love in the banyan trees

Key West, 1976.

Their eyes met, dancing in the sunset, bare feet in the sand.

They disapeared into the twisting limbs of the banyan tree.

Branches entertwined, roots mingled and overtime

grew together to became one.

A few weeks ago they came to visit me in florida and I caught a glimpse of those two young lovers.

After 31 years of marriage my folks are still kissing in the banyan trees.

Happy Anniversary

living on location

I’m settling in nicely to my new location. My sewing studio is arranged and costume production is underway. There is a lot of work to be done, but living on a country club resort is a good incentive for proper time management. Yes indeed, I think the next three months will be just fine.

I sit on the end of the marina, my back against wooden pilings. The sun warms my skin, through a haze of clouds overhead. I am surrounded by lapping, splashing drips of water against the hull of boats in the harbor and the percussive cling clang of metal pulleys on tall masts. Although the breeze is gentle, a whirling whistle can be heard between the boats. Such is the melody of the marina. Blue paint, weathered wood, white canvas and reflected shimmers of light on the water. I’m happy to find that my wifi works here. It’s such a peaceful spot, a place to recharge my spirit.

rasberries and roses

These pictures were taken on my last ramble through the woods before leaving home, two weeks ago. Woodland brambles tipped with red are one of Maryland's earliest signs of spring awakening. It makes me happy to think these buds will become raspberries and roses by the time I return.

Homemaking

There are few things in life that make me happier than creating a cozy nest, so these past two months have been a true luxury.

Mama and I wove this egg basket together on her birthday this past January.

Amy and I designed this two part stencel.

I drew and cut the shapes. Amy picked and mixed the tonal colors.

We tag-teamed the paint job.

All the Merrick women had a hand in designing these curtains for the living room. I was lucky to have the time to work out the pattern and sew up the final product.

Mom was so happy with her curtains that I put together a variation on the same theme for the dining room.

My funny Valentine

Allow me to introduce you to the magical mystical Mr Mephistophelies, my demon kitty... Stalker of sewing supplies, slayer of pincushions, eater of houseplants, master of crazy hijinks, magician of curious mischief, a certified expert in purr therapy and burry your face in fur therapy. He and his siblings are the cutest little loves of my life.

I feel so surrounded by love here, so blessed.

It's hard to believe that in two days I'll be flying away.... away from my family, my kitties, my woods, towards the unknown. Three months of work and sunshine in Palm Beach await me. I'm really excited. I'll do my best to blog throughout but oh how I'm going to miss my darling little kitties.

sunlight in february

It's a balmy fifty-five degrees outside my family's home in Maryland. The thick blanket of snow, that has covered the ground since Christmas, is lifting into the air and sinking into the soil. I woke up to mist so thick the whole world became a white haze. I decided to take a walk with the old beagle dog. Putting on rubber boots, coat and shawl, we tramped off through the woods together.

Our feet splashed through frozen slush, and from time to time, patches of earth at the base of a tree, would reveal a hint of green moss or ivy which outlasted the snow's icy shroud. When we reached the bay the sun was shining bright. The mist cleared. I took a seat on top of an old wooden pick nick table, warmed in the afternoon sun. I was so flushed from the briskness of our walk that I felt compelled to take off my coat and wool sweater. Then through some strange impulse, I took off my boots and socks too.

No one was in sight except for the good old dog. I could see for miles down the shoreline. So, with the Chesapeake bay before me and the snowy white world behind, I did a series of sun salutations, right on the pick nick table. There is nothing more delightful than to move and breathe in the open air. I kept my eyes wide open through the postures breathing in the sights of the world. The steel gray water and wispy clouds, snowy earth and gray tree trunks turned upside down as I stretched in the sunshine. And before I knew it I was turning pirouettes on the wooden table top. At last, it was time to come back down to earth. I put on my coat and shoes, whistled for the beagle and trudged my way back to realty, but with a light heart and a fully nourished spirit.

Hand Hemmed

I'm getting my things packed and ready. After a nice long break I'm heading off to work again. I expect I will be away for four months. I'm in the thick of weeding through my clothes and I have built up a whole big pile of mending and alterations. I've been wearing this vintage Lee skirt around with its frayed edge flying in the breeze. I decide it's time to do justice to its cuteness and finish it properly.

Frequently, when I do alterations for myself I do it down and dirty... "It's just for me, it dosent need to be perfect. Who else is going to know that I cut corners? It will be faster this way," I tell my self. Then I spend twice as long fussing with corrections that would not have been necessary if I had just taken the time to go through the right steps. Inspired by the craftsmanship of my vintage clothes I vow to give myself the pleasure of finishing my own things right.

To hem a skirt yourself, try it on and mark the length you desire with a safety pin.

Measure up from the original hem and transfer this measurement all the way around the inside of your skirt, with pins or a light pencil mark. Add one and a quarter inch to this length for hem allowance, which will be folded inside and stitched into place.

Cut a piece of twill tape slightly longer than the circumference of the hem. The twill tape or hem tape reduces the bulk of the hem along it to lie more smoothly. Lay the twill tape over the cut edge of your skirt on the outside (or right side of the skirt) so that it overlaps the edge by one-quarter inch. Stitch the tape in place by machine close to the top edge of the tape. Press the hem allowance under one and a half inches, towards the inside (or wrong side of the skirt.)

Thread a needle and knot your thread. Start your stitch at a side seam, hiding the knot behind your twill tape. Move your needle to the right to take your first stitch (reverse these directions if you are left handed.) Your stitches should be between one quarter and one half inches in length. Although your stitch is moving from left to right your needle will prick from right to left. This serves to strengthen your stitches and "knot" each one in place.

To make a tiny even stitch, follow the edge of your twill tape and prick through just a few threads of your skirt fabric at the exact line where it meets the twill tape then prick through the twill tape at the same point. This keeps your thread in line with the edge of your tape making it less noticeable and less likely to snag as you wear it. Be sure you only catch a few threads on the back of the skirt fabric and do not bring your needle all the way through to the front. This makes your hem invisible from the right side of the skirt. It is as if your skirt magically ends with out a machine stitch line.

This technique takes longer than machine stitching the edge under, but it looks so much nicer and I always find hand-stitching to be peaceful.

Unexpected Beauty

I’ve never been one for fussy beauty products. Still, I was surprised, even doubtful,People actually use baking soda and vinegar to wash their hair? I imagine dull greasy locks, smelling distinctly of salad dressing. But after some research I was intrigued. For years, I have mixed my own home cleaning products using the same ingredients. So, I figure, it can't hurt to try?

Here's the result of the experiment: A mixture of baking soda in warm water, massaged into the roots of my hair cleared away oil better than shampoo. As it turns out, baking soda's pH is mildly alkaline, so it reacts and dissolves the fatty acids that form on the scalp and skin. It was so effective in clearing oil from my hair that I'd be nervous to use it again for fear of stripping away too much.

Then, I soaked my hair in apple cider vinegar. Strange as it seems, vinegar's pH level is the same as human hair slightly acidic. My hair was left smooth and shiny and when it was dry...surprise, no vinegar smell. I may be tempted to try this one again.

But my favorite Natural beauty trick is coconut oil, I use this all the time. Mix it with a little solid perfume on your fingers, work it into the ends of your hair or onto your comb. Coconut oil is nature’s richest source of medium chain fatty acids, the same substance as your skins natural oils. It's hands down my favorite moisturizer.

The little pinch pots: Susan Ridenour.

The vintage brass hair clip made from vintage jewelry findings.

The little cloisonné tins of solid perfume were found at Follow Your Heart.

Art deco table runner is an example of decorative darning embroidery.

Branscombe lace

A big white moon is rising over the trees behind the house. Droplets of condensation have formed on the storm windows and the misty glass defuses moonlight through the room. I'm in a pensive mood, curled up under the covers looking at the spoils of an epic thrift hunt. I had my eye open for vintage handiwork and the universe delivered textiles with abundance.

This breathtakingly detailed needle lace blouse took the prize. I found it at a consignment store for next to nothing. Holding it in my hands, I wonder who wove this delicate web. I can't even imagine how long it must have taken and what thoughts must have drifted through the mind if it's maker in all those hours of focused attention and repetitive motion.

I was so intrigued by the whimsical scallop patterns that I felt compelled to do some research. This is an example of a needle and tape construction, introduced in the 1860's, called Branscombe lace, originating from Devonshire, England. Bold handcrafted designs became fashionable at this time as an alternative to the more readily available machine made laces. Its organic patterns could not be mass manufactured. At the turn of the century Branscombe lace became a popular craft. Ladies could by kits to make "renaissance lace" at home. I'm guessing this piece date from the twentieth century, it's in perfect condition and the shape is fairly modern.

There is something indescribably special about wearing a garment made by hand with loving attention and personal pride. I feel honored to surround myself in the creative force of this nameless remarkable woman. I respect the intelligence and time it took to learn this craft and make this one of a kind work of art. I hope she would be pleased that her creation is still loved and appreciated.

frolic architecture of the snow

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,

Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,Seems nowhere to alight: the whited airHides hill and woods, the river, and the heaven,And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.

The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet

Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit

Around the radiant fireplace, enclosedIn a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come see the north wind's masonry.

Out of an unseen quarry evermoreFurnished with tile, the fierce artificerCurves his white bastions with projected roofRound every windward stake, or tree, or door.

Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work

So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he for number or proportion.

Mockingly, On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;

A swan-like form invests the hiddden thorn;Fills up the famer's lane from wall to wall,

Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gateA tapering turret overtops the work.

And when his hours are numbered, and the world

Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,

Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished ArtTo mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,

Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,The frolic architecture of the snow.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Snowstorm

1835 [1841]

On Christmas night snow came, a ticklish, caressing kind of snow. The kind that brushes your cheek for a moment, before settling down to melt into your skin, crystalline flakes catching the light, catching the wind, swirling and sparkling like tiny shards of glass glitter through the trees. Overnight the snow built it's crystal castles and offered it's wild creation up to the day, but as quickly as the sky built this frolic architecture, with equal speed it starts to melt away.

(Amy's depiction of our Merry Merrick Christmas is so sweet, give it a read!)