Marsbarn Designs...

You can only do what you get done

The book fair is trundling along.  Business is slow so far, but between the economy and the plethora of illnesses cycling through the school I can't say I'm shocked.  I've heard from a fifth of my volunteers that they have sick kiddos at home.  One family heard definitively that they have H1N1, and others just have the snotty cold that played at our house last week. Anyway, nothing to do but wash your hands and roll with it.

Today is a chore day. The laundry is humming along downstairs and I have a kitchen to clean.  Fairy skirts are coming together. (Tulle comes in so many bright, happy colors.)  Oh, and Christmas dice bag orders have started to roll in!  So much to do, so little time. I have to keep my mind on what is getting done and what has been done already, and let go of what isn't going to happen.

it is moments like these that make me believe I am an artist

 

Friday I spent some lovely moments sewing a bit of wool whimsy.  Sure, you could call it soft sculpture, or art, or a pin cushion (if you had to)... but really it was just a couple of hours spent making something with no plan, no pattern, no measuring, and only a hazy idea of what I wanted it to be when I was done.

I had these lovely materials calling to me, and a need to just create something by instinct.

 

I think this is the fiber arts version of a wandering road trip, where you just let the wind guide you to parts unknown.  I think I will cut this amoeba and sew it a bit here, and stuff it, and tweak it, and bend it, and then... I felt so much better about my week. The sick sweethearts, the impending book fair, the undone chores, and the untouched pile of market sewing, it all fell into perspective.  

And best of all, I had a birthday gift for my Mom that I could be proud of.

(I've made up a tutorial for the method I used to make my mushroom. It is here.)

Steampunk! Fabric!

Steampunk. I get a lot of requests for steampunk fabric, which just does not exist.
What is it? Think alternate future that is run on steam and funky elegance.
So, what's a girl to do, when people keep asking for something you cannot get?
Why you call up a fabulous artist and commission some art, that's what you do.

 

Donnie Bruce drew these images for me.  

 

And very soon, I shall have fabric featuring the patterns.  (Oh Yay!)  Spoonflower is printing it up, and I'll let you all know when it is ready to go.  I will, of course, be selling dice bags made of this fabric in my shop.  

Working with Donnie was effortless, and exciting like Christmas.  You should all go out and commission your own images!  

*All images in this post are copyrighted by Donnie Bruce. 

the after party

After New York, I fell into a churning hot pot of snotty colds, book fair hoopla, orthodontist wrangling, and jet lag.  Little e was the first to herald in this new round of tissue abuse.  Sweetheart G was next, followed very closely by Big E.  I've been hitting the Airborne and the EmergenC like its the new hip thang, and so far (knock on wood) I am repelling the virus invaders.  Today (Friday) both of the girls are back in school (Yay!), and soon I will leave to set up the Book Fair.  We have a busy weekend in front of us; birthday festivities, pumpkin gathering, visits with both sets of grandparents.  Still, it stymies me when I am asked "What do you do?"... such a puzzling question.  I think I need to start answering, "I just don't know where to start."

Squeezing goodness into every last moment of time

On Monday morning, fittingly it was Columbus Day, I set out on my own to do some solo exploration.  My flight home was an evening flight, so I had plenty of time to wander about.  

 

The mind bending choices of what to do with a free day in New York... and I, of course, chose fabric.  One of the quilt shops I was hoping to visit was closed on Mondays, so my course was clear.  Two trains later I was navigating my way through Soho to Purl Patchwork.  

The two Purl shops (one fabric, one yarn) have been visited by many a blog, so I won't spend too much type retreading on hallowed ground.  Lets just say I didn't have any trouble spending money, and I saw things I hadn't seen in person before.  Yes, I sprang for a yard of the Heather Ross double gauze cotton that is everywhere in blogland.  (I got the yellow frog on a lily pad fabric pattern.) I have no idea what I'll make with it, but it called my name, and I answered.

 

The yarn half of Purl was participating in a Yarn Crawl, and offered a free tote with any purchase.  I found two different non-wool yarns in the sale bins, collected my free tote, entered two contests, and moved on.  

I had plans to meet up with Meegs for coffee in between her day of meetings.  I puttered my way toward her office, doing some window shopping along the way.  I must have moved from one district to another in my meanderings because I started to see duplicate businesses (two Victoria Secrets, two Gaps, etc). 

It was an unexpected treat to have an hour with Meegs to myself.  We chatted our time away, and then it was time for her to return to meetings, and for me to find some lunch.

I really surprised myself with my ability to navigate New York.  At the Met, I'd found a map book that I liked, and with that as my guide (plus some excellent tutoring by Di) I really felt up to some exploration.

 

As in Paris, my internal Games Workshop store locator worked just fine.  Of course the store was closed, but I waved nonetheless.

I successfully found the nearest Pain de Quotidien. (Really, we could use one of these in my neighborhood!)  I had a mint lemonade (yum) and a ham tartine, and listened to a really irritating woman harp on about how people were becoming isolated and less engaged with each other.  Hmmm... maybe her unrelentingly unpleasant manner had something to do with that... I left my lunch spot with bag of treats for the airplane, and a desire for less empty rhetoric.  (I think this was my missed opportunity to get in a fight with a New Yorker.  Oh well.. maybe next time.)

With a sense of determination born of a good lunch, I decided to actually enter some clothing stores instead of just window shopping.  Ya. That didn't last long.  And then, as I turned back toward the subway stop that would lead to Brooklyn, I heard the siren song that is Dean and Deluca.  This was my second visit to the gourmet grocer.  The first one, I resisted all temptation and left empty handed, with my wallet intact.  Not so much this time... ya.  Time and money move differently in stores like that.  After that encounter, I had to race back to the subway and arrived back at Di's apartment with time only to shove my new purchases into my suitcase and hug my friend goodbye before the car came to take me to the airport.

It was midnight when a different cab dropped me off at the Big Red Barn.  The trip home was long, but uneventful.  My family survived well without me.  There were stories to share about Chestnut Olympics, candy bars, and on-line Fairies.  

This trip to New York was a good one. I owe many thanks to Di for housing and guiding me, Meegs for inviting me, Big E for making me do it, and my Mom for watching my monkeys when Big E had to work. 

I should come with a warning label: Will walk your feet off.

On Sunday, Di and I were off to the Met.

The Metropolitan Museum or Art is HUGE.

(I was good and remembered to take a photo of the exterior.)

What is it about huge museums and their craptastic maps?  Like in Louvre, the map made for more confusion than direction.  Still, we soldiered on!

Um, favorite bits...  

We saw a visiting collection of paintings by Vermeer, with the Milkmaid as the headliner.  I have, of course, seen reproductions of this painting, and I was struck by how poorly it reproduces.  The colors, both the bold ones and the subtle ones, do not translate mediums.  The blue of the Milkmaid's overskirt is mind blowingly intense.  Really.  And the sense of movement mixed with primitive nature of some of the brush strokes is just... oh.. you just have to see it in person.  That's all there is to it.

In the (difficult to locate) Japanese collection, there were a set of fascinating 19th century prints of Japanese women and men wearing Western clothing.  I was fascinated by the English styles done in Japanese motif and style.

It was interesting to see a different set of curly bearded Abyssinian statues.

These had their sacred "pine cones", but they were smaller and slightly different than the ones in the Louvre.

For our first lunch (oh, yes.. first lunch.. we were eating hobbit style), we shared a tasty wrap on the roof and people watched.  This stainless steel creation,  "Maelstrom" created by Roxy Paine, was the art d'jour.  

 

Then, it was time to go back below and see more art.

Madame X, the painting by John Singer Sargent, was supposed to be in the American Wing, but we could not find her.  She has that aura apparently.  Then, after what might have been 5 hours in the museum.. we left to find second lunch.  

Di had a plan for this important meal.  Oh, Le Pain Quotidien... if only I could have packed up one of your many eateries and transported them home... I ate a delicious raspberry tart, and Di had a ricotta, fig, and honey tartine.  The menu was filled with pastries, open faced tartine sandwiches with lovely toppings, and hot drinks to soothe the soul.  And, be still my little heart, the drinks are served in drinking bowls.  

I had only two disappointments with my trip to Paris, one being that Big E wasn't with us, and the other being that I never had coffee in a bowl.  I couldn't even find a drinking bowl to bring home from Paris.  But, New York fixed this problem.  I bought two drinking bowls from Le Pain Quotidien. 

Fueled and caffeinated, we roamed New York.  We looked at the Guggenheim.  We toured the gift shop,

but we did not see any of the exhibits.  We spent the rest of the daylight hours walking the sight and experiencing the smells of NYC.  Fascinating, I tell you.  We walked blocks and blocks.

I was tickled to see Regina Spektor on Radio City Music Hall's sign.  

And then, the light was leaving us, and it was time to go back to Brooklyn.  After some subway wrangling (our first choice of lines was closed), we found some dinner at a Vegan restaurant and headed home in time to watch Inspector Lewis on PBS with biscotti and carmel corn accompaniments.  

Definition: "Full Day"

After a late night bedtime (Di and I talked for hours after we got home at 11:00.. you do the math), I slept in until 10.  After the necessary morning coffee and shower, we were off to see the world.

 

Oh my, but there are some lovely buildings in Brooklyn.

 

I found myself in Paris Mode, snapping photos of random building details that made me happy, but forgetting to take photos of things like actual New York landmarks.

A short walk later we were wandering through the farmer's market near Prospect Park.  

There were some lovely things for sale, and the center aisle was nice and wide so there wasn't that congested, grumpy feeling some markets get.

With donuts and fresh cider in hand, we walked a short circuit through Prospect Park.  I was, I must admit, a little sad that there was no fall color.  Honestly, as much as it pains me to admit it, there was more fall color at home in the PNW.

See this monument?  It's across from the park, and walking underneath it, I could hear French being whispered by the statues.

These rosettes, from underneath the arch?  It was like being in the Orsay, with its train station turned museum architecture.

 

I was fascinated by this statue with its scaly legs, webbed fingers, and anemone third nipple. (Click on the photo above, you'll see what I mean.)

 

And then, it was time for me to navigate my way on the subway to the Baby Shower.

With a hop, skip, one wrong train, and a whooosh later, I was on the street in the Garment District, retracing my steps from the previous night. Until I took a wrong turn, and had to back track 2 blocks.  My mistake probably had something to with constantly looking up, and taking photos of random building details.

But really, look at this building? The stone work, the reflections in the windows?  How's a girl supposed to keep her directions straight?  Happily, when I came across the most amazing store front filled with showgirl rhinestone necklaces/shirts, I knew I'd made a wrong turn.  Did I take a photo of that? No. What was I thinking?

Of course, once I arrived, there was food, and drink, and so much conversation.  Time flew by, baby names were suggested (I submitted "Mini Meegs" as a joke (there were a whole lot of serious names at this shower) and Bette as an honest choice), and throughout the men were completely absent. 

It turns out that they were touring the Intrepid, a WWII aircraft carrier that has been decommissioned and turned into a museum.  See now, I'm glad I knew nothing about this side trip, because I'm just not sure I could have withstood the conflict.  Baby shower vs Aircraft Carrier.  They men? They got to ride the elevator that moved the planes to the flight deck.(!)  I did get to watch Meegs open the baby quilt I made for her (Yay!) and I got commemorative lip lotion and I ate a cream filled Bombolini* and there was that cool conversation thing going on... but... 

*(Oh! look at this cool list of donut varieties!) 

Anyway, time did that flying thing it does, and then it was 6 pm, and I had to get back to Brooklyn. Hugs were exchanged, and I returned to the subway.  Hey, I got to see a real live New York City Subway Rat while waiting for my train. 

Then, I was home at Di's apartment.  With a quick chat, we were out the door for dinner.  We met Di's other half at Flatbush Farm for a decadent, relaxing dinner.  The ricotta gnocchi were like little tasty clouds, and there were oysters, and oh yes, dessert. Yum!  

I would like to say, Di and I went straight to bed after returning to the apartment, and didn't stay up until 2 am talking, but.. I can't.  

I woke, I flew, I ate. Oh yes, we ate.

My trip to New York started with a groan as I pulled myself out of bed at 4 am.  Then there was a blur of cab ride, airport hubbub, flying, moments of airplane sleep, landing, sitting on the tarmac waiting to find out if this is what a rupturing bladder feels like, running to the nearest toilet, cab ride #1 in New York, wondering if the cabbies in New York are bred from the same gene pool of insanity as the cabbies in Paris, and then ARRIVAL.  Exhale.  I had made it.

 

My childhood friend Di had offered me lodging in Brooklyn.  She lives on a lovely street of brownstones, and her apartment is filled with the lovely details I love in old buildings;  a curving staircase, ancient sky lights, a bedroom fireplace, and locks with personality and secret tricks.  

I had enough time to unpack, change clothes, and wash my face before we headed to Manhattan for Canadian Thanksgiving.  

 

Subways.  I grew up with the T in Boston, and subways have a bit of magic in them for me.  Oh, its not sparkly unicorn magic, its more like gritty, dark worldly magic,  like the magic of dark coffee, or blackstrap molasses. You climb down into this hole, clamber into this metal tube and this whoosh.. you arrive in a totally new place.  Magic, I tell you. Oh and the things you hear...  

"Oh he's so totally my type.  Really my type. Well, except that he's fat. What should I do?"

"Those, those are for 18 year olds who look young.  Know what I mean?"

"Most people don't think that I'm sweet.. (chomp, chomp, chomp).. but I am. (Seeing the unbelieving looks of her friends) I AM."

And then, there we were, in Manhattan.  Walking through the garment district, marveling at the window displays, and preparing for the feast which was about to confront us.  My friend Meegs (her babe on the way was the excuse for this trip) was starting off the weekend right with a feast.

Canadian Thanksgiving is (based on this one experience) a lot like American Thanksgiving, except that it is a month an half earlier, farther North, and I don't cook.  We ate turkey, two kinds of stuffing, Brussel sprouts and bacon (what's the secret? BACON), mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, cranberry sauce, and... well.. a little something called... dessert.  Oh the desserts... Apple pie, apple crumb pie, pumpkin bars, zucchini cake, the best pecan pie I've had in ages, and lovely bakery cupcakes.  Oh.. the pecan pie...  After hours of eating and conversing, Di and I rolled our way out to a cab and back to Brooklyn.

Welcome to Snotville, where the snot blows freely.

Two little monkeys lying in bed.
One blows her nose 
and the other one says,
"How many tissues have you used for your head?"
Two little monkeys lying in bed.

Oh, yes.  I came home to find the snot troll had blessed my family while I was away.

I just flew in from New York, and boy are my arms tired.

Oy, my brain.  

 

I am all a blur of sights, conversations, people, and travel.
But now I am home, and the bits should start to order themselves.

New York was a blast.  
Really, it was better than I'd dare hope. I explored, both solo and in tandem. I met my goals of talking, walking, and consuming vast quantities of food... oh, and I did a wee bit of shopping as well.  I'll have more details to post once I've cooled my jets a bit.

And yes, it is good to be home.