scout.

In with the new.

2: 52 weeks.

In the spirit of the new year, what with a new president, a new dog, a new head cold,  and new zest for French macaroons, I'm just going to forge ahead and pretend like it isn't the end of January and I'm sharing my resolutions with you all right on time. Because I am feeling both optimistic and delusional. Feel free to hold me accountable.

A New List for a New Year

- Learn to play the accordion. A child's accordion or toy will do. It's just that. damn. I have always wanted to be the chick with the accordion.

- Make this purse.  From the amazing Zakka Sewing book. In gray, of course.

- Leave the city. Which includes visiting the Oregon Coast at least once, and the Columbia River Gorge. I have been thinking about this place more and more lately. I plan to take the pup on every excursion. He's an explorer of the world, that one. And since we're on the topic,

- Fully commit myself to Bradley's separation anxiety training. Every day. No excuses. I haven't talked about it much here, but we've sought professional help, someone specializing in the disorder and highly traumatized dogs, and there is much hope for recovery in six to twelve months. This pup is so incredibly loving, with a capacity for gentleness that I've never before seen in an animal. I owe him a least that much.

- Finish decorating the studio and attic/guest space. After working exceedingly hard on the rest of the house, I was overtaken by a fit of laziness. And then it snowed and was winter and, you know, more laziness. But I think our guests would prefer to sleep in a bed. 

-Buy a guest bed.

- Find at least four new bands to love. This does not include new albums from old favorites. When it comes to new artists, my old fuddyduddy tendencies have been increasing lately, and this must be stopped before I begin wandering around with an ear trumpet, talking about Gershwin.

- Order soup from SoupCycle. I love soup.  Especially soup that arrives by bicycle. Unfortunately, I live outside of Souplandistan, but I am determined to figure out a way around this. 

- Make at least one dress. I would like to make one I really love this time. Preferably in gingham. How long until Spring again?

- Take part in the One Little Word project.  Too many to choose from, but in the end, I decided on still. Because if you know me at all, you know that I am rarely still.  With or without the camera, moving at the speed of light. Aaron refers to me as 'the squirrel' for  good reason. But it's internal stillness that concerns me, the thing I most want to embody. Somehow in focusing on that this year, I feel like all the rest will fall into place.  Which leads me to...

- 52 Weeks.  What better way to seek stillness than to be your own material? I am already on week four and feeling wholly out of my element. Definitely good.

- Walk across the Broadway Bridge. It has always been my favorite bridge in Portland (we have a lot of bridges), and when my pal Andrea did just that, I was totally inspired.

- Dance barefoot in the living room with Aaron as often as possible. There can never be enough of that.

The list-lover in me would like to go on and on, but if I learned anything from last year, it's that simplicity is everything, fun is necessary, and geekiness is unavoidable. Off to find an accordion... Happy weekend, friends.

All love,

*Andrea

Hello 2009, or How I Learned to Love Resolutions

& a Happy New Year.

I'm stealing time at the moment, writing while my husband attends to the pooch's much talked about posterior glands, so this will not win me any points in tomorrow's 6 am 'who's turn is it to take the dog out' battle. But it's a fight I'm willing to lose because it's already the middle of January and I have yet to wish you a happy new year, or share my plans for the next twelve months, of which there are many, and most of which are completely ridiculous. But that's beside the point.  Is it too late to wish you a happy, bright, shiny new year? I hope not. 

I was never one for resolutions, until I decided to make a few and post them on the internet last year, and Internet, you would not believe how effective you were. You were the glue that held it all together. Well, either you or the untold future guilt.  Either way. It worked! But I can't just go right out and share a new list without revisiting the old one. Right. Ahem. 

Ye Olde List.

Take vitamins regularly. A resounding success. I am a vitamin taking machine, have yet to miss a day, and have been sick only three times since March. As opposed to last years twelve times in one winter. NOT KIDDING ABOUT THAT. TWELVE. For reals.

 

Make a quilt. How about two quilts? Huzzah!

Take my journal everywhere. Which went swimmingly until it disappeared during the move into the new house. Alas.

Take a photography class. I guess talking about it a lot doesn't count.

Take better photos. Probably would have been more successful if I had actually taken a photography class.

Go ice-skating. I even got off the ground a little. I even flew.  

Take more walks, even in the rain. Thank you, Bradley.

Eat more green veggies. Thank you, Uncle Paul.

Buy a piano, dig up sheet music. Well hello pretty girl.

Use only muslin totes. We did so much better than I thought we would, but it was a struggle to remember at first. Still have a long way to go to get rid of icky plastic packaging too.

Blog regularly. A total failure. But at least I avoided guilt blogging. Which is something. I think.

Sew for fun. Which happened only when I finished the quilt I never thought I would finish, otherwise known as the quilt of doom. I even made Bradley a new coat! I know. Lunacy. There will be a show and tell soon.

Worry less. This is funny because I have a mortgage.

Laugh more. A great way to blow off the stress of having a mortgage.

Dress up for dates with the hubs. Although the opportunity was scarce, I took full advantage of any heel-wearing potential. 

It occurs to me now that I made this list with no idea of what the year had in store for us. There was an inkling for sure, the slightest glimmer of knowledge that everything was about to change. There had to have been. Why else would I have included the much longed-for piano? I remember telling myself to think small, focus on the doable, and let the rest lie. Smart, as it turns out, because the level of upheaval, the total rearranging of house, work, finances, and responsibility in the ensuing months, made it doubly hard to focus on the ordinary, the everyday, the simple. Who can remember to take their vitamins in the midst of all that? But that was the point. The small mercies of the everyday. Being proud of tiny accomplishments. I plan to keep this year's list just as simple. But you know. You gotta keep it interesting.  Next up, a new year, a new list, and a new level of nerdiness.

All love,

*Andrea

Merry

 

Above:  1. Sock thief, 2. Untitled, 3. Dalecarlian sweater, 4. thinking about past Christmases...

Below:   Our snowy house.

Christmas Eve at last. Which is really better than Christmas Day when you think about it. It is all anticipation and glow. Now is not the time to talk about harrowing work-days, or icy drives. Now is the time to climb under the covers. To wish you the happiest, merriest of holidays, whatever you choose to celebrate, full of warmth, friends, family, food, and a healthy dose of eggnog. So on the tenth snowy day in Portland, from all of us here at Scout, myself, Aaron, and the furry pup, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, goodwill to men.

All love,

*Andrea

The ninth day.

So. Apparently anal glands don't care so much about the weather. What? Too much, too soon? Probably. I also doubt my dog is thrilled that I am talking about his intimate parts with the universe (modest as he is), but there have been two constants in my life the last few days and that is a.) snow and more snow on top of that snow, and b.) my dog's rear-end. It was something of a battle between the two, when on Sunday we realized we were indeed snowed in, did not own an appropriate shovel, and our dog needed to have his poor little posterior examined immediately. (Thank you, terribly impacted and thusly exploded gland.) Sweet guy was miserable. We somehow gathered our already exhausted wills together to hike the many blocks to the Vet in knee-deep snow, dog in arms, and then back, in knee-deep snow, dog in arms, with the addition of a shiny new cone of shame. It was the kind of comedy people would pay for but no one would believe. If I had a nickel for every time some yahoo on cross country skis used the phrase, 'snow cone,' well, I'd have a lot of nickels. And then we dug our home and yard and car out of the snow as best as we could with a garden shovel, a feat which took the better part of two days, and spent the rest of our time napping in front of the fireplace, fighting over who's turn it was to wear the Wigwam socks, who's turn it was to clean the dog's behind, and consuming vast quantities of hot beverages.  But through it all there was Johnny. Stumbled upon while hunting in the spare closet for clothespins. A little dusty, but I knew it was meant to be. I called my mother.

 'Mom, I found your record! The Johnny Mathis Christmas album. Just wanted you to know we were listening to it.'  

'Have you found the skips yet?'

'They're everywhere! But White Christmas is barely playable. '

'Oh yes. That would be my doing.'

It was December and my mother was twelve. She never wanted to leave Iowa. Never ever ever. But there they were in California, the whole family. A whole new life, cramped track home, palm trees everywhere, completely foreign. No white shingled house, no friends, no extended family, no snow, nothing but a Johnny Mathis record brought from home. She cried herself to sleep every night listening to 'White Christmas' on repeat. Her sisters still laugh about this. She had a flair for the dramatic. But I understood her completely, which might be why, some fifty years later, she gave me her precious record, scratches and all. And why on one snowy night in Portland, the eighth snowy night to be exact, I found myself listening to it, letting it skip, thinking of her, remembering to be grateful. 

It's going to be a white Christmas, friends. Nine snowy days and counting.

All love,

*Andrea

I, Polonius.

Okay. I am so behind on blog posts right now that I'm pretty sure anything other than a bullet-style entry would turn into a novella.  So. Sweet bullet style re-capping it shall be (with lame captions to boot!)...

Narnia.

First, it is snowing in Portland right now. I am sitting on the couch with the snoring dog and a bowl of miso soup, watching the prettiest flakes float past the window. I should repeat this. It is SNOWING. And has been for days, and will be for days, and oh my gosh you guys that has not happened in this town for almost a decade. This is awesome for a million reasons, but mainly because, I am home, and not at work, and magically landed on the list of, 'People who get sent home for personal days because their neighborhoods are ridiculous and icy and besotted with steep hills.' In other words. SNOW DAY!

Letting the task gradually overwhelm me.

I am nearly finished with the quilt of doom. I can't wait to show it to you, and then send it far, far away. Hopefully the recipients will be pleased, and not horribly confused...because I started this thing April, and the last time I checked it was DECEMBER. There is a story here waiting to be told, but at this point, I must resist the urge to blame this thing, single-handedly, for throwing me off my sewing game for the last eight months. If it comes out of the dryer intact (fingers crossed), I may just heave a few sobs of relief. 

Tanenbaum, indeed.

We finally decorated our Christmas tree, and it is the Best Tree Evaaaaaah.  Pictures forthcoming. I was really keen on having some new, more natural looking ornaments this year, similar to our old garland...but it being our first Christmas in the new house and all, that was not exactly in the budget. Actually, nothing was in the budget. We decided months ago that this would be a gift-free Christmas, and while that decision has been totally liberating, I so wanted our first tree to be special. Thanks to Ikea, sweet Uncle Paul, and a little elbow grease, I was able to put the whole thing together for $25 bucks. Huzzah!

Meek, yet festive!

I had grand plans to make a million soft trees this year, but somehow ended up making a little wintery lamb instead. (photo above) The pattern is from the current Martha Stewart holiday issue, and was a cinch to hand-sew in a few hours. The legs are a bit wobbly. Next time, I think I will add an extra dart all the way down his belly, or possibly make a slit for the stuffing and slip-stitch it closed underneath. Regardless, I am very fond of this sheep and his fancy neckwear.

My dog is a beat poet.

Bradley is making progress. Thank you all so much for your suggestions! Once we accepted the fact that he is indeed much smarter than we are, and could not be contained in any way shape or form, everything improved. He still doesn't like being left alone, but now that he's free to roam around, I've found him asleep on the couch every night when I return. On another, ickier note: who knew that an eleven pound dog could produce his own body weight in snot on a daily basis? Really. I am in awe. Until he gets over his bout with kennel-cough completely, I am toying with idea of covering the whole house in plastic, old lady style.

Where I plan ahead by accident.

On Saturday I got the gumption to stock up on groceries and firewood, and clean the house top to bottom (see aforementioned snot) and low and behold, when the snow rolled in on Sunday, we were able to enjoy it completely. It was blissful. The entire weekend was spent reading, cooking, playing outside, stoking the fire, and decorating the house. For hours I watched the white world from my beloved rocker, and finished the final ties on the quilt (of doom). I plan to do more of the same in the days ahead, but throw in a heavy rotation of baked goods and chocolate. 

Dear Portland,

You know that as a loyal and devoted resident,  I love you to pieces, and I think you are especially beautiful under your blanket of snow, but you really have to cut the crap already. SALT THE ROADS. This gravel-only thing is bat-shit crazy. Yes, I have known much colder, snowier climes, and by comparison, this is nothing.  I understand that protecting our river is a priority. But since it snows only once every few years, we don't have plows, and because the snow inevitably turns into solid ice, and as I type this sentence, a sedan just hurled itself into a parked SUV across the street, I think, just this once, you should maybe reconsider the salt. I am lucky enough to be able to drive my husband's 4WD this week (thanks, honey!), but I am still not looking forward to the 7 am, clenched-teeth, white-knuckled commute down the ridge, on my very own personal ice rink of death. 

-fin-

I will return soon with actual paragraphs, segues and coherent thought, friends, but for now, ice, snot, and quilt-binding are clamoring for my attention. Oh joy!

All love,

*Andrea

The will of the Bradley

Never underestimate the will of the Bradley. Or the brain of the Bradley. Or the ability of the Bradley.

We are in the throws of it. Love with a healthy dose of worry. Our dog is smarter than we are. Superdog. Faster than a speeding bullet, able to leap tall buildings and all of that jazz. He is also the most gentle, docile, and eager to please pup in the universe. But we've got one crazy case of separation anxiety on our hands here, folks, and a dog who has figured out how to open (and in one case destroy) the doors of solid steel kennels, climb four foot high kiddie fences (did I mention that he's 5 inches tall?), and a whole other host of obstacles that would confound your average human (including me), but then have NO idea what to do with himself once his mission has been accomplished. We are totally stumped. The Bradley cannot be contained. We will just call it an 'adjustment' period, and thank our lucky stars that he has no inclination to chew or destroy anything. And if he's playing Bach on the piano when I come home from work, that's it, I'm hiring a trainer.

All love,

*Andrea

 

Dear you,

If you live to be a hundred, 

I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, 

so I never have to live without you.

-Winnie the Pooh

Even though it was yesterday, I just can't let an anniversary go by without saying, to anyone and everyone who will listen. I love you. Words fail me. I love you.

So let's go eat some cupcakes. And introduce everyone to Bradley.

-

Everything.

   

Above: Thinking of my Grandma Inga.

Below:  Toast winter catalogue

A little bit of warmth for tonight. Late November wind is cold, as it turns out. 

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving holiday here in the States. It's a particular favorite of mine, even though I have never been very good at brevity in gratitude. I have too many childhood memories of clammy hands and nervous giggling, when eyes turned to my place at the table, expected an answer to the question, 'So what are you thankful for?' Because, how at six or seven, or now, do you say everything. That there is nothing on God's green earth, nothing in my life, not one moment of the day while I have breath and lungs and a heart that beats, that does not deserve a song or a blessing or prayer of thanks. That the world exists. That I'm in it. 

* * *

I will be quiet here for just a little while. There's the holiday, and then the requisite hunkering down to survive the nastiest days in the business of retail. And then, off to Seattle for a few sweet days. I have my Annie Dillard packed, and can't wait to use all of your great suggestions. I'll be over at Flickr in the meantime.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends. And happy (almost) December.

All love,

*Andrea

Hearth and home

above: a wreath for the dining room

below: 1. home., 2. Untitled, 3. Samma nätter väntar alla, 4. polaroid love 

Some images for you today. It's been awhile since I posted Friday Flickr faves, and I think it's pretty obvious where my thoughts are at the moment. I am surprised at how happily I've been able to turn inward this week, letting this home of ours be a comfort, rather than an overwhelming project. Also, I got all our leaves up. Because obviously I can't write a post without mentioning the freaking leaves. The fourteen bags and two bins of leaves. And then the sky broke again and poured all over everything. I was so proud of myself I wanted to run out and buy a trophy. Or a golden rake. Or something. It helps that the hours  spent painting, sanding, drilling, hammering away, have come to a halt for the winter. It helps to be able to finally say, 'I'm ready,' and let the hours fill up instead with friends, and books, and fireplaces, and holiday parties, and rainy walks, and general craziness. And that could be the hokeyest sentence I've ever written, but, oh my heck you guys, it's true, and I am actually excited about winter. Am also thinking I should call a chimney sweep. Because it sounds so Victorian. (Aren't you supposed to do that in winter? Not sure. Let me know.)

A recipe for a happy December: Buy a house. Fix up house. Pass out from exhaustion. Decide that gifts are out of the question because of said house. Realize that cards, and friends, and baked goods, and Christmas trees and decking the halls with proverbial holly are more important anyway. Let go of the pressure. Roll with it.

Hope your weekend is grand and pressure-free, friends. 

All love,

*Andrea

A beginning.

I can't say thank you enough for all of your suggestions, everyone. I hope to respond to each one, but for now let me tell you...much to my surprise, I am getting a little excited about winter. Even the blustery dark. I know. Crazy talk. The first step was to hang a simple wreath. Yes it's November, but it made me kind of giddy. I treated myself to the Holiday Issue of MS Living, and started combing the house for an errant collection of vintage doilies. I don't know about you, but my heart kind of stopped when I saw that feature. We hunted down discount Nutcracker tickets. Soups were made. Multiple soups. More importantly though, the sun came out for a whole stretch of days, and we spent every minute of it outside. Lots of walks and time exploring. And some unavoidable raking. But apparently it is much easier to rake DRY leaves, when it's isn't RAINING. Who knew. I was also able to take some long overdue photos of our house-in-progress. I emphasize in progress. You can view the set of our new nest here. 

The sky was silver tonight. Frost at sunset. Everything all glimmery. The very last of the leaves were dropping, and I suddenly remembered how I felt last year, seeing it for the first time. I may as well have been Anne of Green Gables. Naming things, completely taken, the whole wide world something to get excited about. Imagine that. Winter. The season with the tinkling name. I guess I know what I'll be reading next. 

All love,

*Andrea