Heavenly Céleste

It all started out as a bit of a goat (if you'll forgive me the pun), or at least as a self-badgering trip. I mean, let's face it, the odds were clearly against me. I had slept three hours at most (for the fifth consecutive night) and my inspiration levels were at 340 degrees below zero.

These were my raw materials:

There was no pattern, no instructions, only a beautiful picture in a Japanese craft book that I do not own (and those are only good for beating yourself over the head with for not coming up to their level) and that dirty bit of shopping list I'd found next to the sink a couple of posts ago.

My brain was fried. My mood was horrid. I hated those socks.

But then something happened. As I was grumpily going through vague cutting and sewing motions, it suddenly hit me that these two socks, among all other old, raggedy, unmatched socks in Marc's sock drawer... these two socks were going to be saved, they were going to be seen, they were going to be loved.

Thanks to me.

And that thought actually made me cry (see three-and-a-half paragraphs above for some reasons why the fact that I cried about a pair of socks coming to life is not entirely to be blamed on my congenital insanity). And so I slowed down, and started working with love. Working as if I meant every stitch.

And she came out beautiful, my Céleste, shaming that grey elephant boy over on the Japanese craft cover.


But more importantly, she made me happy.

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It was beyond my control...

... do you remember that song by Mylène Farmer (well, you probably don't, since a) most of you have luckily never heard of Mylène Farmer and b) it was not one of her great hits)?

Anyway, I know we REALLY don't need them, but at 1 euro a piece, I couldn't help myself.


Aren't they simply darling?

Recent Acquisitions

I promised you a report on the fabric fair:

"Je suis venue, j'ai vu, j'ai acheté!"

Some highlights:




And a big kiss and warm thank you to our anonymous sponsors...

Eating Fish

Antidote

Some days everything is grey. Grey outside, where the rain and the wind and the cold are doing their best to prove March wrong. Grey inside, where sleeplessness and work worries have all but obliterated any creativity or joy. Grey in between, too.

On days like this, I like to spend time in my kitchen. There, among the left-overs of unfinished meals, behind the piled-up dishes and under the unpacked groceries, always, I find hidden treasures. Little bits of light. Little bits of beauty.

The adorable little chinese teacup, part of an adorable little chinese teaset that Marc bought for me last week. My husband actually buys me delicate chinese teasets... I don't have to tell you what that thought is worth on a grey grey day...


An antique French bowl filled with Kumquats (I seem to remember I still owe you a post about those...)


The cow and the chicken. I love the cow and the chicken.


And there, right between the sink and a dirty plate, an amazing find, on a piece torn from the shopping list (and you know how hard it is to tear anything off a shopping list, so I must have been truly inspired), a vision, a stroke of genius, a plan that once implemented will solve all at once the problem of Marc's exuberant population of lonely socks and my fabric budget issues...


See, I told you, my kitchen always has the antidote.

and the theme of the week is...

... I will let you guess...

Warming-up

In the last few days, I have spent many hours engaged in the following activity: visiting an online vintage fabric store, selecting carefully (this in itself can take hours) the most crave-inspiring items that they sell, placing them one by one into my shopping cart, pausing for the longest time in agony, and then removing all items from the cart one by one until none...

This seemingly pointless exercise is the direct result of the interaction of two impulses in my little person, one of which is called IWANT and the other one ICANT. These two girls have more in common than either they or you might think. For one thing, they are both extremely tenacious, and they also both tend to begin all their sentences with 'yes, but...'.

And yet, despite this resemblance, they can't seem to ever agree on anything, causing me much anguish. But I have now finally found a way around the problem. I've decided to post a selection of my favourite samples right here on this blog. That way they are sort of mine, though not costly, and I can look at them as often as I want, without having to search for them every time. Plus, added bonus, you can enjoy them too.

So today, for your eyes alone, straight from 'Cia's Palette Online' we have some lovely blues:







(Note that the exercise is not as pointless as it seems. I am actually flexing the famous 'EYE' muscles in preparation for Friday, one of this year's most important events: the Leiden Stoffenbeurs (a once-a-year covered fair with fabric and fabric and more fabric, as far as the EYE can see))

Madurodam (by Marc)

This morning the sun was shining, for the first time in weeks, it seemed, and so we all got on our bikes (well, except Isabelle, who got on Marc's) and off we went to see Holland in miniature.

Yesterday's Post...

(... never got posted, et pour cause, I was sleeping the sleep of the dead by 20:15. Don't know what happened. Didn't even have time to remove my hairclip, resulting in painful bump on back of head all day. I slept twelve hours or so, and it felt great. I strongly recommend it (though without the hairclip)). Anyway, where were we?

Ah, yes, "The Nanosewmo"

No, just kidding, don't go away, I am not really going to sew a coat for the largest elephant in the Blijdorp zoo before the end of the month and entertain you with lots of details about the process...

Seriously though, remember how I bored you to death with the 'love your failures' philosophy of Nanowrimo? Well, that bit applies to almost everything, so today, it's 'show and tell' of lovely (and especially beloved) sewing failures, beginning with Alice's new jeans.

The jeans themselves are not too bad, although they barely cover her bum on the back, and she has to keep her legs close together when walking (actually, this is nothing compared to earlier drafts of these; at some point I actually managed to sew one of the legs shut, and as you can imagine, with Murphy's Law and all that, it was one of the straightest seams I ever stitched). No, the lovely failure is in the pink horror that covers the top (and the bretelles). Not only is the colour disastrous, and the finishing too painful for the eye, but the whole construction keeps coming loose at various junctions. Luckily, Alice is a) not really picky (at least, she's never been heard to complain) b) aware of her luck at being clothed at all (you should see the dress-code of some of our other 'pensionaires'!) and c) not overly wriggly... so she should be fine.

Besides, she was also given this lovely item, which I envy her terribly (as does Isabelle), observe in particular the tiny embroidered bluebird.



But I am running away with myself (as usual) (though I just managed to sneak in a success among the failures, hihi!). Here is another miracle, which is entitled 'Work in Progress'. I let you guess where it all went wrong.

The first one to guess will get one of them wonderful Japanese-inspired 'doudous'! (As soon as I figure out how to make them, that is...)

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Other first

Despite all my feminist resolutions, and my own complete jewelry-poverty, I did not manage to prevent Isabelle from nearly fainting from pride and ecstasy when Sam presented her with the following item:



In total silence, she walked next to us all the way to the supermarket, her ringed middle finger held high, and the wrapping paper clutched tight in her other hand. She was in such a state that she even tried to walk with her eyes closed. Presumably to enjoy the feeling better.

Unfortunately, the ring was a bit loose and at the first movement, it fell off, to be tragically and ironically trampled in the stampede that followed in an attempt to retrieve it from the mud. So we went back to the store, and got another one. We explained to Isabelle that she should close her fingers just a bit to prevent the ring from falling. With the result that it took me a whole hour at home to unclench her little fists. This ring is a potential drama waiting to happen. I hope they get more at the store soon, so I can buy out the whole stock...

First Story

Isabelle comes running into the kitchen:

- Mama, mama, er kwam een kleine krokodil aan, die ging mijn koekie opeten!!!!
Mama, mama, a little crocodile came by and wanted to eat my cookie!!!!

- Non!!! C'est pas possible!!!
No, that's not possible!!!

- Jaaaa! Dat mag niet, he!
Yes he did! And that's not allowed, he!

- Non, ça c'est pas bien. Et qu'est-ce que tu lui as dit, au crocodile?
No, that's not good. And what did you say to the crocodile?

- Kleine krokodil, dat mag niet, dat ik zeggen!
Little crocodile, that's not allowed, that I said.

Then she went on to hunt for the crocodile under the sink, to make sure he'd heard her. It's the first time she's invented a story. Of course once that starts...

... Isabelle at the dinner table, pointing at the huge forest poster behind her:

- Shht Mama! Luister, een konijn in het bos zingen!
Shht Mama! Listen, a rabbit in the forest singing!

Baking Angels

I know I've posted pictures of cookie-baking before but not on this blog (and besides, these were taken by Marc, so they're really good apart from being cute)...

Enjoy!








The cookies were, in fact, excellent, due to the fact that I had no sunflower oil in the house, and had to replace it with extra virgine olive oil, which I thought would be disastrous but ended up giving the cookies a lovely sturdy rounded flavour (almost almond-like, said Sam). There are still some left (we made two batches), so if you feel like snacking on an angel, and you happen to be passing through, feel free to drop by!

Happy 8 March...

... to all the women that I love.


(the flowers are by and from Marc...)

Quote of the Day

Mama! Mama! Kijk, mijn buikje zingen! Leuk, he!
Mama, Mama! Look, my belly singing! Nice, he!

(Isabelle on the subject of her intestines playing up)

Self-portrait with hairy creaky knee

Healings... nothing more than healings...

Life has funny ways about her. Last week, Isabelle was visiting Opa and Oma in Leiden, and they all went to the children's farm, where there was a little goat with a bandaged leg. This really fired my daughter's imagination. Especially since Tante Lette (Laurette) also has ' au!' in her legs. For days on end, she'd tell me stories of bandaged bears, dolls, rabbits, people, describing various types of 'au!'s, such a variety in fact that a ten-volume medical encyclopedia would have blushed if told (if only we had time, the books that we would write...).

Picking up on my baby's subtle signs (what a good mother I am), I started planning the great 'doctor's case' surprise, which for complicated reasons I shall not go into took me many days to complete.

By which time, I'd strained my knee while running on the beach, which was perfect of course, as I could present her with a real-life patient to practice her doctoring skills on. You can see for yourself that we have a new Dr. in the making in the family. Just a few more years...

First we listen to see whether it's ill

Then we put the stethoscope back in the box (please take a moment to admire hand-made red-cross sticker!)

Checking the temperature with the ear-thermometer...

... this is very important: cutting up the bandage (equally important, though unfortunately not on the photograph, is the cutting of the patient's nails with the scissors prior to application of bandage).

With this kind of treatment, I should be on my feet in no time!

Winter Attire

Since the winter just won't go away, I've decided to finally remedy one of this household's most dire situations, Jonas' winter equipment.

Here he is, proudly sporting his newly-made scarf.



Incidentally, the scarf conveniently almost hides the missing middle button on his coat (see previous post).

The plebs are now clamoring for a hat to go with. What did I get myself into???Crafting_

Reparation Box

I got the idea from some magazine or other. It's part of the larger spring-cleaning picture (which incidentally began on Sunday when I spent more than four hours scrubbing the bathroom (and those of you who know our bathroom are probably wondering how many times I had to scrub the same spot in order to perform this feat, but let me tell you that there are many hidden spots in even the smallest bathroom, spots nobody sees or visits and that therefore steadily accumulate filth for year after year after year (well in our case, only two years, but still, much filth in two years can be accumulated if you try, and our bathroom sure tried)) (I seem to have gotten lost in my own parentheses, how many to close????) and it was exhilarating, scrubbing the bathroom I mean (hope I'm not turning into my mother :))) (friendly smile to take sting away in case said-mother is reading this)).

Where was I? Yes. Here it is.

What it is is a reparation box, a shoe-box in which I put all the things of which I often think 'Oh, and I still have to fix that!' but never do fix them. The idea is then to open the box every second or third night, and to fix one thing, whichever appeals most. There is also an in-built deadline to be determined beforehand, and anything that has not been fixed by that time, off it goes into the bin, or alternatively to the closest Kringloop.

As you can see, at this point my box contains two broken pairs of sunglasses, both of them of the 'Huge Jackie Kennedy Fly' type, one of which actually IS the ORIGINAL Jackie Kennedy Fly pair. Both of them require only a little pin, and some love, to be up and running again. Also in the box is one of the doorknobs of Isabelle's changing table, the 'hot' button of our bathtub faucet, a window of Isabelle's farm (Olivier went at it a bit heavy-heandedly) and a button of Jonas' wintercoat. I'll keep you posted on any progress!

Incidentally, I just realized that the very existence of this box proves without a doubt that I am NOT turning into my mother.

Clearly Felt Progress

I am planning to make the next handbag a felt one, but would like to practice first, so I ordered some felt from the expensive toy-shop on the Beeklaan. The bad news is, it will only be here in ten days or so. What to do in the meantime? How does a girl survive without felt?

These are questions I was pondering yesterday afternoon, while loading the car for a trip to see Sam and Marten. When suddenly, my eye fell on an old Cora Kempermann skirt of mine that had been lying in the trunk forever and ever waiting to be taken to a second-hand store. It was thick, wooly, and bore a strong resemblance to none other than... felt.

So here is experiment number one, in miniature, in order to save fabric:

and here is a detail of the lining (which turned out later to be too small, so it will have to be made again, this time maybe from a less yacky-slippery-won't-stay-in-place-under-the-needle-and-unravels-constantly fabric):

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Clouds

The view from our bedroom window this morning.

Raisin(g) Cannibals

I'm clearly running out of indoor-ideas on how to entertain a two-year old. Out of sheer exhaustion, this morning I grabbed the '365 ideas on how to entertain your toddler' that Marc brought from the library (for he too is desperate). This was the result. Don't laugh.


Ok, fine, you may laugh. But then we ate them, the houses, the bonhommes, everything. Isabelle loved that bit...

Mon petit cannibale!

White Teeth (by Marc)

Snow snow and more snow...

...outside, but inside our house, all is light and sunshine,

warmth and cosiness, and sleepy sleepy cuddles

This morning I took out MY bag for its first walk outside. I hesitated for a long time, you know how it is with taking new-borns out for the first time, quite scary, especially with this cold weather we've been having... but then I figured: this bag has some russian blood running in its seams, it can take a bit of cold. So out we went, and great we looked, though surprisingly, noone stopped us to wonder and exclame, or to ask where they could get a similar one (mind you, they didn't ask that about Isabelle either).

Stilll, it's bound to happen! Any moment now. Am holding my breath.