comments: 57





















Even I, the woman with the highest tolerance in the world for listening to herself complain, got sick of hearing myself complain. I (finally) decided that if I couldn't beat 'em, I'd join 'em. At the river. It was a perfect day. (And, I swear, it was also ten degrees cooler there.)

Oxbow Park
July 29, 2014

(For those who have asked, her "swimming costume," as I like to call it, is from J. Crew.)

Summer Breeze

comments: 83























In the dappled shade Amelia and I walk up and down the streets near our house. We're trying to stay in the shade; it's so hot, but we just have to get outside. She's in her stroller with her bare legs curled up, keeping them in the shade of the stroller hood. She has a gigantic, larger-than-lifesize photographic kitty-pillow that she clutches, faced-out towards passersby. Trippy Kitty's eyes are slightly wild. People look amused as we walk by with the giant, real-looking kitty. Mimi's hair is going in every possible direction. I'm drinking the biggest iced coconut chai you've ever seen. Four p.m. on Sunday afternoon. Bees buzzing the lavender. A guy trimming his spent roses. The baseball game on the radio in a yard. "Mommy?" "Yes, miss?" "Da?" Points at a tattered flag. "Flag!" "Mommy?" "Yes, ma'am." "Da?" Points at a swing in someone's yard. "Swing!" Why are fruit-filled trees so poignant? They almost make me want to cry.

July is dressed up and playing her tune. At the pool, there was no usual whining, no refusal to get further than one centimeter into the water, no running around the pool deck taking other peoples' shoes (while frantically signing "shoes"), no eating soggy popcorn from under the table where someone had a birthday party earlier that day. There was just the three of us, floating dreamily in the middle of the pool near the lane lines. Rare peace at the pool. She pushed her legs out behind her and kicked while Andy pulled her around. I floated on my back, pointing my toes just above the water. It was cold and clear. I tried not to get water in my eyes because it makes my contacts burn like hell. She doesn't mind splashing herself in the face (much), but she doesn't like being splashed by anyone else. What do you do when it's someone's dad dunking his kids and bouncing beach balls off their heads? The teenage lifeguard looked mildly uncomfortable. The kids, naturally, were delighted. All day long she tells them to stop standing on the baby-pool fountain. Now it was their big dad making the thing explode in an enormous plume when he slid his rump off the jet, a (naughty) kid again himself for the day. She didn't have the heart to scold and, in my mind, neither did I. Summer's so short. It's so hot. After an hour of playing with a cup or being carried by her dad through the water visiting the big-kid territories, Amelia came back to the zero-depth area and, by herself, trudged carefully toward the fountain, a frothy stack of water burbling out of the sparkling shallows. Gently, she ran her hands through its spray, soft and aerated, foamy white. She reached further in, held her hands deep in the core of the plume. We resisted the urge to follow her, to show her, to show her something . . . more. It's so hard not to, somehow. So hard to remember just to hang back and watch sometimes. She played there for a long time. I watched her serious face, and tried to memorize the moment. It was the best day we've had at the pool all summer, and when it was time to go I didn't want to go.

Back at home, we're trying to find a rhythm — working, sleeping, cooking, playing. It's been harder than usual lately and I don't know why. I'm often filled with frustration about the weather, wanting to do things outside that it's just been too hot to do (have a picnic on the sunny, scorching flats of Powell Butte, for instance; sit in the dried-up clover above the beach on Sauvie Island and look at the mountain at dusk). Our day ends early because it starts so (incredibly) early, so I often feel that we miss the cooler, quieter evenings. Well, sigh. I'm thinking we should get one of those craft-fair tents and take it everywhere we go. Maybe a portable mister, with a canister I could wear on my back and a misting wand to shoot directly toward my face, or matching umbrella hats. I've got problems.

I saw this vanilla honey iced tea lemonade on Pinterest yesterday and I think I'll make some later.

***Oh, and — her blue dress is Albertine. Have I ever loved a little dress so much? No. I don't think so!!! Sleeves are a bit big  — the whole thing's still a little too big — but tooooo cute. Love it!

Silver Stars

comments: 99



































It is unexpectedly (at least to me) pouring rain as I write this morning, and so dark in the house I can hardly see. Oh, sweet mercies!!! I'm sitting in the studio, looking out into the garden, which, in spite of being sopping wet, still seems parched and yellow with defeat, my potted plants a sallow tangle on the steps. More than any particular date on the calendar, summer seems to turn from waxing to waning when the blossoms are spent and the soil runs just a bit too dry in my container plants, when I've missed one-too-many too-hot days of watering, when things go from lush to lank and I stand dumbly by, too air-conditioned and mommy-fried to make a move to rescue. It's a shame, really, this particular fulcrum up and over which I never quite seem to get, this see-saw that only sits, end planted in the dusty grass, me heavy upon it, praying for rain. Mid-July and me, both, stuck in the inertia of white-hot air. This morning — Hallelujah! — I get my wish, and wake to the sound of silver showers plinking and tapping, a cool breeze teasing my white curtains, Mimi in the bed between us, signing rain and wind. Ah, all my joys, all here, all here.

Our weekend was short and sweet (and hot). We got lots and lots of berries, explored a historic farm, stopped at the river, went to the pool, walked downtown. I made more fish, following Molly's lead in making stone-fruit salsa (I used peaches and a mango) and whipped cream for all of the sweetest-ever raspberries (I didn't know they could ever be that sweet actually — the sweetest I've ever had). We've eaten bags of Rainier cherries, boxes of blackberries and blue. This is the wonder of July, for me. The berries are insane. It takes only a minute to whip the cream and there you go, best treat ever.

Our girl glows like a peach, looking more and more like her gorgeous birthmama every day, her expressions and her sly humor and her independence blossoming like a summer flower. Her confidence, her seriousness, her curiosity, her kisses, and, more than anything, her loving sweetness, her gentle touch, patting her dolly's back, kissing her dolly, every toy, in fact, the cars and the books and the cups, patting my back, running the tippy-tips of her fingers lightly on my cheek, looking at me with her sparkling navy-blue eyes and her half-smile. Her burgeoning independence fascinates and delights me. She's quietly mischievous and blatantly (and hilariously) honest, alerting me to the fact that she's standing, belly-out, on the sofa, touching the hanging pendant lamp (no-no),  holding the clicker (no-no), eyes always sparkling, daring me to see her though I'm sitting right there, and see her just fine. "Mommy?" Eyes wide. Touch touch, pendant lamp swings. Aw, no-no, baby I say with my "you know this" voice. "No-no," she mimics, signing no twice and raising eyebrows as if it were I who touched the lamp, dumped the mail, turned on the TV. When I got my new glasses she'd come toward me on the bed with such a look of love in her sparkly eyes, getting closer and closer, I'd be smiling hugely back, flattered, thrilled, then whoosh — she'd grab the glasses right off my face in a flash, with a smile. She brings me all the things she's not supposed to have: a rock in the house, a quarter, my wallet, a pencil. "Mommy?" Holding them out to me. Andy and I think she's very tongue-in-cheek in her photos, a little bit dramatic, a little ironic. I scoop her off the sofa and tip her backwards, bury my face in her belly as she laughs. Later, as she starts to nap, I strum the tender inside of her elbow and she answers with a milky chortle, and gently strokes the back of my hand with her fingertips. Our call and response. Every day she is unfolding. I watch and marvel, hardly able to speak, squeezing my lips to the back of her soft arm. This incredible person. This privilege. My stars, my stars. My cup runneth over. My heart overflows.


comments: 69























Mid-July. Our seventeenth wedding anniversary is this weekend. Oh, sweet love! How can it be that it's been so long ago already? It feels like yesterday, and a million years ago at once. I am still, and frequently, gobsmacked that we found each other. All three of us. Oh, I am blessed.

At our wedding I carried a little bouquet of dahlias and zinnas from the farmer's market in Oak Park, and so did all of the bridesmaids. For the reception (which was here — such a pretty place!) the bouquets went into jars on the tables. I've never been that big into formal floral arrangements, and the expense of it just freaks me out. I just like to cut some stuff and plunk it on a table. Better yet, walk around and look at it when the weather is in the mid-70s. Yeah.

Hot and Bright

comments: 91

























It's been kind of a challenging week, and I don't even know why. I feel like I have a million things to say but no time to say them, here or in real life. I'm whirling and scattered, and trying to keep track. To simplify, I apparently started to do the same things over again — same clothes, same dinner, same places. I like that. Eliminate the variables when possible. The heat last week was ravaging. I felt like I was in survival mode. Yesterday it broke with beautiful rain, beautiful thunder, beautiful lightning, more beautiful rain, beautiful gray clouds, beautiful purple clouds, and me, sitting on the back porch sobbing with relief. But today the sun is back, bright and flashing, and I, though rejuvenated, am wary: 99 degrees forecasted for tomorrow. We've been meeting friends in the park in the morning, or heading back down to farmer's market on Saturday mornings to sit in the shade of the big trees, or spending a lot of time at the pool and the fountain (water water water. I love you water).

The knitting project above is my little Artichaut, and she has given me fits, as well. I'm almost finished with her and I'll be glad. I knit her while watching this other cool British show I found on YouTube (I think it was recommended because I liked Restoration Home) called Turn Back Time: The Family. It's one of those shows where they re-create historical environments and the put people in them to "live" within history; this one follows three families through the Edwardian era, the Interwar years, the Second World War, the 1960s, and the 1970s (I haven't seen the last one yet). It was really good. In one of the episodes they mentioned the book Swallows and Amazons, which I realized with a jolt I've still never read (so I promptly got it). And that reminded me of the Summer Reading Booklist for kids that you and I put together four summers ago now. This list was made entirely out of Posie Gets Cozy reader suggestions. Do you remember it?


(Just click on the illustration to download the list.)

I'd completely forgotten about this list. I found it and printed it out the other day and was so delighted that Amelia is the perfect age for me to start keeping it for her. We already read several of the little-kid books on the list together every single night. But I'm going to start collecting and reading all of the older-kid classics on the list, and creating a special shelf to hold all of these for her for when she gets older. I am so excited. I also pulled out my dear friend Jane's book, Cherry Cake and Ginger Beer: A Golden Treasury of Classic Treats, and thought I would try to read the list of titles she includes, as well (and of course we'll have to make some treats, too!). I've kind of needed a project like this, honestly. Something to focus me! And maybe I'll be done by the time she starts reading.

I also finished Kristin Lavransdatter: The Wreath. This book blew me away. I don't even really know how to tell you about it. The last fifty pages or so of this book are some of the best I've ever read in my life. It reminded me of James Joyce's The Dead (though it's completely different, but if anyone's read both of these, do you know what I mean?). My heart was in my throat as I finished this book. It was very intense. I picked up the second book of the trilogy but haven't started it yet. You'd think I had a lot of time to read or something?!? I don't.

Do you like fish tacos? I used the baked fish parcel method from Apples for Jam: Cover some cod filets in panko and a bit of Mexican seasoning (you can slice a few limes and place on top, too), drizzle with a bit of olive oil, then wrap in parchment and bake at 400 degrees (either with indirect heat on the grill or in the oven) for 20 minutes. I added some of my dad's coleslaw, a little bit of sour cream with chipotle sauce stirred in, and some big chunks of avocado, and these were just perfect for a hot summer night. Andy made a really nice Mexican bean salad (but he used fresh corn, and I would definitely recommend that!).

Thank you very, very much for all of your kind comments on my last post. You are so good to me. Thank you. Xoxo


comments: 126






















Already the plum leaves are starting to fall. The weather this past week has been hot and dry, and next week promises (threatens) more of the same. At the farmer's market the bounty is overwhelming. There is so much, and it is so big and beautiful. In the early morning, Amelia and I go out and water the front. She eats her breakfast in her high chair in the shade and watches me walk around with the hose, soaking everything well, trying to moisturize my little plants even as the morning sun grows hot and bright. She reaches out to touch the water while I shower the impatiens on the porch. When we move to the back yard, she takes cups of water out of her little pool and waters the pots for me. Later, a couple of cups, more water, and some shade are all we really need to be happy in the afternoon, as long as I know that back across town my little house waits, dim and cool and clean, the air conditioner earnestly humming, plenty of chilled cantaloupe and watermelon and blueberries waiting for us in the fridge. Summer baths after the pool, the fountain, the yard, the park, the layers of sunscreen, the raspberry smears; I cover her in suds while she plays with her toy boats and plastic cups, cries a little when the water washes over her face as I rinse her hair, pats at the bubbles, draws on her own round belly with the bath crayons. In the late afternoon, clean and cool and smelling of honey, she naps and I watch TV, the sound turned low, both of us splayed on the chaise lounge, the light dappling and twisting as the hot wind picks up, dusty and buzzing outside but silent to us, behind our closed windows. I like the late afternoon, 4:00 p.m., when it feels so good to go in. When you feel like you've earned it, somehow. It reminds me of the delicious chill of our grandparents' white ranch house, its perfectly, wonderfully, deliciously temperature-controlled interior so beige and soft and soothing after so much flashing sunlight and swimming and cicadas. Summer afternoon: sitting on the soft beige carpet with sunburned legs, watching General Hospital, eating a coconut cookie before dinner, listening to the soft whistle of cold air come out of the floor.

Little Flower

comments: 76





























I had a day out last week with my dear friend Aimee. We had lunch and then we shopped and then we sat by the fountain downtown and had milkshakes. I came home with a dolly umbrella stroller for Mimi, since she'd been walking off with everyone else's when she sees them at the park. She prefers carrying it around, bringing it onto the sofa, pushing it around without a dolly in it, pushing it around with a rock in it, dragging it both up and down the deck stairs y herself, pushing it on the gravel. It's pretty dang cute to watch her pushing it. Everything she does is just so charming and fascinating to me. Watching her become a little girl, especially this past month, is just . . . I don't even know. I actually just don't even have words. Maybe a couple of little sobs, because it's just so startlingly beautiful to watch someone growing up. Every day has so many beautiful little things in it I hardly know where to start to say.

I made a Suzanne dress out of Liberty Emma and Georgina A (with another kind of Liberty for the insert, but I don't remember the name of that one). The Suzanne that I made a few years ago I couldn't get on her — as designed, the back has no opening, and the bodice is just too tight to get little arms up and under and through armholes. I wound up cutting the back and the insert into two separate pieces and adding an inch extra to each, then creating a 6 or 7 inch opening in the back (just hemmed each side with a 1/4" double-turned hem, and added a couple of snaps on the insert part, to close). It's a pretty invisible fix, really, but makes all the difference. I don't know if the larger sizes have this problem (I made a size 2) but man, it's just such a cute dress. I love the cut and the blossomy effect of the skirt. And so fast and easy and sweet and light. More of them to come.

I got some simply amazing, luscious, soft, light, creamy, wonderful, incredibly gorgeous bulky handspun undyed Alpaca yarn from my beautiful friend Rebekka the other day. I'm thinking there can be no other future for this yarn than cowl. Maybe even mama cowl. . . . Maybe there's even enough for both of us. . . . Oh my word. If it weren't NINETY-SEVEN DEGREES HERE TODAY I would consider knitting. You know how much I love my vent. I would have to leave it to wind up the yarn so I might have to wait. . . .

Before the earth started to scorch in places, I was out on one particularly lovely gray afternoon (those are the lovely ones, as far as I'm concerned) becoming infatuated with my little spray of front-yard flowers. The purples, pinks, and poppies. (The first photo [that's Besaw's restaurant garden], the community garden photo, and the next two after that [the lavender poppies] are not my flowers, but all the ones after it are from our yard.) If I can figure out a way to capture the effervescence of this little garden in embroidery, oh but I would like to try. It's such a sweet little spot! Those seeds worked. (Well, they worked in the sunny places. In the shady places, not so much.) But the sunny spots — they're spotted with blossoms, and they are bringing me great joy.

***Here's how we make our shrimp bowls.

At the Beach

comments: 151




















For the very first time. What an awesome day, in every single solitary way.

Cannon Beach, Oregon
June 24, 2014

One a Day

comments: 108





















Cooking, cooking. Once I started I just . . . kept going. For Midsummer Day we made the same breakfast we'd made for Father's Day (because that was good), and then I made a strawberry shortcake for dessert after dinner. I didn't split it in half the way the directions say to because I didn't have enough strawberries, so I just buttered the thing and piled the berries on. But this shortcake recipe is good, and I've had it so long I don't even know where I got it originally.


2 c. flour
2 T. sugar
1 T. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
1/2 c. cold butter, cubed
1 beaten egg
2/3 c. half-and-half

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. In mixing bowl, stir together flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Cut the butter into the dry ingredients until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Combine the egg and half-and-half, and add all at once to the dry ingredients, stirring with fork just to moisten. Spread dough in a buttered 8" round cake pan, building up the edges a bit. Bake for 15-18 minutes. Remove from pan and cool slightly. Slice cake horizontally and spread butter on inside layer. Add sweetened strawberries and whipped cream.

Cooking: I have a plan, now. I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier, but suddenly I remembered my old friend: Apples for Jam. This cookbook . . . oh, I fell for it hard. I've fallen for all of the Tessa Kiros cookbooks that I have, actually, but this one, for me, turns out to have been the most cookable. This is the one that is full of family food; the one with the gorgeous, evocative photography of bowls of soup and children's playthings; the one with the sweet, memory-laden, slightly windy creative writing (well, they all have that, but this one is about kid stuff); the one that helped me become a mother before I became a mother. It feels familiar and friendly and also like the greatest privilege to be reading it now, making food as I do every day for my child, who is still, at this point at least, eating everything I serve to her  (until she is full and begins flinging it to the floor, and then hanging over the side of her high chair to watch the dog eat my fresh mozzarella . . . the meatballs that took me all afternoon . . . the fish that cost $8.99/lb., etc., while saying in her most I-am-adorable! voice, "Uuuuh-oh! Uh-oh Mommy!!! Uh-oh Mommy!!!" Pointing at the floor, dog licking franctically).

So Sunday I made the spaghetti and meatballs, and yesterday I made the fish parcels (with cod) and the lemon rice pudding with roasted (white) peaches, all from the book. It was all really good, though next time I'll use breadcrumbs and an egg in the meatballs (her recipe called for milk-soaked white bread, and I think that bread crumbs make more tender meatballs — I like them really soft and mushy, myself). Oh, and all of the brown sugar slid off my peaches and burned on the bottom of the pan, but oh well. Still lovely and fragrant (I used a vanilla bean and Meyer lemon and grated the nutmeg) good. I'm enjoying myself a lot, cooking, but wow, it is a LOT of work to cook this way with a one-year-old who no longer wants to sit still for any length of time. I'm trying to do as much as I can early in the day, or during naptime, but still, some things can't be done until dinnertime, and pre-dinnertime is still (and rather suddenly) proving to be kind of insane. I used to be able to have her in her high chair hanging out with me in the kitchen while I cooked, and lately she is not into it. She wants to — you know it! — go 'SIDE. AND NOW!

So, after yesterday I decided that I'm only cooking one thing a day, on these weekdays. Everything else must require nothing more than chopping up (cantaloupe, strawberries, steamed carrots, spinach, green salad, etc.) or come from the deli case at New Seasons (beet salad, caprese salad with those little mozzy balls, yum) in order for it to go on my table. I mean, that just makes sense anyway. I'm not sure why this is a Major Revelation but that just shows you how complicated I've been making everything.

Just as I got to the colorwork part of the light blue Fimma, I put it down. It suddenly felt too daunting in these evenings lazy, light-filled evenings. It's in hibernation. I started a pale pink Lottie cardigan, and I'm loving it. Easy-peasy and relaxing. Sometimes I think I should just forget anything that's not in garter stitch. When life gets a little hectic my GSB (Garter Stitch Barometer) alarms, and I must knit, robotlike, and then turn and knit again, and then turn and knit again (occasionally increasing at well-marked spots) and feel my breathing slow a bit. . . .

And two people — Erica, a long time ago, and recently Ms. Bibliosophy — suggested the Kristin Lavransdatter trilogy. Medieval Norway!!! I got the first book (The Wreath) and can't put it down. Thank you very much for the recommendation!

Oh, and by the way, I've been meaning to say this if I didn't before, I watched all of the Restoration Homes on YouTube through my television. There's a way to connect the devices through my TV; I'm really not even sure how to tell you to do it, honestly — the possibility just popped up on mine through TiVo, I think, and so I connected them. The picture quality is pretty bad but for some reason I didn't even care. And thank you also to those of you who have suggested things for further viewing, if possible (though we don't get to watch all of the shows, even on YouTube, here in the U.S.). I need to go back through your comments and check them out. If you feel like leaving a recommendation here (again) so they're all in one place, would you? Thank you!

Midsummer, already. She just turned twenty months old. A whirlwind of energy and emotion and curiosity and joy: Walking, running, yelling, laughing, crying, pointing, "talking," playing, freaking out, pulling it together, snoozing, cuddling, watering, hugging her animals so fiercely, staring at them lovingly and stroking their heads the way I do hers, kissing them throughout the day, or pressing her forehead to theirs and saying, "Mmmmmmmm." Lovable, kissable, squishable, sweet, dearest loving sweetest girl. I'm so proud of her.

P.S. By the way, all of the flowers on the table are from my wildflower cutting garden or my front yard. Very exciting for me!

Warm and Water

comments: 72
















She would prefer to stay outside at all times. Around four o'clock, the time between (hopefully) nap time and before dinner time, she's lately letting out a plaintive scream: "'SIDE?!?!?!?!?!" and pointing toward either the front door or back door while scrambling to find some shoes/frantically signing "shoes"/jamming shoes on her [wrong] feet. "'SIDE?!?!?! 'SIDE?!?!?!?!" Oh my lord. This is after being outside for most of the day. The desperation and hysteria that follows if 'side is not an option at that moment is profound. The girl loves to be outside. With a bucket of water, a little pan of water, and sticks, stones, and fancy water cups she makes stone soup, and it is sweet.

I'm making stone soup too, just about. At night I've been watching cooking shows (I finished all of the Restoration Homes and I swear I have post-partum. I love that show so much. That is an awesome show.) Cooking shows are my go-to relaxing shows, and I'm trying to get some cooking inspiration. For something other than ice cream and salad rolls. My cooking of real food, for Andy and me at least, is a total fail lately. Amelia is so easy: tons and tons of fresh fruit and steamed vegetables, occasionally cheese, turkey, chicken, beans, tofu. I feel bored with everything I've made before and I'm not even sure what I want to do.

One thing I do want to do is switch out my plain white dishes for thrifted calico dishes. I seem to have inherited my dad's penchant for getting new dishes once a year. I hadn't been to Goodwill in ages but we went this week and it was so much fun. My little collection of dishes and candlesticks and that sweet little stripey dress came from my local GW the other day. I've missed Goodwill. I'm obsessed with the photo of that kitchen (from the book English Decoration: Timeless Inspiration for the Country Home which I just treated myself to recently). Maybe if I make my kitchen a little cuter, and thrift some fancier plates, I'll get my cooking mojo back. It's been gone for so long!

I just heard Andy talking to Amelia while getting her dressed. "And now we're going to pick out something to wear from the drawer. Most likely it will be what's on top." I busted out laughing. So that's how he does it!

Speaking of clothes, I made a skirt out of a pretty purply brown calico. I used the 'Tis the Season skirt in the book Sew What? Skirts: Sixteen Simple Styles You Can Make with Fabulous Fabrics. This book teaches you how to take your own measurements and draft patterns for several different kinds of skirts. The one I made is a full circle skirt on an attached waistband with a side zipper and button. It was super easy (though it takes quite a bit of fabric), but the calculation for the waist cut on the skirt didn't come out correct for me at all. The skirt was way too big for the waistband. It wasn't a big deal to fix, but next time I'm going to be really careful about calculating that (I would take the exact waistband measurement [minus the seam allowances and button overlap], use that as the circumference of the top part of the skirt, calculate for the radius, draw that line on the folded fabric from the top corner, then cut 1/2" inside that line. This won't make sense unless you make the skirt, I wouldn't think. But it should work). Anyway, the finished skirt came out exactly as I wanted it to, and is a total joy to wear — very swishy and comfortable. More to come.

Oh, and thank you for all of your recommendations on hoses! I read through all of your comments before deciding what to do and wouldn't you know it, I decided to try the X-hose after all. So far is has been awesome (though I've only had it a couple of weeks, and it rained for one of them). I detach it after I use it and coil it up in a basket on the porch. It's so small and light that that is completely possible, and about fifty times easier than wrestling the maddening coil of filthy tubing onto its screeching wheel. So far the fittings have worked perfectly and have not leaked, but I have my eagle-eye out for the smallest spout (not that I'll know what to do about it if it does leak, since it's made of weird fabric, etc.). It seemed worth it to try this, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed. And I must remember to take pictures of the flowers in the raised beds. They worked — I have wildflowers! — and they are darling.

About Alicia Paulson


My name is Alicia Paulson
and I love to make things. I live with my husband and daughter in Portland, Oregon, and design sewing, embroidery, knitting, and crochet patterns. See more about me at aliciapaulson.com




Since August of 2011 I've been using a Canon EOS 60D with an EF 18-200mm kit lens and an EF 100mm f/2.8 Macro lens.