The Other Smock

This smock wasn't my favorite of the two I recently made from men's shirts. Partly because it made me look a tiny bit pregnant. I already look kind of pregnant so I don't want to emphasize this fecund appearance. But partly it wasn't my favorite because I'm new to making my own appliques and I'm disappointed that my hen doesn't look more like a hen.

I wish I could completely attire Headless Helen in the appropriate corresponding outfit, then you could see how charming this smock is in my head. Although, if you could see inside my head you'd be able to see other things too which I'm not very comfortable with. Like the image of me permanently shackling Paris Hilton to her prison cell.

(Supposedly she's said she has "nothing left to live for". Is she fucking kidding? Why?, because she only has to spend a measly 45 days in prison for a DUI? If she did say this, and I'm not saying I automatically believe she could have said such a ridiculous thing, then she is much more stupid, spoiled, and childish than I thought was even humanly possible. Now you see the image of me bitch slapping her. You understand why I'm so uncomfortable with you in my head? Go on, get out before you get really scared!)

I could have made the smock functionally button down the front like I did with the other one. However, the classic element of a smock is it's easy removal. Not to go roll in the hay with your beau at a second's notice, but to enable to you rip off that smudgy smock to answer the door looking clean and prim when the UPS guy brings you all that great swap mail.

Have I mentioned recently how much I love words? I used to look a random word up every single day in high school and write it's definition in my journal and then try to use it in conversation or in writing. I wanted to be sure I was using "fecund" properly so I hauled out my trusty ENORMOUS unabridged dictionary to look it up and the tome flipped open to an "e" page and guess what word leaped out at my surprised glance?

ejaculatory incompetence

Dudes, that is so harsh. I never knew it existed. Want to know the definition? OK. You asked for it*: inability of a male to achieve orgasm and to ejaculate during sexual intercourse despite adequacy of erection.

Seriously, couldn't they have called it "ejaculation-challenged"? Because calling it an incompetence implies that the male in question is too stupid to know how to complete the mission. I have yet to hear of a single male out there who doesn't know how to seal the deal. Just because the equipment isn't working well doesn't mean the man himself is incompetent.

Isn't the dictionary awesome?

In other news...most of my sewing studio is now in my garage. If I could do as I pleased, I would now concentrate my efforts on emptying the studio of Philip's things and start the whole studio make-over. I'm thinking about painting the plywood sub-floor as suggested by friends. I have to have a look at it again. Unfortunately, time waits for no man...(or woman)...and the clock is ticking on getting everything else moved and sold and all that really fun stuff. Thinking about it all makes me want to crawl back in bed and not come out until it's all over. Why isn't that an option? I have some serious inertia I'm working against. This is partly due to the depression I'm fighting and the exhaustion that running the store for a year has left me with.

So, in order to not sit here and whine away the time, I just keep reminding myself that it will all be over in a week and my life will be a little bit more simple. Not stress free**, obviously, as there is the question of a living to be made, but certainly simpler, which I welcome. I will be able to concentrate on more of the things I love; Max, my garden, cooking, designing, and most obviously? Writing.

*Well, you didn't actually ask for it, but you know you wanted to!

**People with clinical anxiety are NEVER stress free. Important thing to realize. It's an unpleasant fact of life that many people don't understand. If all the stress factors are gone, then shouldn't one cease to stress? Yes, if one is not afflicted with a mental disorder that feasts on irrational fears and worries, sure.

Snow/Sleet, and sunny happy aprons

My camera is finally working again, thank god. Not having it was really irritating. Like mot having a coffee pot. Which is near calamity here at the Williamson Ranch. These aprons are the newest batch from Casa de Lulu, my good friend Chelsea's budding new company.

The inspiration was Chinese New Year. There's a black one that is exactly like this, but I'm buying it for myself. Right now I would look ridiculous in it, like a hippo in a tutu, but I hold onto hope that I will return to my previous shape which was mostly human. When I do, I will wear my Chinese New Year apron all the time. Like a little girl who wears her favorite grubby princess costume every single day. Except that it really makes me want to vomit to compare myself to little girls in any way. I'm much too cantankerous to be doing that. So that's the last time I'll do that.

It's snowing/sleeting outside. Lovely. It's super wet and stormy so not a flake will stick. I just enjoy this good Pacific Northwest display. Oh my, the sun popped out just as I typed those words. How weird, as though some one up there has a special message just for me. What could it be? Ooh, maybe the message is that I can now drink all the beer I want and eat all the cheese I desire and I will miraculously become normal sized again....I don't think that's the message because that weird ray of sun instantly disappeared when I suggested that. You can't blame a gal for dreaming, can you?

Well here's a message for anyone up there who might be listening: you make that miracle happen and I will believe in God. Walking on water is a monkey's trick. Turning water into wine is pretty handy, but wine isn't beer. Turning anything into loaves is great...impregnating virgins is, is actually pretty lecherous... but if you can make it so that I can drink beer as though it was youth dew, and eat grilled cheese sandwiches as though it was the sparest spa food... a miracle like that would definitely send me to church post haste.

We'll see about miracles. I know what's what, and that is one miracle I will never see happen.

So, my favorite sunny happy word... effervescent. It rolls out just as it sounds: light, sparkling, new-shoot green, fresh and barely touching the ground, bright without blinding. How I feel when I see the first tomato fruits set. How I feel when my hens make a fuss over one of them laying an egg. How a thick layer of snow on my town makes me almost float with giddiness.

Today will be spent mostly in bed. Not in luxurious laziness, unfortunately. Cleaning the house yesterday has made my back hurt. I can't afford for it to go out. So it's Advil (I still haven't gotten myself a bottle of Alieve PKM, but I will!) and a heating pad for me. I wanted to make some pasta today, especially because I can now photograph the process, but that may not happen. I've decided to give chiropractic medicine a twirl, just as soon as I'm not laid up. I don't know whether it's all hokey quackery, or whether it really helps people. I figure it's worth a shot. I have a slight curve in my back, a periodically gimpy hip, and a bad back. I am the prime candidate for this kind of work. Philip has heard horror stories about people actually being messed up for life by chiropractors, but I think that must be pretty rare.

Philip leaves for California this Friday. Four days of just me and Max. The store will have to be closed on Sunday and for Friday and Saturday I'll do half days. It's not going to be easy to have Philip gone, but he really deserves a little break. I got to go to the trade shows in Seattle. He hasn't gone away by himself since we moved here. So it's time. He's going to take Amtrack to San Jose to see some bicycle show. Then he'll head north to Santa Rosa where he'll pick up a few barrels we left with my friend Sharon. This is a special concession Philip is making to my rare show of sentimentality. Those barrels are little eco-systems I created in our old garden. They have bulbs, a rare rose, a fig tree, some dahlias, and some really amazing volunteers. I love them. The rose, Kaiserin Freidrich, is rare and beautiful. It took me a year to get it.

I'm off to get cozy with the heating pad and "The Omnivore's Dilemma".

Late winter on my mind

If we never have enough money to send Max to college, these shoes will certainly be the reason. These are the Birkenstocks I bought.

For Christmas we bought Max a volcano kit and have slowly been working on it. Yesterday Philip and Max painted it. I think it looks great! I'm excited to get to the step where we mix up the stuff that makes the lava that will ooze out the top.

This pile amounts to nearly all the clothes and towels in current circulation. All right here, clean, and on the floor. Philip folded at least two thirds of it today. Happily, I cleaned the bathroom and did some cooking too. I love the evenings when my house has been freshly cleaned and it smells like good food.

I really love this time of year. In December and January everything in nature seems quieter; being deep in hibernation can have that effect. The end of February is not so quiet. Everywhere you look buds are swelling, shoots are pushing up, and I swear you can almost hear the sap beginning to run. The daffodils around town, and in my own yard, are all on the verge of unfurling. This kind of anticipation is the best kind. I already know the end of the story, so there's no anxiety about it, but I know what beauty is about to burst open in this grey wet landscape, so I'm almost holding my breath waiting for it.

I always want to write about seasons and gardening, but it's almost impossible to say anything about them that hasn't been said to death already. It's always the same words. I think it would be an incredible feat to write about gardening with a completely fresh vocabulary that says essentially the same thing but without sounding precious and annoying. Has any writer managed to do this yet?

One of the most profound, beautiful, troubling, and irresistible words I've ever encountered is entropy. The true ruler of the whole universe. Special nemesis to the Williamson family. One of the first concepts Max not only understood, but vehemently rebelled against. Where Philip speaks most eloquently with his art; with the tangible evidence of entropy.

Entropy.

I love words.

I eat them for breakfast.

I roll them around all day long.

A lot of the best words tell the darkest stories.

I'm going to go figure out what my favorite sunny word is.

That could take a long time.

Best to drink a beer.