Posie Gets Cozy

Crazy-Busy Day!

But Clover Meadow was in a play! (Last weekend.)

She played "Dog." Ten points if you can guess which play this is!

I'll be back tomorrow to tell you about it.

Laziest Daisy, and a Question

While I was taking pictures of the puppers, I went into the guest room and found my laziest daisy, Violet Paulson, lying on a pillowcase-covered bread board I had brought upstairs last week — a makeshift ironing board I was using to iron in bed while watching TV. (Okay, maybe I am the laziest.) I am trying to iron all of my fabric scraps so I can cut them up into little patches for my patchwork pillows. IT. TAKES. FOREVER!!! I've lost count of the number of hours I've spent doing this. Good thing the Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood marathon was on!!!

"Oh, I'm sooooo tired! Because I have to sleep on a bread board !!!"

"I. Am. Soooooo. Pretty. Though."

"Ya know?"

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In answer to several questions yesterday, that is a little vintage reading light that hangs on the headboard of the bed and yep, my pillowcases are thrifted — I have a large and well-used (and well-loved) collection of flowery cases from the '60s and '70s. We have so many pillows in our house it's nuts. I believe I am going through a pillow phase. Has that ever happened to you? No??? Try it. It's good.

Secondly, here's my question for you: Do you sew?

Lately I have been getting a lot of emails from people who don't sew, or are just learning to sew. They always interest me, because I come from one of those families/circles of friends where everyone sews, or knows how to sew, and doesn't really think too much about it. It's just what you do. For most of my life, I really did just assume that everyone grew up with big piles of fabric in the dining room, or pieces of thread all over their shirt. But now I know that's not right. So my question is: Do you sew (with a sewing machine)? If you do, what age did you start? Who taught you? What do you make now?

If you don't, why not? What would you need to start? Do you even want to?

I'm just curious, so if you have a minute this weekend, please comment here, and feel free to expound — I want to know. I am going to report back on the results, so even if you don't usually comment, see if you can this time. I really wonder how those numbers will break down, don't you?

Oh, this dog.

God, I love my dog. I love her expressions, her earnestness, her sweet brown eyes, her gentleness and sincerity.

I love how she follows me everywhere I go, and stares at me everywhere I sit. I love how she races upstairs and jumps onto the bed of roses whenever she thinks we might be headed toward the end of the day. She takes after me: She loves the beginning of the day and the end of the day the most.

I love her skeptical looks and her stubby little legs. I love her soft, soft cheeks and her worried eyebrows. I love her giant, velvety ears and her leathery nose. I love her droopy lips and her bony forehead.

I love how she reminds me, a million times a day, of her beautiful-wonderful auntie Audrey.

Like her auntie, she's alternately silly and sweet, playful and pensive. One minute racing around like her paws are on fire, the next floppy on the bed like a big old warmy.

I'm so lucky she lives here with us.

And yes, I worry about many things — but dog hair (and knucklebones) in the bed has never been one of them. Couldn't care less. Never will.

Weekend Recreation

Drowsy Day

Yesterday was one of those days when I just could not get it together. I tried to clean my studio; no go. I tried to finish the bags; no. I tried to make something new; nuh-uh. I call these my "low-mo" days. I wander around trying to figure out what in the world I am trying to accomplish, and when I look back on the day, I see that nothing has been. It was raining and cold all day. I ate toast. The dishwasher didn't even get unloaded. This is when I know I am just tired. I try to respect that. I don't know why it's so hard to just go with it. It doesn't happen very often, but I never, ever enjoy it as much as I think I should. I don't know if the guilt a Tuesday-of-slothing engenders is the result of being a lapsed Catholic, or a lapsed Midwesterner.

Pets sleep constantly. I swear mine sleep almost all day long. If Clover is awake all day (meaning, Andy and I are both home all day hanging out in the yard or having people over, or anything like that that is way too exciting to actually sleep through the way she sleeps through days of me making market bags, for instance), by 9:00 p.m. she is absolutely begging us to come upstairs and get in bed. We'll be sitting at the table, relaxing by candlelight, talking with friends, whatever. She'll go into the house and stare at us from the doorway: "Please."

When we come in she'll make an immediate bee-line for the bed. We'll take her off and she'll collapse gratefully into her crate and sleep for eight hours without a peep. The next day she'll get out lay on the bed, all tangled in the covers, like the princess who slept on the pea — exhausted. A hardy partying crew we are not.

This is the couch, yesterday afternoon. I'm on here too, in case you were wondering if one couch fits three. It does. Sorta.

"I love you, but do I have to sleep with your big nose in my ear?"

"Or my eye."

We have strict rules around here.

Firstly, all members of this family who want to get in a hammock must be able to get into a hammock by themselves. Because if a human is already in a hammock reading (Three Men in a Boat — thanks again, Anna :-) a human does not want to risk falling out of a hammock by picking up a puppers and putting a puppers also on a hammock. More importantly, a human does not want to have to move once it gets comfortable, since that human rarely, if ever, actually sits down.

So all pupperses much learn how to "jump up!" on a hammock, supervised but otherwise all by themselves.

Secondly, once on a hammock, one must stay lazily on a hammock for at least one hour to achieve maximum benefit.

Thirdly, one must look redonkulously adorable while on a hammock.

Just sayin. Without rules, it would be chaos.

I think you get it.

Neighborhood Wander-about

On Sunday morning we took a walk with the corgyn.

The neighborhood is starting to sprout.

More hellebore.

This is the sidewalk of a gardener. It's one of my favorites in the neighborhood.

Tiny teepee for a rose.

Can't remember what this is called. . . . Red-flowering current? (Thanks, Krista!)

Through the fence, violet leaves and a bottle border, topped with glass pebbles. Here's how to make one (thanks, Em!).

There can't be too many mossy stone walls in the world.

Another plum-tree allee. Every other block, it seems. Not complaining about that.

This house always reminds me of Madeline's in Paris.

Waiting for warmer weather.

Good walk, girls. Good doggies.

Busy Little Blossoms

Clover and a Hellebore

I have springtime dogwalk photos for you, but no time to post them today! Spring has sprung in Portland and, oh my. Oh. My. Petals everywhere. Can't wait to show you.

Things are crazy-busy here at the house (still), but I am trying to get caught up. Bookwinners, I have not forgotten about you, I promise — I will be in touch (hopefully later today). My to-do list is voluminous but I have high hopes. xoxo

My Lucky Little Four-Legged Clover Meadow

Last night after dinner, around 6:45, I was seriously wondering how early was too early to just go on up and get in bed. I felt like a loser and forced myself to decide that 6:45 p.m. was probably too early. I looked around to see if the dog wanted to sit on my lap on the couch. (That's usually what we do after dinner.) She wasn't in the living room; I looked in the studio, in the kitchen, in the bathroom, and couldn't find her anywhere. I went upstairs.

And found her.

With her head on the sweater I wore that day.

[Melt melt melt melt melt.]

So, yeah: 6:45 = not too early. 'Round here. I hopped right in with her, naturally.

* * *

I got up early this morning and sat on the couch with my coffee and read all the comments that came in yesterday (and, if you didn't know, late yesterday afternoon I got the idea to have a contest for the funniest engagement story, so see the end of yesterday's post for details on that, and tell us yours). I about fell off the couch laughing. There is absolutely no way we'll be able to pick one. We'll have to pick a few, we'll just have to. Keep 'em coming (but please keep them on yesterday's post so that they're all together, 'kay?). I'll re-post our faves. Collectively they are possibly my favorite comments ever ever. Great, great stories.

Miss Pretty McDarlinglove

February 19, 2009. One year and seven months old.

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September 26, 2007. Two months old.