ginormous boobs and all), but I like knowing that it belonged to her.)

For the record, I have more necklaces on it now, so it looks less, uh, weird. Anyway, yay for the power drill!

Home

2010-02-02T21:18:00.006-06:00

There's been a death in the family, so I'm back home on Maryland's lovely Eastern Shore. I used to hate this place growing up and left when I was 16 to go away to school. I visited after that, but never really came home. Despite the years and the travels that have taken me across the country, it's weird how you never really can leave home. (Or maybe home never leaves you?) And almost 14 years after I first left, I realize that I sorta like this like place. Actually, I sorta love it.

It's weird and quirky and sometimes backwards, but it's teeming with its own unique heritage (Two words: Oyster Wars!) It's a weird town: similar to a small suburb, it's the only city in the area. And outside of resort spots that balloon on summer weekends, with 28,000 residents, it's the only game in town.

It's changed since I left. There's a Starbucks now. And more big box stores. And houses along the coast are being sold at Sotheby's for more money than I'll ever make in a decade.

But its rural roots are everywhere. Which leads me to this.

For the curious:
a) Muskrat on the menu is a seasonal fare. You'll only find it in the winter months.
b) I just stopped to take a picture. Not take a bite
c) But I hear it's tasty.
d) Don't believe me? Here's a list of muskrat recipes.
e) My favorite, in name only, has to be either smothered muskrat (with onions) or muskrat casserole.
f) $10 says this post is NOT going in the direction you expected.
g) For the record, during other parts of the year, I'm fairly certain some places serve nutria.
h) Which, P.S., are super cute little invasive species.

Addendum: My friend Doug says I should have called this post Muskrat Love. He's probably right. Well, crap.

Pretties!

2010-02-01T09:00:00.000-06:00

I've been focusing on sewing baby quilts for the 8 gazillion pregnant people in my life. But after Lido sent me his super-awesome pictures of the baby blanket he knitted, I couldn't resist.

I truthfully have no idea what I'm making.

But damn if it isn't fun.

In which it is chilly.

2010-01-31T07:00:00.000-06:00

Yeah yeah. I know. It's Chicago. And it's January. And I live on a condo with insulation from the 1920s. And blah blah blabby blabby blah.

Whatever.

It was freakin' frigid in my house this week and my poor little 25-year-old furnace was struggling to keep up. (Fact: One night this week, I crawled under the covers, which included a cotton flat sheet, a fleece blanket, an old thin down comforter, a regular comforter, a bedspread and, just for added heft, an unzipped sleeping bag.) (Fact: I later kicked off the sleeping bag.) (Fact: I briefly missed the ex-live in boy and his heated mattress pad. Briefly.)

Anyway, since I first wrote about the geniusness of my sleeping bag inspired splants, my sleeping bag has been getting a lot of use around my house. However, since it was so cold, the Mutt Dog decided she should commandeer it for her own exclusive snuggling pleasure.

Can you spy the Mutt Dog?

Ooooh. Excuse me. I've disturbed her royal highness. Pardon me, Macy.

How about some treats? And we'll call it even.

Wise words

2010-01-29T00:05:00.000-06:00

"I must learn to love the fool in me, the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries."~ Theodore Isaac Rubin

Image via: Merveci
Quote sent to me from Amy. Thanks, ma'lady.

Itching to sew.

2010-01-28T20:43:00.003-06:00

Did anyone else catch Ashley's super-easy-and-cute pillow case tutorial?

OMG! Want! To! Sew! Some! Right! Now! (Also: I really want to use that Anna Maria Horner folksy flannel too. EEEP. Alas, I have none. Whine. And my shop is sold out.)

I'd post her pictures, but I'm not sure what Ashley's rule is on grabbing images, even with attribution. And OMG, how much would it suck if one of your sewing/quilting idols got mad at you!? I'd cry. A lot. And then I'd drink and it'd be OK. But in the interest of not crying and not consuming empty calories, I recommend you just click on the link. Do it for the sake of my waistline and my eyeliner. And trust me, once you look at it, you'll thank me.

Lidolicious

2010-01-27T20:27:00.010-06:00

Confession time: I have a friend crush.

Yup, a crush on a friend who is just so fabulous that he's simply impossible not to love. Lido's a modern-day renaissance man: a knock-you-over good photographer (check out his blog), a chef, a journalist, an artist, a guy who knows more about philosophy and dance than I'll ever know and is a 100 percent great friend and human being. (Years ago he even let me mangle his toes once on the dance floor. Rest assured it was a mistake he never made again. He also once let me sleep in the back of his Outback during a weekend-long jam band and bluegrass concert. Also a mistake he never made again.)

Basically, he's fabulous. (For the record, he's also engaged to the equally fabulous Jessica, whom I love and wish nothing but the best. Mazel tov!!)

The last time I publicly professed my Lido Love was in September when I was having an existential font-related crisis. But wouldn't you know it? Mr. Marvelous went and out did himself and caused me to fall all madly in friend love with him again. If I didn't love him so much I'd smack him.

So what did he do? Well, it looks like even though he's busy living it up with his lady in Montana and working as media director at a Web site/newspaper, Lido went out and learned to knit.

Yes. Knit.

And because he's Lido, he didn't just decide to knit a scarf. Or a hat. Or pot holders. Or something else nice and basic. Nope. Lido, upon learning that his cousin was going to have a baby, went out, learned to knit and made that munchkin a freaking blanket.

(Ladies, are you swooning yet? If not, well, perhaps you should see a physician.)

He sent me the pictures of his project and after squealing and demanding more details, I asked if I could post the pictures and some of his story for you all to admire.

When I asked him what prompted him to learn to knit, he was as always his humble self:

"I don't know why I started knitting. It was something I tried doing ages ago and never really completed anything. So when my darling little cousin became pregnant I thought why the hell not knit them a blanket. (They are very earthy, locally made, hippie, livin' on the farm, appreciate handmade type folk.) Mostly, I like it because I feel like I'm accomplishing something but I can still sit and zone out, clear my mind, and do something that's nothing like anything else I do during the day."

He also confesses to being unable to stop knitting. It's a plague I know well.

Anyway, now that I've made the boy blush and hopefully not enraged his fiancee by professing to love her betrothed, let me just sum it up by saying OMG! Hats off, Mr. Vizzuitti. You are, as always, totally Lidolicious.

Right folks?

An ode to Tylenol PM. Ish.

2010-01-25T18:54:00.008-06:00

Happiness is a full, uninterrupted, don't-move-a-single-muscle night's sleep.

Even it's medically enhanced to be that way.

And even if said drugs render me so unconscious that you could rob my house or detonate some kind of incendiary device next to my head, producing eardrum-splitting noise that still wouldn't wake me up. Or wake me up enough to care.

Even if I drool on myself in an inappropriate manner sorta like that girl in Ferris Bueller's history class. ("Something doo economics... Anyone? Anyone? Voodoo economics.")

Even if I allegedly snore. (Which, P.S., I do not. That's just a nefarious, malicious, lie-filled plot hatched to kill my healthy self esteem by every boy I've ever dated. Ever. Whatever. Boys lie.) (Addendum: The Modern Gal claims I do snore. Even though I find her claim factually dubious, I bet that if it IS true, my snores are nothing short of ADORABLE.)

Even if I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night convinced that there's someone inside the house that's going to attack me, which makes me wake up, swat the air, then roll over instead of fending off a TOTALLY menacing shadow that was really just my dresser.

And even if said medication makes me talk in my sleep. And honest to God, dream that my friends are Amish, but not Amish and more like The Duggars. But with helicopters. And PDAs.

And OMG. Sleep. Have I mentioned I LOVE sleep. Sleep is better than... wait. My mom reads this. I can't say. But you can probably guess. (Hiiii, Mom!)

Crazy sleepy time shenanigans? Whatever. Totally worth it for a good night's sleep. Which is why I must say: I heart you Tylenol PM.

The end.

P.S. This Pulitzer-winning screed was written after three hours of sleep last night, a 4:15 a.m. wakeup, a long day at work, an almost migraine, 5 extra-strength Tylenols taking during an 18-hour day, and one night cap Tylenol PM which was downed at 6:45 p.m. Yes. 6:45. Don't judge. You SO wish you were me.

I'm picturelicious

2010-01-25T09:30:00.001-06:00

Did I mention I got a new camera for Christmas. It's all fancy. And fun. And badass. And OMG. I can't stop taking pictures. I've been taking pictures of my meals in restaurants. My friends. Baptisms at church. Macy. Quilts. Anything. Everything. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've become a colossal pain.

Anyhoodles, I thought I'd show a few of my pictures. Feel free to gush accordingly. They feature my favorite princess, my favorite mutt, and pictures from my favorite part of Maryland.

I can't wait to take more.

I get by with a little help from my friends

2010-01-19T09:00:00.000-06:00

The Mutt Dog is kind of clingy. And by kind of clingy, I mean, is plastered to my side at all times. Occasionally this is cute. Sometimes it's awkward (should, you know, a boy come over.) When I'm trying to baste a quilt, it's royal pain in my ass.

Lucky for her she's entirely too cute.

I have seen the mountaintop

2010-01-18T15:07:00.004-06:00

In honor of Martin Luther King Jr., I thought I'd post a picture I took during my trip to Memphis this fall. After all the wedding stuff and the obligatory visit to Graceland, some friends and I visited the the National Civil Rights Museum. If you're ever there, you MUST GO. Who cares about the freakin' Peabody Ducks? Go. To. The. Museum.

It's fascinating and chilling, horrifying and informative. And you can see the motel room where King was shot, preserved as it was that day.

And while I'm thinking about it, what wise and powerful words he had. So true today as they were in 1968.

"We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land."

Baby quilt goodness

2010-01-18T15:00:00.003-06:00

I haven't officially gotten permission from the recipient to post pictures of this baby quilt. So I'm only going to give you a hint of what's on deck for my super-fabulous friend Emily, who is set to birth a splendid little halfpint in May.

Since that's just in time for my birthday, I've launched a full-fledged Name The Babe Noodles effort. So far, she's being stubborn. Whatever. I blame the pregnancy hormones for her inability to listen to reason.

Anyway, since I was SO FREAKIN' lucky to have a three-day weekend (word to the civil rights movement!), I was able to bust out the entire top quilt. As soon as I hit publish, I'm going to whip up the back and then try my hand at actually quilting the damn thing myself, instead of paying someone else to do it. (Emily, I hope I don't mangle this.)

So here's a little eye candy to hold you over until it's finished and I can show it off for real.

Oops.

2010-01-18T14:53:00.004-06:00

I have this crazy idea that I want to see how long I can go without buying new clothing. My last purchase was Dec. 24. But uh, I made no such resolution when it came to fabric.

Look what greeted me when I came home from work on Friday? This super-awesome package of goodies from FabricWorm. EEPS!

There's a bunch of Anna Maria Horner's Little Folks voile, and OMG, it's so soft. Plus, some Amy Butler Love fabric, and Denyse Schmidt's Hope Valley. Not to mention a ton of other stuff. Yay!

I get introspective. And stuff.

2010-01-15T13:08:00.004-06:00

Consider this a PSA to let you know that I have a guest blog post over at my church's young adult blog.

It's about the topic of discipleship. (Don't worry, I think it's a super-churchy, weird word, too.) It's my first real stab at blogging openly about my faith. So I'd love some feed back if you're of that persuasion. Or any persuasion. Or no persuasion at all.

I really wrestled with whether to post the piece on this blog. Since it doesn't really fit in with this blog, I'm linking to it for your reading pleasure.

Click on over and join the discussion. (Here's a hint: I think discipleship is just another synonym for being a good human being.)

Peace.

In which I royally piss off the universe.

2010-01-11T18:32:00.003-06:00

It was long, draining and downright shitty day work today. On the bus ride home, which, btw, dropped me off at my house roughly 13 hours after I left in the morning, I decided to turn the shittasticness into sparkle and bake cookies for my coworkers and spend the night working on baby quilts for my pregger girl friends.

What a dumb idea that was.

I probably should have realized the universe was against me when I saw that I had only 3/4 of a cup of flour. (How the HELL did that happen? I'm a self-professed compulsive baker.) Luckily, I had some extra whole wheat flour lying around, which OMG would make my cookies HEALTHY! I started making my modified Toll House recipe and then ... DAMMIT, I have one tiny, hard-as-nails chunk of brown sugar.

This of course, is not the end of the world. I mean, any reasonable person would have put on her boots (Oops, left them at work), her coat, and scarf and gloves and hat and trudged to the damn store. But have I mentioned it's cold as balls here? And snowing? And OMG I WANT COOKIES NOW.

Since by this point I want nothing more than to eat my weight in cookie dough as I try to shed a bad day, I keep going. I try softening the brown sugar. It doesn't want to cooperate. It gets sorta less rock like and I put it in mixer. And then I make the critical mistake of trying to mash up the chunks while the beater thingies are beating.

Note to self. It's best to do this step when the mixer isn't ACTIVELY mixing. Because this is the end result of that effort.

What the hell is that, you ask? Why, it's a completely mangled and bent attachment to my standup mixer. Fucking A....

So now, let's recap:
_ Long day.
_ Bad day.
_ Critical ingredient shortage.
_ Broken forever mixer.
_ Shitty-tasting cookies thanks to ingredients shortage (who the HELL wants whole wheat cookies anyway? What? Should I serve them with a side of tofu and wheatgrass? Phhsaw.)
_ And one very grumpy Noodles.

Epic effing fail.

P.S. After this series of events, there's no way in hell I'm letting my fingers near a razor-sharp rotary cutter.

Stitch and this bitch.

2010-01-10T20:40:00.004-06:00

I don't even have enough time to keep up with my quilt making since my friends keep getting knocked up and married. But for some reason, I still found time to learn to knit. And knit. And knit. And knit. And no matter how hard I try. I can't. Put. The. Needles. Down. AHHH. What can I say, it's the perfect activity for the bus. And conference calls. And tv watching. And...

I haven't made anything fancy: Yet. Just a scarf is the softest baby alpaca wool I got at my local nearby (uh, perhaps too nearby) yarn store. I'm playing around with a mobius scarf using some super bad-ass Italian wool I found in a sale bin.

Alas. There goes my focus. No would you all quit having babies so I can knit without guilt!?

Do not let this universe regret you.

2010-01-06T21:55:00.003-06:00

For more of the amazing poet/spoken word artist Marty McConnell, whose work focuses on the intersection of sexuality, religion, gender and history, check out her Web site.

Fabulous sentiment

2010-01-04T11:16:00.003-06:00

Jason sent me this quote. I love the sentiment. Happy new year.

"May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself. I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you'll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you'll make something that didn't exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return." _ Neil Gaiman

Photo via: Michael Johnson Flickr

A plug!!

2010-01-03T21:02:00.002-06:00

One of my bestest friends in the great big universe (and also, the mother of one of the handful of children who don't scare me to my core) has started a blog! And no, before you wince, it's not a mommy blog either.

Her challenge is to find at least 50 ways to save $100 this year. I don't know about you, but I could certainly use some help saving up an extra $5,000 this year.

In addition to her great blog, she's got a savings list going, listing various ways to save cash and how much each has yielded.

So add her blog feed to your reader. And take notes on what she finds. God knows, I will!!

Screw the snuggie. SPLANTS.

2010-01-03T16:40:00.005-06:00

That's right, you blanket with sleeves you. I've got my sleeping bag. Specifically, my LL Bean sleeping bag that was purchased sometime around 1989 for a Girl Scouts camping trip.

Since I live in Chicago...
And since it was -1 this morning...
And I have paper thin walls that I swear lack insulation...
And since I have somehow become coldblooded....
And because I'm dying, DYING to start a new fashion craze...

I've taken to zipping myself into my sleeping bag and going about my life in my condo. I watch TV zipped into my sleeping bag. I work on the computer. I play with the mutt dog. I have napped in it too. The only thing I have yet to do while my lower half is ensconced is laundry and cooking. (Mainly because walking in it is kind of like waddling. But with the equivalent of socks on a recently Pledge-covered wood floor.)

While I'm basically waiting to bite it any time now, I think I've come up with a COMPLETELY BRILLIANT IDEA!! There could be a market for Sleeping Bag Pants. SPLANTS!!!!!!

Basically, I'd add suspenders to hold it up, and sorta feet thingies to give me traction. And arm holes. Maybe a few pockets. How effing awesome with that be? (Sidebar, I'm working on a picture of me wearing my splants. Lacking my suspenders and arm holes, photographing it by my self has proven to be a wee bit difficult.

Anyway, I wanted to share my genius with you. Which also might explain why I am, and continue to be, single.

The end.

ADDENDUM: Promptly after writing this, I waddled my splants-wearing self from my desk to the sofa and promptly fell asleep for 2+ hours. Moral of the story: Splants are only for the trained professional.

The end. (Really, this time.)

My New Year's Eve

2009-12-31T22:27:00.005-06:00

Like I said, thanks to a recent breakup, this is my first New Year's Eve flying solo -- boyfriend or otherwise. It's cool, though. In fact, it's great. It's 10:28 p.m. I haven't showered. I'm on my 3rd glass of wine. I'm 90 minutes into a DVR'd Lifetime movie on sororities (holla to my Phi Sigs!). I spent an hour sewing and I cooked a fantabulous dinner for myself.

See? Doesn't this make you droooooool?

For the record, the Mutt Dog has also had a great night. Our activities, however, differ greatly.

Peace out.

Addendum: My new year's also included a chance to ring it in BlackBerry style! Gotta love friends for making sure we're counting down together _ even if we are half a country away.

I'm taking requests!

2009-12-31T17:47:00.004-06:00

So, it appears some of you hearted my fancy pants Scrabble pieces picture of my word of the year. I'm happy to make you one of your very own! Just drop me a comment and make sure I have a way to reach you by e-mail. (And let me know if you want B&W, color or both and if you want an "I will" added.)

Lookie, I already made one for the always fab, Ms. H!

All I ask in return is you do something all nice-like to someone else in the next week. Pay it forward, ya know?

Happy 2010, y'all! I'm flipping '09 the bird. Catch you crazies next year!!

In which I cook steak and mock poor spellers

2009-12-31T14:29:00.008-06:00

Some of you will be ringing in the new year with style. I will be ringing in the new year in my jammies, kissing the mutt dog at midnight and enjoying a super fabulous steak dinner I plan to cook for myself to celebrate my first-ever 100 percent solo New Year's Eve.

Of course, the folks at my neighborhood grocery store helped make what could have been a sorta depressing evening into one that produced several moments of snickering and word-nerd superiority.

Why? Well, let's just say I hope you enjoy this visual proof of my soon-to-be-cooked filet mignon.

Sigh. Spelling fail, Jewel.

Taking on the Aughts

2009-12-30T17:25:00.009-06:00

My lovely pal Ginny wrote up a list of the ten most important milestones she achieved in the past decade and e-mailed it out to some of her closest friends. I loved what she said (among my favorites: "Met the South.") and decided I'd play along too and look back at the past decade.

So, my beloved readers ... here you go. In no specific order: Noodles v. the Aughts.

1) Graduated from college and entered a career with what was probably an overabundance of optimism.

2) Fell in love with that career. Recognized the early signs of burn out. Realized true love comes with a backup plan.

3) Made new friends, but (for the most part) kept the old.

4) Moved to, for varying amount of times: Washington, D.C; Wichita, Kan.; Tampa, Fla.; Belfast, Northern Ireland; Chattanooga, Tenn.; Indianapolis, Ind.; River Forest, Ill.; and Chicago - starting over from scratch almost every time.

5) Adopted a dog, then proceeded to spend copious amounts of money on her medical care, food, toys and subsequent peace offerings with the neighbors who quickly grew tired of her squirrel-fueled barking.

6) Fell in and out of love, breaking a few hearts. Including my own. Several times over.

7) Learned more than I ever expected about myself, my craft, my world and the people whom I love.

8) Bought a condo. Promptly regretted buying a condo.

9) Grew up and became my own person, only to realize that this who growing/becoming thing is a process that will probably never, EVER be finished.

10) Found my faith and became _ I hope, anyway _ a better person for it.

What about you?