scout.

Miss Rumphius.

seven o'clock.

Feeling quiet tonight. There has been far too much thinking going on these days. It's time for an evening of not-thinking. A few things first: I am in love with the cool late evening light. And lilacs. I am in love with lilacs. They are everywhere.

Tell me, friends (and possible botanists), why do all the purple flowers bloom at once? The lilacs, the bluebells, the irises, all at once, and suddenly the city is purple. I am feeling like Miss Rumphius.

All love,
*Andrea

Daily Style.

Because last week was mostly serious, and because I am always trying to keep a balance in this space between the serious and the superfluous. Idealism and realism. Because it all has a place.  All of it. So I have decided to hop on the 'Daily Style' bandwagon. Because. Well. It's great. Truthiness in blogging. Certainly the catalogues of A.P.C., Sally Scott, and Toast, all resonate with me in a way that causes, actual physical pain, but I don't talk about that much, for a few reasons. First, fashion is not really one of my priorities. Second, I don't actually dress like that or own those clothes, as much as I might like to...and I would probably destroy their fine craftsmanship with coffee stains and spin cycles anyway. So daily style. The real deal; what I wear every day. I own only one or two of the above pieces, thank-you-Forever-Twenty-One, but do own others nearly identical to these, purchased mostly second-hand. (Goodwill and I are tight.) No hand-bag--just a glorified canvas shopping tote in which I stuff the contents of my life as well as groceries. This time of year, I pretty much live in moccasins and cuffed jeans, and my now ancient drop-waist trench from H&M. Queen of the geeks. You guessed it.

So what about you? What do you wear on a daily basis, and what makes you feel like yourself? Real style. Bring it.

All love,
*Andrea

Thursday

I have no journal entry for Thursday. What I do have are three pages worth of directions. Towns, routes, attractions. From Pacific City to anywhere. It was our final day, and I while I should have written about buying clams from a local fisherman to make our linguini, or the view from Cape Lookout, I was buzzing, humming even. Full of ideas of what else we could see on our way back home. Astoria. Washington. Wine country. Aaron looked more weary with each mention of a new city. He's a wise one, my Aaron. Knew that I was just trying to make it last, eek out what little time we had of our final day, fill it up with anything and everything. That's just my way. But we went another way. Drove slowly homeward, stopping in McMinniville for a walk, ice cream cones at a candy store with a player piano, and rested on the benches of a the world's smallest train station. It was nothing like what I had planned. But it was exactly what I needed. As with the rest of the week. Happy.

I will wish you a happy weekend early, friends. Tomorrow will be a busy one around here, and I am starting a new quilt. Because I have the fever. Or sickness. Quilt-itis. Call it what you will. Thank you for coming along with me this week.

All love,
*Andrea

Wednesday

Wednesday

Yesterday, a herd of deer on the beach. The baby and I watched as they made their way to the cabin and stopped to munch on grasses under the window. She gave a scissor-kick, laughed, and rocked herself forward. Apparently, deer are hilarious.

We said goodbye to them this morning, Joel and Jenna and smallest Elliot. Secured the doors against the wind, picking up speed. Aaron has set to breakfast. I am mixing dough. We will drive up to the fishing village later, and go for a hike through the birch forests in the rain. But at the moment, I am dreaming of walls painted white as flour.

All love,
*Andrea

Tuesday

Tuesday

Low tide. 7:50 am. Whalen Island.

So far, sand shrimp. Clams still undiscovered. Something tells me this is not about the clams. They are trailing the estuary. Wandering. An hour passes. This is some other instinct, wholly innocent, imaginary. Before they were men, it was like this. They are boys, aimlessly happy. The best mornings are spent with terrible clam hunters.

All love,
*Andrea

Monday

Why, hello there.
We are back.
And for the next few days I will be posting photos as well as short, unedited, (and in some cases, nonsensical) journal entries from our time at the coast with close friends and their baby girl. Apparently, while on vacation, I also decided that nouns and verbs and proper sentences were about as obsolete as socks and shoes. Bear with me.




Monday, April 21

The sun is setting somewhere behind the storm and clouds and thunder. Ellie and I sit on the floor, eating apples. She is leaving small marks on a circle end with her baby gums. A milestone--five months, apples. The boys are talking fast. Excited. Licenses. Locations. A closed sign on the door of the Bait and Tackle. Lunar tides. The blotchy shells of razor clams. Hip waders. Shovels. Outside the wind is whipping sand and freezing rain against the windows. Tomorrow, who knows? Linguini.

All love,
*Andrea

Georgette.

beach quilt in gingham.

Even though it's oh-so-basic. Nothing special. Not like Melissa's stunning beauty or Daria's works of art. Not even like the Denyse Schmidt that was the real inspiration behind these big blocks and thin strips. No. It's just eight blocks on the front, one on the back, four pockets for stones, nine lines of quilting at the maximum width possible, and store bought binding. But the point is (because there is always a point) that here it is, finished, and it came from my fingers, and the fear of screwing things up disintigrated for a few beautiful moments, when I took it out of the dryer and it was still whole and intact, and perfectly puckered. It may have been the deepest exhale in the history of crafting.


pink 'stone' pockets.

It is the first thing to be crossed off The List, and I'm feeling suddenly proud. Although I still don't quite know how best to take a photo of it, at 60 x 50 inches, without putting it on the bed or the floor, and why is it, when you finish something that you consider monumental, it is always the darkest day of the year and you can't get a decent photo? Apparently, we live in a cave. Today's threatening storm clouds and snow for the weekend forecast (in APRIL. in PORTLAND) are supposed to mean sun for the following week. We leave on Sunday, and with luck, this little girl might actually see some sand. Because the quilt is clearly a she, with all those vintage florals and pink pockets, even though Aaron tried to call her 'George' this morning. Cause we like to name things around here, all Garden-of-Eden style. The car, the camera, the toothbrushes, you know.  I think we can compromise on 'Georgette.'

It sounds crazy to most people, a week in a tiny town that is nothing more than a rocky shore, without phone, television, internet, shops or even a proper grocery store. But life passes in real-time there, slow motion to most, when it's just you and the people you love, the cliffs and shore, lots of wine, and books, and sleep, and hunting for razor clams. My plan is to write something for you each day in my moleskine, and pair it with a photo for posting when I return. I wish you a happy week, my dears. Time to start packing...

All love,
*Andrea

Counting down.

rule breaker.

There was sun. Everywhere. It was both odd and glorious. I squinted. And smiled. We came, we salvaged a chair. We ate Chicago red-hots at Wayne's. Broke rules just by standing. Walked and talked. Drank beer. Wore stripes. And I quilted. Actually quilted. And as it turns out, didn't suck at it nearly as much as I thought I would.

Thankfully, the binding goes on tonight, with five days and counting until we leave for the seashore. I plan to lounge on this small patch of gingham even if it's raining and we're sitting on the living room floor, making smores over the stove.  And is it just me or did I just approximate a plot from a Berenstain Bears book? So. Yeah. Ready for a little time off. With books that do not involve talking animals.

(Quilt update soon.)

All love,
*Andrea

She sells seashells. And is a domestic goddess.

1. *, 2. beach, 3. .43, 4. my silkscreen teacher

Well, it seems like forever since I posted some Flickr favorites, and I think it's abundantly clear that I'm ready for a little time at the seashore. Which is good, because I stayed up way too late last night cutting out the pieces for my girly beach quilt. All that gingham makes me giddy, and I think I actually like the design. I might even love it. If I don't totally screw it up in the final stages. We shall see.

I am trying to convince Aaron that I should win some kind of Housewifery Award this week. But just this week, because I am normally okay with us living in squalor for marathon stretches. In a fit of nervous energy, I washed, folded, and stored away the guest bedding, cleaned the bathrooms top to bottom, laundered the towels, scoured the kitchen, and returned all errant chochtkes to their rightful places just 24 hours after our house guests departed. Now normally, I leave these tasks until, say, oh two hours before the next time guests are set to arrive. Because. You know. Apparently I enjoy stressing myself out. But I have channeled my inner Florence Henderson and the house is gleaming and I have been keeping up on the dishes and the picking up of shoes every single night. Every night.  And I think the devil just asked for a sweater.

The cleaning frenzy could have something to do with a predicted and much touted 'weekend of sunshine.' And if we are to have a brief moment of glorious warmth, I don't want to spend it cleaning, or thinking about the fact that I should be cleaning while the sun illuminates every speck of dust and grime. So I am ready. I have dusted. Bring on the sunshine. Aaron even suggested a trip to the Portland salvage yard and then some beers at an outdoor pub. Then my head exploded, because my husband just advocated something that even remotely resembled shopping. And the devil just asked for a snowsuit.

Happy weekend, friends.

All love,
*Andrea

Girly quilt.

Well. That was good. Way down deep good. Shiny happy joyous good. The good of finding yourself sitting outside with friends from near and far (who may as well be family) in the 5 am dawn, hoping against hope that the night won't end, that you won't have to make that trip to the airport in a few hours, or say goodbye. And of course, sort of amazed that you are still awake, drinking wine, and when was the last time you did this? College? Probably. But it doesn't matter, because we were kids again this weekend. And despite the rain and cold and hail, the sun was shining in metaphor.

Thursday already, and I can feel myself being hustled on by fast-moving April, even though I am still determined not to let this month get away from me the way March did. I am also determined to get some damn sewing back into this blog, and knock at least one thing off my New Year List. We are taking another trip to our beloved little bit of Oregon coast at the end of this month, which now that I think of it, is in little more than a week. Holy heck. I am itching to make a beach quilt, which will also be a kind of offering to the weather gods for just one day sunny enough to kick our shoes off and plop down in the sand. I have been desperate to make both Amy Karol's lap quilt and Denise Schmidt's picnic quilt, but they are worlds apart, and I probably don't have the skill to pull either off. But there will be corner pockets to put stones in, for weighing the thing down against the serious coastal wind and inevitable mouthfulls of blanket and sand.

I've got gingham on the brain,  but all these girly vintage florals were just begging to be used. Groveling.  Seriously. You'd think they'd been sitting in a box for oh... maybe two years. The trellis print was snagged from a friend's basement (a former drop-cloth), the top white floral is a vintage pillow case, the pink (to be used sparingly) came from Bolt, and the adorable yellow floral in a swap package from Mary. And man, they are all way girly. I must be cracking up. Miss Graphic Print to be swaddled in vintage florals. The promise of sun and a good long vacation can do crazy things to people, I tell ya. 

Okay, better get cracking.

All love,
*Andrea