Restocking the shelves

Posted in dolls by Climbing Vine Clothing

Last year, I set myself a goal- make enough dolls and toys to buy us plane tickets to Washington for my sister’s wedding. Thanks to all your interest and help, I achieved that goal.
Well guess what.
I have another sister getting married in Washington – and less than three months away! I thought about setting the same goal for myself this time around, but what with a new baby, and shortness of time, and the fact that I already found a super deal on tickets and bought them, that ship has sailed.
Even with the super deal, buying six plane tickets is nothing to sneeze at, so I’d like to start pushing my shop again. I figure, if I can sell about thirty 12 inch dolls or twenty of the 18 inch, it would just about cover it the tickets. So who wants a doll? Or a horse or rabbit? I’m still selling those as well.
I’m making some adjustments to my etsy site, so take a little time to think about it, but fyi, here are a few of the new dolls that will be up for sale soon.

I have been focusing more on the eighteen inch doll these last few weeks. Here’s my brunette. I have switched them over to the new way of doing hair that I mentioned before, and she is sporting some new “pleather” shoes that I have been experimenting with.

Here’s my blondie. She is also trying out some new items, like a striped sailor dress, and a felt hat. I hope to get better at making hats. Haberdashery is fun! Or maybe it’s just being able to use that word.

And here is the red head that I asked for help with yesterday. I went ahead with a few freckles, just to see if I liked them. They are just tiny stitches, and can be removed. What do you all think?
I’m also uncertain about the black dress. Does she need something a little flashier to go with her bright hair, or is the subtle look better? I appreciate your feedback!

So there we go. Hopefully I will have enough energy and motivation to really get back into the swing of things. And if you know of anyone who might be in the market for a doll, would you be so good as to mention it? These girls deserve a good home. Thanks!

7Aug2014

A whale of a tale

Posted in Childhood by Climbing Vine Clothing

I like living down south. I really do. But in August, when the days are hot and humid, and I am too wimpy to leave my air-conditioned house, I start to get homesick. I miss the northwest. I miss the cooler, clearer summer weather. I miss being able to sit out on the lawn of an evening without being eaten alive by mosquitos. But most of all I miss the water. There are days when I am sitting in my tiny house in a landlocked city, and I feel I would do just about anything to see the blue gray expanse of the Puget Sound, and to feel the salty wind in my face.
Or I want to be on a boat – a speed boat, a sail boat, even a row boat would suffice. Once upon a time, boats were a part of my life. I learned to row a boat with my best friend on her grandparent’s tiny lake. My Sunday school teacher had a wonderful sailboat that we used to take excursions in, exploring the islands of the Puget Sound and keeping an eye out for whales. I have always been fascinated by whales
And oh the many adventures we had on my uncle’s speed boat, chasing down the huge, lumbering cargo ships so we could ride their wake, or stirring up glittering waves of phosphorescence during midnight boat rides.
My uncle also had kayaks. It took me a while to summon up the nerve to climb into one of those wobbly little boats that sat so low in the water. But I soon learned to love cutting swiftly through the water, following the long rocky shorelines bordered with madrona trees and piled with white driftwood. And again, keeping an eye out for whales.
One day we got a call from my uncle, informing us that wild orca pods were passing through the bay in front of his house, following the salmon run. So we headed up to his house for the day, to see what we could see. I was so excited. Despite my vigilance, I had never yet managed to see a whale in the wild. Maybe today was the day! When we got there, he had a telescope set up on the front deck, and a few pairs of binoculars.
Sure enough, once I managed to get the binoculars focused, I could see, far out in the bay, the tell tale spurts of mist and the black of their triangular dorsal fins. But they were so disappointingly small and distant. And the pod was surrounded by a small fleet of water craft and a larger boat sent from the Coast Guard to keep an eye on the situation. I wanted to be closer too, because I had brought our new video camera in hopes that I might get some good footage. But clearly that wasn’t going to happen from the safe distance of my uncle’s lawn. I could see his kayaks pulled up on the shore below and so I talked a few of my sisters into a little adventure.

There were two kayaks- a one-man and a two-man. I elected to take the two-man with one sister, so I could sit in the front and film, while she paddled. My other sister jumped into the one-man and sped off toward the distant pod.
We took off after her, but were soon struggling to keep up. I had failed to ask some important questions, like whether or not said little sister could paddle at all. She wasn’t exactly a pro if the field, and soon we were spinning in circles. I tried to rectify the situation by counting out the strokes, but I was much bigger than she, and our unequal strokes kept us more or less in the same place.
Ever so often, as we spun, I could see my other sister in the distance, drawing closer to the coveted destination. So I turned around in my seat, handed my sister the camera, and told her to film, while I paddled on alone. We began to make some headway, but once again, I hadn’t asked the important questions, like whether or not my sister knew how to work the video camera.

We do have some footage from this whale watching adventure on an old vhs tape somewhere in my parent’s attic. It’s terribly funny. You can hear me yelling directions at my sister, trying to tell her which buttons to push and where to point the camera. She is wailing about not being able to see anything. In the distance can be heard the booming voice of the Coast Guard from his boat, telling my other sister not to get so close to the whales. The only thing you can actually see are alternating flashes of choppy sea and cloudy sky, with an occasional view of my stressed out face. It’s a film guaranteed to make even the most hardened old sailor sea sick.

Within a few minutes, the pod had moved on, and I could see my sister in the one-man returning from her frolic with the orcas. We turned off the camera, steered the kayak around and headed back to shore. All the way home, I was kicking myself for having been so worried about getting a video. If I had put the camera down, I might have gotten a chance to see the whales up close, Coast Guard or not. I was fairly certain that that had been a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Despite that conviction, I was always eager for another chance to get back on a boat. After all, there was joy in simply looking at the sun on the water, or admiring the snowy mountains in the distance. So months later, when my sunday school teacher organized another outing on his sailboat, I was elated.
The day he chose was a glorious, windy summer’s day, perfect for sailing. About half way to the island where we were going to have a picnic, my fellow classmates decided to go below deck and pass the time by playing a game of cards. I felt like playing cards while on a boat rather defeated the purpose, so I elected to stay up top. I went and sat alone on the side of the boat, dangling my feet over the edge until they just skimmed the surface of the waves. I was (to use a rather worn out phrase) lost in the beauty of the day.

Then suddenly, to my absolute terror and unending delight, a black fin cut the surface of the water just a couple of yards from my dangling legs. Up it came- two feet, four feet, six feet of shining black dorsal before the enormous black and white body curved up, and blasted a fountain of spray that misted my face. Then down it went again, while another rose up and another. I was absolutely speechless, rooted to the spot, unable to make a sound.
I don’t know how long I sat there enjoying the unbelievable sight before it struck me that I should share the experience with my friends. I clambered to my feet and ran to the hatch, where I started hollering about whales. Up they all came eager and excited, but when I pointed to the side of the boat, the orcas were gone.
Some of them asked me disappointedly if I had been joking, others just shrugged and went back to their cards. I found myself wishing I had had a camera so I could prove it to them. But then I laughed at myself and stopped wishing. I was suddenly glad I hadn’t thought to go looking for one and so missed another opportunity.
Since then, I have felt that those few special moments were in some way, a gift just for me. Those images are as clear to me now as they were that long ago day. And I am thankful I was able to store them away in my own mind to be replayed again and again when I am far from home.

2Aug2014

A plethora of pancakes

Posted in Childhood, Cooking by Climbing Vine Clothing

One of the things I love about cooking is the enormous amount of variation that can be found in even the simplest of recipes.
For example, take the humble pancake. Flour, leavening, eggs and milk combined into a thin batter and poured on a hot griddle. What could be simpler? And yet I doubt I have ever gone to a restaurant or breakfasted at someone else’s home without encountering a new variation on the theme.
I grew up on Bisquick pancakes. Everything was ready to go in a box except the milk, so pancakes were one of the earliest things I learned to make. Bisquick pancakes tended to be very fluffy, big, and slightly dry, which wasn’t a problem since we always drowned our cakes in Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup. Come to think of it, I don’t know if they sell Mrs. Butterworth’s down south. The syrup bottle was shaped like a woman in an apron. Do they still sell it like that?

But I digress.

Sometimes, if dad were in the right mood, we would break tradition with Bisquick, and he would make ‘silver dollar’ pancakes. I don’t think the batter was anything special, but it was very thin, and he would make piles and piles of little tiny pancakes, and we girls would see who could eat the most.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, my best friend used to invite me to stay with her at her grandparents house for a few days every summer, and they would take us to the Weyerhauser mansion for breakfast. There, my scrawny, nine-year-old self would order the “Lumberjack Breakfast”. In addition to bacon, sausage, eggs and hash browns, it came with a stack of pancakes big enough to cover an entire plate, and an ice cream scoop of butter on top. Not surprisingly, I never finished it.
I also remember a few times when one of my uncles would come over on Saturday mornings and make us buckwheat pancakes, just like his mom used to make them. Oh, those heavy, wheaty flapjacks were a trial for our picky, white flour palates, but we tried our best to muscle them down, so as not to offend him.
And speaking of uncles and pancakes, every year at our family reunion, another of my uncles would make fabulous blueberry pancakes, using a closely guarded secret recipe. There were rumors that there was vodka in the batter, but I never found out for sure.
There are the round Aebleskivers my Danish cousin taught me to make, and “skinny pancakes” that a junior high friend introduced me to. I later found out they were really called crepes.
Then there is the dutch baby, the german pancake, or as we call it, the puff pancake, because it rises to such heights in the oven before it collapses.

I think I’ve made my point.

The pancake recipe I am going to share today is different than all of the above, since it’s main ingredient is sour cream. I got this recipe from The Pioneer Woman’s blog, but I have altered it some to suit our needs. I was reticent to try this recipe for a long time because I couldn’t imagine a pancake with so much sour cream could look or taste like a pancake. But once I finally did, it became our family favorite. Oh, and it’s super simple. So here we go.

Here’s what you need-

Crack four eggs into a bowl.

Then just dump in the whole 1 lb container of sour cream, along with a good splash of vanilla extract.

Mix it up.

Then just stir in
2 cups of flour
and
2 tsp baking soda.

It’s going to be lumpy, and that is good. “Leave it lumpy” was the first law of pancake making, according to my mother.

Now because I altered the original recipe, I sometimes find that the batter is too thick, so I thin it down with a little milk or buttermilk until it is the desired consistency.

Then just find your favorite griddle or skillet. I use my Cuisinart Griddler. Even thought it is non stick, I always use plenty of butter.

Cook them like any other pancake, letting them get bubbly on the edges before you flip them.

And there you are! We’ve graduated from Mrs. Butterworth’s to real maple syrup around here, so that’s how we serve them, but jam is very nice too.

What’s your favorite pancake?

19Jul2014

The Unlooked-for Frenchman

Posted in Daily happenings, France by Climbing Vine Clothing

Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary. I’ve known my hubby for 15 years now, almost half of my life, and I’ve been married to him for 13. Whenever this time of year rolls around, I like to think back to the week we met- the last week that I was in France.
I don’t have the time or space to relate all that happened during those crazy, memorable days, but this is one of my favorite (and most embarrassing) memories from that time. He was just returning home to the seminary in Aix, fresh from his first year abroad at Covenant College. His father was the administrator of the seminary and his mother the secretary, so home was an apartment on the campus.

If you recall, I had been studying in Aix for nine months, along with my friends E and N. And we had also been joined by E’s older sister B after Christmas. Steve knew B very well already from a previous sojourn in France, so he invited her (and the rest of us) to his apartment for dinner and a time of catching up. I had met him for the first time a few days before in the seminary driveway, and then we had merely introduced ourselves and walked on. So when we went to dinner that night he was still, for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger.

I had assumed that his merry, warm-hearted mother would be making dinner for us, but upon arriving, I saw that his parents weren’t even there. I was relieved that his father was absent, since we girls had always been slightly intimidated by the tall, white-haired administrator with his crisp British accent. (No offense to my dear father-in-law. I know him better now.)
At any rate, much to my surprise, this young frenchman had made the dinner entirely by himself. I remember him serving a fresh tomato and basil tart, a lovely salad, and his famous soup a la courgette. That was enough to peak my interest in the guy, but the evening continued to display more things worth admiring. The fact that he was a talented violinist and that we shared a very similar taste in music was one thing. The fact that he was a hard worker, and that the beautifully tiled floor in his parent’s apartment had been all his own work was another. And then after dinner, he walked into the living room with a tray of chocolate mousse he had made himself. I mean, what was a girl to do? All that, combined with a pair of mysterious blue-gray eyes, and I was a goner.

I don’t remember sleeping much that night. Of course I couldn’t tell the other girls what I was feeling. It was all too ridiculous. Remember, my nickname was ‘the nun’, and I may have been a little proud of that title. But much to my chagrin, and though I tried all night to call it to my aid, the common sense and rationality that had always dominated my life and decisions seemed to have fled. I tried to remind myself that just two days before, I had assured my parents that I wouldn’t be bringing a frenchman home with me. How we had laughed on the phone over the idea! Nevertheless, when dawn began creeping through the cracks in the shutters, I had but one idea in mind. To see that boy again.

All morning, I racked my brain to think of a way that I could ‘accidentally’ bump into him. Finally after breakfast, where I noticed my appetite had entirely fled, I suddenly remembered that we still had our last month’s rent to pay to the secretary. The secretary was his mother! His apartment was directly above the office! I had a better chance of meeting him there than in the kitchen, so I abruptly left the other girls to run and collect the money. I could tell they were beginning to wonder what was wrong with me. I don’t think I had ever failed to eat my breakfast before, but I didn’t care much what they thought at this point.

I was soon standing in front of the office door with a dry mouth and beating heart, hardly called for when performing such a mundane task. But boldly went in anyway. I found myself blushing furiously when his mother greeted me, and could hardly stammer out a ‘bonjour’. I silently handed her the rent, and then, unable to think of an excuse to stay, I began to turn when the sounds of a Bach violin prelude came floating down the stairs. I stopped and looked up at the ceiling.
“Ah, c’est mon fils, Stephen,” said the secretary. “Il joue du violin,” she continued with obvious pride.

“Ah oui?” I replied stupidly, and blushing still further, said ‘au revoir’ and made my way out of the office.

I gave myself a pep-talk all the way back to my room.

“What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this? Get a grip! You’re leaving in a few days! This is pointless! He’s not even interested in you!”

But to no avail. Upon reaching the room, my first care was to figure out a way to at least hear a little more of his violin. I remembered that in the short tour Steve had give us of his apartment last night, I had seen that his bedroom window led out to a tiny balcony. That balcony was just across the way from our bedroom. And directly beneath our bedroom window was a roof belonging to the porch below. If I could climb out there and sit on the far edge, as close to the balcony as possible, I might be able to hear something.
As a matter of fact, we girls had often climbed out to sit on that roof for the chance of a little privacy, or to catch a bit of a sun. We kept it up until we were caught by the administrator. His austere warnings about the inability of that roof to support much weight had finally convinced us to stay off of it- but not today.
I opened the big green shutters, grabbed a book by my bedside table so that I might have a plausible excuse for sitting out there, and climbed out the window.
Sure enough, the sounds of Bach could still be heard clearly as I crawled to the edge of the porch roof. I sat down with my back against the sun-baked wall, held my book up in front of my face, and listened. I blocked out all thoughts of how ludicrous my behavior was, and how I seemed to be acting in some reverse parody of Romeo and Juliet, when I was startled by a loud “Ahem!”
I clutched at my book, and looked down. There, to my horror stood Steve’s father, in all his silver-haired dignity looking up at my dangling legs.

“Have we not before discussed the dangers of sitting out on this roof?” he asked reprovingly.

Then, as I tried to apologize, I noticed his eyebrows lifted in some confusion as he looked at my book. I looked down too. I had been ‘reading it’ upside down. My mortification was complete.
But if he thought I was crazy, he said nothing about it. Nor did he ask me what I was really doing there, since reading had clearly not been my purpose. He merely continued on his way, while I blindly scrambled to my feet and made my way back to the window. It was only then I noticed the music had stopped. I looked over my shoulder, and there was Steve, standing on the balcony with a funny little smile on his face. I didn’t know how much he had seen, but even so, I wished then that the roof would collapse and take me down with it….

Well, needless to say, everything turned out all right in the end. I wouldn’t trade those embarrassing moments for anything, since they were the beginning of thirteen happy years of marriage. They also make for a pretty good story.

I love you Stephen, my un-looked for Frenchman. Here’s to thirteen more years!

14Jul2014

Once upon a time, I had an etsy shop

Posted in dolls by Climbing Vine Clothing

You may or may not have noticed that posts pertaining to my once flourishing etsy shop have slowed to a trickle. I make no apologies for this state of affairs. In fact, one of things I love about etsy is the ability to slow things down if your life demands it. And my life definitely has demanded it of late. But I haven’t forgotten about my little shop, and I hope to do some updating etc., to try and get things up and running again in time for the holidays.
I have in fact, made some updates already. I toyed around (pun intended) with stuffed animals, as you may remember, but couldn’t seem to get excited enough about it. I just kept going back to dolls, and since they seem to sell much better, I wanted to see if I could make some improvements there instead of branching off into new realms.

One thing I have never been entirely satisfied with is the hair on my dolls. I like the cotton jersey, since it is stretchy and doesn’t come unraveled like yarn can. It is also far less expensive. It takes a lot of yarn to make a doll wig. But the way I have done the jersey wigs makes the hair strands very thick, and I didn’t like the way it looked in the back sometimes. So I went back to the drawing board, and found a few different methods on Pinterest that I wanted to give a try. I had to make some adjustments, since I still didn’t want to use yarn. This is the result.

There are several things I prefer about this wig. The strands are thinner and look more like real hair, the strands are pulled tight so the raw edges curl under, and it gives me the ability to make bangs, which is fun and gives more variety.

What I ended up doing was stitching a braided crown around the edge of her head, and then, taking long doubled strands of jersey, I wove them into the braid with a crochet hook.
The downside to this method is that it takes me more time than the other, but I definitely like the finished product better.
I also find that it styles more easily.

I would love your feedback here. Any opinions would be welcome. It’s hard to get feedback from other sources since, as far as I know, no one else makes doll hair out of jersey!
Here’s a few photos of the other method, just for comparison’s sake.

Oh, and something else I have been toying around with.
Hats!

So much fun!

So let me know what you think!

7Jul2014

Summer’s Bounty (otherwise entitled- Too Many Tomatoes!)

Posted in Cooking, Home and Garden by Climbing Vine Clothing

I’m going to pretend that I have made all the necessary excuses for my long blogging absence, and just dive right back in here. Or at least put my toe in. Life’s a little unpredictable these days.
It’s been forever since I have posted a recipe, which I blame mostly on the fact that I haven’t been cooking much lately. People have been bringing us meals, and we’ve been eating a lot of sandwiches, but I could no longer ignore the produce that seems to be bursting out of my garden this year, so it’s back to the kitchen I go.
Gardening is a funny thing. Last year I spent hours upon hours nurturing my garden, only to have it all rot in the excess rain. This year, too pregnant to care much, I haphazardly threw some tomato, pepper, corn and squash starts into the ground, and I am getting a bumper crop- especially tomatoes. Go figure.
So what to do?
One of my favorite ways to eat fresh tomatoes is in a caprese salad- you know, tomatoes, fresh mozzarella and basil with a splash of balsamic vinegar? Well, this super easy recipe just takes that idea one step further. It’s a bread salad, and makes for a very light, satisfying dinner. It’s also a great way to use up any leftover crusty bread you may have lying around. Here’s what you need.

And for the dressing

The only cooking involved here is making the croutons. But I warn you, once you start making homemade croutons, it’s hard to go back to the store bought ones in a box. I happened to have this chunk of wonderful sourdough staling on my countertop, but most french style breads will work. Just cut it up into rough cubes. I like mine on the big side.

Then throw them in a pan and liberally drizzle olive oil over them.

Also a generous sprinkling of salt.

Turn the stove on to medium high, and shake the pan occasionally to toast them evenly. Let them get nicely golden brown and crispy on the outside, but still a little soft on the inside. Remove them from the heat.

Now just dice up the tomatoes and the fresh mozzarella.

Then slice up a few basil leaves, which I do by stacking them, rolling them up tightly and slicing thinly. This is called a chiffonade, I think.

Put the bread in the bowl, followed by the cheese, basil and tomatoes. Or the other way around. It doesn’t matter.

A good dousing of olive oil is called for here, and a tablespoon or two of balsamic vinegar.

Toss it with a little salt and pepper and garnish it with a sprig more of basil if you have it.

And that’s it. A great way to make a dent in your pile of tomatoes, if you have one. We have also served this with leftover sliced chicken or beef for a heartier meal. Quite delish. But serve it quickly or the croutons will be soggy. Enjoy!

14Jun2014

Road trip- a father’s day tribute

Posted in Childhood by Climbing Vine Clothing

Since I’m sitting around a lot these days, and since tomorrow is father’s day, I thought I would post another tale from my youth- a slightly lengthy one that encapsulates best many of the things I love about my father. It really should be written down, even though it’s hard to imagine any of us who were part of the story could ever forget it. It’s the story of our last family road trip, before the six of us left the nest.
My oldest sister had already graduated from high school and spent some time abroad. I had just graduated as well, and was preparing for my own sojourn overseas. Dad realized that home life with his all of his daughters was fast coming to a close. So, being a lover of road trips, and always looking for an excuse to head south to his homeland in sunny southern California, he began planning the grand finale of family road trips. This one would not only head south, but also east through the dessert towards Colorado and back home again to Washington state.
We had often borrowed cars for trips to California, since we rarely had a family vehicle we could depend on. But this time, dad splurged. We bought a new van. One that wouldn’t die on the side of the road, as had happened in some of our other memorable family outings. It was a shiny, deep burgundy color, with lots of space inside- a very dependable looking vehicle.

We left for our three week trek in July. Dad’s motto when vacationing has always been “No time for sleep!” So naturally he planned to leave in the evening and drive through the night, so as not to waste a single moment of daylight in driving. We girls were supposed to sleep through the night, but seeing as I never am able to sleep in cars, I spent the night gazing out the back window at the incredible stars high in the mountains as we crossed from Oregon into California. Even though there were now four other licensed drivers in the van, dad insisted on doing all the driving. But despite the loss of a night’s sleep, he made very good time, so that we were well past the border by the time the sun rose and we blearily looked around.

Our goal was to get to our destination in record time. I had made breakfast ahead of time so that we wouldn’t need to stop to eat- a couple of pans of homemade cinnamon rolls that we all munched happily as the sun rose higher. We were making such good time that we anticipated surprising our beloved cousins several hours ahead of schedule. Dad was in his most exuberant mood- full of nervous energy, jokes and old stories, and trying not to exceed the speed limit too much. The sunshine of CA always had this effect on him. It was infectious, and we in the backseats were soon hyperactive as well, laughing uproariously at the slightest joke and full of anticipation.
And then the funny smell began. It started out as an occasional whiff that we ignored for a while. As it grew stronger, one of my sisters piped up with a “Hey daddy, what’s that smell?”
It smelled a little like oil, or maybe like hot tires. We were driving through farmland, and dad thought that maybe it was some kind of new fertilizer they were using on the fields. This reassured us for awhile. But soon the hot tire smell began smelling like a burning tire. I looked out the back window and noticed a thin trail of smoke streaming behind us.

“Ummm, dad?” I began.

Then BANG!

The next few seconds are some that are etched on my memory as if in slow motion. The van launched itself a few feet off the ground, and came back down again with a thud. I watched, horrified, as flames spurted out behind us. I saw a semi bearing down on us, honking it’s horn loudly, as if to notify us that something might be wrong. And then thick black oil covered the entire back windshield. I whirled around to face the front, and there was dad, frantically trying to control our vehicle that was veering from side to side. I remember it being totally silent. Either we didn’t have time for screaming or I was just to shocked to hear it. It seemed an eternity before dad managed to pull the van to the side of the road, but as soon as he hit the brake, the volume seemed to come back up. I will never forget the look on his face or the tone of his voice as he shouted at us to get out of the car. It didn’t take us long.

Expecting the whole van to explode behind us in a fiery ball any second, we all pelted up the grass-covered hill that ran along the side of the freeway. When we had reached a safer distance, we turned to survey the scene. There were still flames burning away underneath the van, but this was still the dark ages, before we had a cell phone. There was no way to notify the fire department. Then I noticed, as I looked down the straight stretch of freeway behind us, a black patch of burnt grass in the distance, perhaps burned by a carelessly thrown cigarette. I saw us sitting in that long, tall, dry grass, while the flames from the van were being blown towards the hill. But before I really started to panic at the thought of the imminent grass fire, a cop pulled up. Dad ran down to talk to him, and he immediately called the fire department. There wasn’t much the cop could do for us, but I do remember his kind and helpful words to the seven females trembling on the side of the road.

“Hey. You ladies should watch out for rattle snakes up there.”

Just what we needed to hear.

Within moments, the first firetruck wailed up, then another. But by that time, the danger had passed. The last of the flames had gone out, the van was still standing and the excitement was over. Then came the tedium of waiting. We weren’t sure what to do next, other than keep an eye out for rattlesnakes. The firemen were bored too. To pass the time, I fetched the other pan of cinnamon rolls. We divvied them up with the firemen, who we noticed were casting hopeful looks in our direction. We couldn’t help some slightly hysterical giggling at the ludicrous situation we now found ourselves in, but seeing dad, pacing up and down the side of the freeway, wringing his hands and looking stressed, we kept quiet.

Eventually a tow truck arrived, and the firemen left. The problem now was how to transport all of us back to civilization since eight was too many to fit in the cab of the tow truck, and it was illegal to ride in a car that was being towed. In the end, the driver decided to flout the law, and told us all to get back in our poor burnt van. In we got, and burst into laughter again as the tow truck hauled us up and we drove to the nearest town at a slightly reclined level.

We spent the afternoon waiting in a small patch of grass outside a car rental place as dad haggled with the the car company to try and get us a replacement vehicle. At long last, he managed to find a big enough van for us, and arranged for our broken van to be towed back home. We transferred all of our things, and dad insisted on taking the wheel again. We all took a look at his haggard, sleep deprived face- the face of a man who had nearly lost his entire family that day. His hair was standing on end, his shoulders were in tight knots, his eyes had a slightly wild look. Mom put her foot down. We gently guided his protesting self to the passenger side of the van. One of us started massaging his neck, another reclined his seat for him, and he was asleep almost as soon as mom pulled back onto the highway.

We eventually made it to our destination, and by that time, dad had revived enough to tell our story with a laugh. For once in his life, there was no need to add any dramatic flourishes. He retold it again and again as we reunited at the beach with his family, met up with friends for a few luxurious days in Santa Cruz, passed through Las Vegas, and made our way to Lake Powell, Utah, where we spent a glorious weekend on a house boat with more relatives.
By the time we reached Colorado, and made our way up to visit our pastor and his family at their vacation home in the mountains, I could tell it was going to become the stuff of family legend. He had even given our ill-fated van a name- “the eight- slice toaster.”

It may not have ended up being the perfect trip he had planned, and the financial and legal hassle over the car that awaited us when we got home would take several months to sort out, but it was still one of the best times we ever had with dad. His love of life, of family, of adventure, his ability to see the humorous side of things, even his vacation motto “no time for sleep” which sometimes left us exhausted, are all things that endear him to us.
And, of course, his love of a good story. This one’s for you, dad.

11Jun2014

Introducing….

Posted in Daily happenings, New baby by Climbing Vine Clothing

Well loyal readers, I hope my long absence is excusable. We’ve had quite a lot going on around here. But today is quiet and rainy. The visiting family has departed (sniff). And here I sit to start life again with my five children. Five! And one of them a female!
I admit, I was skeptical up until the moment when she was born, and the first words out of my mouth when they plopped her on my chest were, “Is she really a girl?” But Caroline Marguerite is here in the flesh, and we are all, despite a little fatigue, very well and happy.
I’m not sure what we would have done if she had been a boy, since the amount of pink pouring into our house lately has been, well, a little over the top. Grandma, aunties and daddy started buying fluffy dresses-

My boys, with a little help, sent me flowers in the hospital-

And grandma brought another stunning hand made quilt-

I always wonder how the other children will react to a new baby in the house. I wasn’t really worried about my big boys this time around, nor should I have. They are totally smitten.

But I was a little concerned with the three year old. He has ruled the roost around here for a long time, and when he wouldn’t even look at me in the hospital, I thought we were in for trouble. But he is warming up to her.

And I think they will all be just fine with a little sister.

And then there is Caroline herself. I’ll try not to bore you all with too many pictures, but I have to put up a few, because of course she is the most beautiful baby ever born. Particularly when she is sleeping-

But even more so when she is awake.

We are grateful for all your well-wishes, prayers and sweet gifts, and we are grateful to our good God for entrusting this little life to us!

21May2014

Odds and Ends

Posted in Daily happenings, dolls by Climbing Vine Clothing

Well, the blog has been slipping out of focus these past few weeks as that all important day finally comes into view. For so long, I have felt like there is no end in sight to this pregnancy. But then, at the grocery store yesterday, I grabbed a gallon of milk and noticed with great joy that the expiration date stamped on it was my due date! It’s really coming folks! And none too soon. It’s getting hot down here and I could stand to lose some excess weight.

Anyways, I’ve been putting my feet up quite a bit lately, but I haven’t quite forgotten about sewing. There were a couple things I needed to finish up for Caroline, and one last doll order that I figured would be easier to complete before the new baby arrived.

I had been looking around at new diaper bags, determined not to settle for the cheap plastic one they give you at the hospital, like I did for my boys. But I had a really hard time finding one I liked that was affordable. I figured it would be worth trying to make one, since I still had plenty of the sturdy fabric I used for the armoire leftover. I found several patterns I liked on pinterest, but in the end, pieced one together from a few different ideas. I wanted a nice big one, and this is what I came up with.

I pleated it to make it extra roomy, and gave it a nice long strap so it can go across my body

I also lined it with fabric from an old linen skirt, just for a contrast with the floral pattern. Then I accented the edges with purple bias tape, and had a bit of fun with one of the decorative stitches on my machine that I hardly ever use.

On the inside, I just put two side pockets, for bottles and what not.

And I put a sturdy piece of cardboard on the bottom, so that it would stand upright when full.

I just happened to have that big old turquoise button lying around to cover up the ugly magnetic snap closure I used for fastening.
I think it will work! And it cost me about five bucks.

I also had great plans to make a whole bunch of clothes for her, but the more clothes that kept pouring in from other people, the less I felt the need. One thing I did want to make however, was a little outfit to bring her home in. It’s always a bit of a struggle, getting those little onesies over a newborn head and wrestling their curled up arms into the sleeves. Then I remembered I had had a few baby kimonos for the boys and really liked them, so I made one for my girl.

There are a whole bunch of free patterns online, and you can either use snaps as closures, or little ties. I went for snaps here, with cotton jersey fabric and a bit of Alabama Chanin technique.

And I couldn’t resist just a little bit of embellishment. I also made the sleeves extra long, to cover her hands and keep her from scratching her face if need be.
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The pants were super simple as well- nice and stretchy with a draw string waist.

That’s probably the last of the sewing I will do for her for now.

And just for fun, another doll, for a friend’s daughter. She asked for something pink and girly, maybe with flowers involved. I got some inspiration from the peonies my hubby bought me for my birthday last week. (These aren’t them, but they looked like this.)

Blond hair with blue eyes seems to be the popular choice lately.

I added some little blue flowers at the waist, just so the pink wouldn’t be too overwhelming.

Hopefully, she is pink and girly enough!

Pink has never been a favorite color with me, but I think I am getting used to it. And just in time! Who knows what I might post next!

7May2014

Caroline’s Corner

Posted in Daily happenings, Home and Garden by Climbing Vine Clothing

Well, this was the last stage in my quest for baby space, and my last big project before this baby makes her appearance. As I posted before, I managed to find a little armoire for my girl, but I needed a place to put it, some clothing to fill it, and a crib of some kind.

After serving four boys, I had decided not to store all their old baby stuff, and so have been starting from scratch for this baby, as far as supplies go.

I made some lists of what I would need, measured and brainstormed, and finally decided to make this space Caroline’s corner.

Yes, it is in my room, and yes, that is my closet, full of stuff. But where there’s a will, there’s a way. I won’t show you all four corners of this room. Steve’s cluttered and paper covered office, and the other closet aren’t really worth mentioning. Suffice it to say, we did a lot of reorganizing, filing, and tossing of stuff throughout the room to help make space.

This beautiful chest that the hubby made in college was just too big (and too prone to be covered in clutter) so I ended up rearranging the whole living room to make space for it in there.

Don’t you just love the chain reaction of reorganizing?

This needed to be done, however, because……

…look what I found under all the furniture! Don’t look mom! Ugghh!

I stole this much smaller chest from the boys room, dumped their train tracks, filled it with my fabric scraps, and decided that the top would be the perfect perch for a Moses basket, since I didn’t want to get a whole new bassinet.

So this corner is actually where she will be sleeping the first weeks of her life.

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The Moses basket was a gift from the ladies at church.

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Now it was time to tackle the closet. It had been way too long since I had taken an honest reckoning of the contents of my closet. I had to ask those difficult questions like, “when is the last time you wore this?” or “do you really think you will ever be able to fit into that again?”

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I purged mercilessly and as a result, was easily able to fit my remaining clothing into the boys much bigger closet. The shoes suffered a similar fate. It was very liberating.

Then it was time for the closet doors (which have been half-way broken since we moved in) to be removed. I cracked up when I realized there was still a last remaining piece of the old pink carpet in there, which used to cover all our lovely hardwood floors. Pink carpet! It was a sign.

Once everything was finally removed, I brought the armoire in. I had found another small shelving unit that would fit into the closet, which is currently housing all the unsold merchandise from my Etsy shop. I thought Caroline might like the stuffed animals.

I had also hunted up the smallest pack and play/crib I could find online and thanks again to the ladies at church, was able to purchase it. A few little decorative touches later and we were in business!

It’s cozy, but I think it just might work for the time being.

And it has been awfully fun filling up the armoire. As you can see, I am not too worried about coming up with clothes for her!

So that’s that! Now I can put my swollen feet up and play the waiting game for the next few weeks. Seeing that crib all ready makes me so impatient!

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