IKEA

This doesn't look like much, but I am quite the Ikea hack. I didn't bring a warm coat or any sweaters, and with so many in Arizona, that I never wear anyway because it never gets cold enough, I decided to buy a fleece blanket and hack it into a warm shawl, by cutting it in at the middle, so that it covers my shoulders and looks like a poncho shawl. What one will do when no one is looking.
IKEA and I have been friends for a long time. Ever since they opened one of their first stores in Amsterdam, there has always been IKEA in my life.
When we moved to France and discovered that most furnishings were either oak with leather or corduroy or very wonderful but not very affordable, we picked up bits and pieces at IKEA to add to our own furniture and it worked.
In the US, when I had no idea of where to go to find what I liked - again lots of 70's style to go around at Walmart and furniture stores in my area, and that was not the hot style then, or Southwest designs, which were not what I wanted either, I happily discovered an IKEA not far from San Diego (which now has one of its own) and every time I would travel to my office in Salinas, I would pick up things I (thought I) needed especially oatmeal cookies and other things that reminded me of Europe, as well as all the handy knick knacks IKEA so readily provides.
When I made a home in Spain, the Barcelona branch saw quite a lot of me as I bought some familiar houseware and some small furniture to make a home out of my apartment.
Even during my short stay here in Holland, I have visited IKEA often and made the casita more comfortable and organized. I am even staying toasty and warm in my IKEA shawl.

The quilt.

For years my mother has been working intermittently, on a quilt for my niece, Fleur. It started out as a queen size bed spread, but each 'square' actually consists of 4 pieces of fabric, and 3 of those are of heavy linen from seed bags. Take my word for it, this quilt is heavy. The last (top) piece of fabric is from clothing Fleur has worn over the last 8 years or from curtains or linen from her bedroom(s). (She has had several different bedrooms).
My mother is 86 and it was getting so heavy that she was having trouble getting it out of the box she keeps it in. Also, Fleur lives all the way in Thailand and she doesn't need anything to keep her warm, because it's warm there already.
During one of my recent visits my mother took the quilt out of the box, and we both looked at it wearily. I offered to help, but my stitching is no where near the neatness of my mother's. It was still such a lot of work.

Anyone, who embroiders or sews, always looks at the back of a project. Here is an example of my mother's hand stitching. It's impeccable.
When I went round last week, I was quite surprised when my mother said that she had almost finished the quilt and had also made a pyjama or cushion cover as well. She had a long way to go to make a queen sized quilt, but had material to spare if she turned it into a single sized one. I so agree with her, besides I doubt that this will end up on a bed. It will probably be used as a wall hanging.

I asked my mother about the style of quilting but she didn't think it was anything in particular. Far in the back of my foggy brain I thought it might be Japanese or Korean. I have checked and it comes close to Kaleidoscope quilting from Japan.

The hat might change.

You would think that after traveling for 6 months there would be changes. When I left someone said that I would be really skinny after living the European lifestyle. Not so. I don't cook for myself and the others around the table can safely be put in the skinny category. I eat the same amount as they do, but I am still who I was when I left.
I am always saying that Dutch television is better than that in the US. Nonsense. It is the same mindless fodder we get in the US, so I don't watch it here either.
I still have the same daily routine that I had before, which is surprising because I am not one for much structure.
I really can't think of anyway that I might have changed.
Well, perhaps one. I dress differently even though most of my clothes were with me when I arrived. I like something a little different, and where I live is not the place to be too outlandish. Here, I find myself making entirely different combinations, along with the few clothes I bought here, which might raise an eyebrow back home. I was very tempted to buy a nuno felted hat last week. It was beautiful, fit wonderfully and would have kept my head warm too in the winter. I knew however, that it would be senseless to buy, because I would never wear it in the desert, even though it can get chilly sometimes and seeing that I drive a Jeep Wrangler, which allows the wind to blow right through the car, makes me wear a hat quite often. I don't wear a cowboy hat, and my small brim hat with an Indian-beaded strap is not a head turner, even though I think it is meant for men. If I wore that here, I think people would do a double-take.
Link to Dutch hatmaker (scroll down a bit to see more hats).

The neighbors.

Meet the neighbors. Actually, I think most of them slept over at my casita this Summer and it's a good job that I'm not scared of spiders, because I have seen them in all shapes and sizes now. Teeny ones that wanted to share my bed. Big, fat ones overhead that danced beautiful shadow dances in the light, as I read in bed. Walking out the door first thing in the morning, I would go face first into their webs. I am sure they called some bad names because then they would have to start all over again, only for me to wreck their beautiful work again in my rush to the bathroom the next day. (The bathroom is at the big house and for which I have to cross a stretch of lawn. I secretly call myself Ironbladder, these days).

First house.

When I was 21 I moved into this charming little house. I think the rent was about the equivalent of $ 10.00 a month. I believe I was one of the first young people allowed to live there, as before it was for widows and elderly women (who are usually widows anyway). It smelled awfully of cat-pee and the house leaned to one side so that anything dropped automatically rolled to the one corner.
My mother and father tore out all the carpeting, cleaned the catty corner well, and put in new carpeting and I got used to the slant of the floor and didn't feel perpetually drunk after a while.
I drove past it the other day and saw a 'for rent' sign and had to peek in. They have straightened the house and have made several changes. When I lived there the boxbed, which is the only translation I can find for bedstede, contained a small kitchen. Now I have to explain what a 'bedstede' is. In Holland until early in the 19th people would have beds that fit into wall cupboards with doors, so that the sleeping area could easily become warm and hold the warmth. With the doors closed, the bed could not be seen during the day. Another bit of trivia that is all yours now.

Paper Cut.

Handmade paper (die) cut card on saa (mulberry) paper made by the hearing impaired here in Thailand.

When I left home at 21 to live on my own, I could hardly cook. Over time, I became rather a good cook learning to refine my skills while I was living in France.

My brothers are both excellent cooks. How that happened, I don't know. There is quite a bit of age difference between us, so my mother might have decided that they needed to know how to cook (and sew buttons on their shirt), or that they started, earlier than I, out of interest, but over the years we had some very good times preparing delicious meals (and eating them).

One brother likes preparing big cuts of meat and large fish. Christmas at his house often meant that something like duck or capon would be served.
My husband was a pastry chef prior to making a career move, and when the family was at our house he sometimes made impressive looking desserts. The one that stands out most of all in my mind is the Gateau de Sainte Honore, a pyramid of cream puffs, around which he spun threads of sugar.

In my cook book, where I have kept notes and recipes since I started cooking, there is one entry which is especially dear to me. In the handwriting of a 10 year old it tells how to make mayonnaise from scratch. At the time, I was totally amazed and charmed that my little brother could make mayonnaise all by himself.

A subtle nudge.

I have been waking up very late lately. Even at the worst of times, I am a good solid sleeper. It may be the climate; it may be that I need it, but I have had such trouble waking up the last couple of months.
Yesterday evening, there was an enormous alarm clock next to my dinner plate. It's definitely not a travel alarm clock, but my brother's sense of humor didn't escape me. He has always had a fine sense of humor. Anyway, I now wake earlier to the sound of 'It's a small world after all', accompanied by a very loud rattling and ringing. His gesture makes me realize how I miss being around him, but we live in different parts of the world, and that's the way it is.

Blog Comments.

I like to think that I am a patient woman. Far more patient than I used to be, at least. I am patient with people. That's easy, but when it gets to waiting, not so. However, what has got me going is Google. I like to leave comments on blogs, and I hardly ever leave short notes. I enjoy receiving comments and feedback too. Lately, I have been writing, and when I choose my Google profile and preview the comments.....it's all gone. Not once or twice but practically every time. Sometimes I don't remember to copy my text and then it's totally gone and it's never the same when I write it again.

Bangs.

My mother took care of my bangs when I was a little girl. Every so many weeks I would sit down with a sheet wrapped around me, and my mother would snip away. She is quite the perfectionist, so if she thought the bangs were crooked, she would rectify that with another couple of snips, and for good measure a couple more. I don't know if it was fashionable at the time, but I went through my early life with really short bangs.

Stand still and you move backwards.

Oh dear. I know I am in a bad relationship........with my cell phone. We started out amicably enough and it seemed like such a wonderful thing to have him around all the time but over the years, I have become a little unsure. Of course, he comes to my rescue when I have a flat tire, and calls AAA or when I am running late for an appointment. But he demands a lot of attention, by playing that annoying little tune, that I always mean to change and never do. Just when I am totally engrossed in something he will pipe up and then I have to find him. He is usually in his favorite place, at the bottom of my bag. There are days when I suddenly realize that it has been awfully quiet for a long time and then find him in the car, sulking, his little belly flashing an angry red light.

Perhaps it's not so much my cell phone that I am no longer enamored with but his family. Sit down to dinner with company in a nice restaurant and a member of his family is often placed in a prominent position, as if it were another piece of vital cutlery. They then jingle, and even though not answered, there is still that little gap in the conversation as eyes glance down to see who is on the line. "What was that you were saying?". 

Worse still is when the cell phone becomes an accessory, held in the hand at all times, just in case a vital call comes in which they invariably do. "Oh, I am in line at the store, what are you doing?". 

So here I am. I no longer like him or his extended family since they have taken over like little alien beings, infiltrating almost every aspect of our lives. It's unavoidable, we will be sucked into their big black hole whether we like it or not and all end up talking in Tweets.

The photo was taken here in the Southwest, before going digital and still used my Minolta and would develop my own photos in the darkroom. Check the picture for bullet holes.

EDM Challenge 185.

When we bought a house in France we didn’t realize that the purchase price included 15 cats. There seemed to be cats everywhere: snoozing in the shade, under one of the many rose bushes, sitting on the wall blinking in the sun or making a dash for it as we approached.

I had never thought about cats as anything else than pets and had no idea that half-wild or feral cats existed.

It also took a few days for us to understand that this was an enormously incestuous little clowder. Down the road lived a stringy tom who was the granddaddy of them all and who would make his rounds to his harem several times a day. Our own (neutered) cat only watched from a safe distance or came indoors with a disgusted air that said, “I want no part in this”. It was all a little too uncivilized for his taste, I believe.

After the second litter had arrived, I decided that it was time return all the cats and whenever there was an opportunity I would put on ‘the gloves’ hoping that I would be successful at catching cat and putting it in a box to take it three villages down to it’s owners. Every so many days I would make the journey with a box containing a snarling, scratching cat on the seat beside me and show up at their door.

It was a cold, wet and windy April night when I looked out of the window and saw a cat crawling out of the neighbor’s basement and making a wild dash to our side of the road.

When I later went to look in the laundry room that we used as a potting shed, there were three kittens in a corner on a sack, their eyes still closed. This was the litter that stayed, although their Mother Mimi was later delivered to her rightful owners, who managed a sour smile, because I don’t think they really wanted me to return their cats and were wondering when this would stop. Mimi was the last.

My brother adopted the two males and called them Mad Max and Dirty Harry, I kept the little gray female.

In the drawing Dirty Harry and my little gray kitten share a basket. She was with me for 19 years.

Challenge 185: Draw a cat. 
I decided to try the dreaded watercolors again, and ended up using them as I would gouache. Not quite the intention. The paper is 300 gsm, cold pressed Fabriano watercolor paper, which contains 25% cotton. For a brush I used a medium Niji waterbrush.

The watercolor paint is Pelican. For watercolor I prefer a box because tubes of paint can dry out seeing I do so few watercolors. Seeing that the paint isn't really very transparent I must have the box with opaque paint. All Dick Blick.

Listened to "Staying On" by Paul Scott, author of "The Jewel in The Crown".
In this sequel to The Raj Quartet, Colonel Tusker and Lucy Smalley stay on in the hills of Pankot after Indian independence deprives them of their colonial status. Finally fed up with accommodating her husband, Lucy claims a degree of independence herself. Eloquent and hilarious, she and Tusker act out class tensions among the British of the Raj and give voice to the loneliness, rage, and stubborn affection in their marriage.Staying On won the Booker Prize and was made into a motion picture starring Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson in 1979.

Lengua.

 

I had been to Mexico, which is only about 15 minutes away, but decided to eat in my favorite downtown Mexican restaurant anyway, where everything is authentic, including the decor. More authentic than the restaurants in the little town over the border that cater to our winter visitors.

For some time I had been thinking of having some tongue.  My grandmother would make marinaded tongue for sandwiches now and again. Lengua (tongue) is on the menu of most good Mexican restaurants and that's what I ordered.

As I waited I remembered that my grandmother would never allow me to peek in the pan while the tongue was boiling, because tongue can look rather unappetizing during preparation.

When my plate was put before me, I blinked a couple of times and  immediately knew that I was in for an adventure. Here was tongue in a very authentic state, with unidentifiable bits and bobs here and there, and some of the skin attached. It looked nothing like the succulent, thin slices of  marinaded meat of my grandmother's table.

I was as brave as I could be, and inwardly scolded myself for being such a big baby as I gingerly nibbled at my food. Perhaps next time, I should order  enchiladas like every self-respecting gringa. 

Left or Right?

My cupboards and closets are usually tidy, my table-tops not so much. I have no concern about driving with my fuel light blinking. I remember faces for years and years, surprising people that I can place whenever I first met them. I don't remember names. My sense of time, it has been proven time and time again, is non-existent. Yet, I am a planner and a list-maker. Visual and verbal are equally present in me. I use my hands a lot when I speak. I am very patient, especially with people, but very spontaneous in many things. Some of my best travel destinations were decided in 30 minutes and the ticket bought the same day.

All in all, I am right brain dominant.

Please don't ask me to do the same thing over and over again, so that I might become proficient in it, because boredom will most certainly set in, and with boredom comes distraction, and once distracted, you have lost me.

My mother, who is neat and structured, tried for many years to teach me how to sew my own clothes. I would have the most wonderful time sketching what I wanted my dress to look like, go out, chose the fabric, but when I started sewing I used that same wild enthusiasm, which would not work out quite as well. It always resulted in me having to undo seams and buttonholes, and eventually  in frustration. My mother would give me her 'little look' and end up making the dress, finishing it in fine, little stitches. How could it be that her daughter couldn't do this?

Left brain versus right brain, but we didn't know that then.

The picture of the Mexican tiled stairs was made in Tucson. Such a neat and structured pattern.

 

A Glowing New Year.

I added some glow to the New Year by using Chinese joss paper in which to cut some portals, like the ones you see in Yemen. Let's see what this year will bring.

Miss Potato Nose.

This past year, like Alice, I went down the rabbit hole. No Queen of Hearts in my story, but a Miss Potato Nose. She also yelled, "Off with their heads", at the top of her lungs, while she swung her machete around and changed the life of all of those about her.
I have read and reread the book by Martha Stout: The Sociopath Next Door. I had read it prior to having my head cut off and still could do nothing when it happened because we want to believe that those whom we like cannot be so heartless. 
Only now am I getting round to it, and I have acquired a nice new potato-peeler.

Gandhiji

More stamps than envelope, it seems. Gandhiji's tranquil face looking back at me multiple times, like looking through a kaleidoscope.
Last time I went to the post office they were out of 98 cent stamps and I bought 1 dollar ones, which are far prettier. I think I will continue doing that. They might even have different ones, which will make my envelopes more interesting too. Of course, I could just stick on 100 penny stamps.

Paper mosaic.

When a day is just plodding along, or worse than that even, when very little seems to go the way I would like it to go, then I am totally taken aback when I suddenly come across something that will just flood my head with ideas and flush out any disappointing feelings I may have.
It can be something simple. Like this morning when I saw a picture of a caterpillar, and the colors were so wild, that I immediately wanted to make a vividly colored caterpillar of my own. Recently I saw a program about fractals and there I went again, like Alice down the rabbit hole. Head spinning with inspiration.

Words, that are strung beautifully, do it to me too. 

“There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic.”
 – Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale
  

If I can't mosaic anything of scale, then why not mosaic something small and light. That is what you see in the picture. I am making paper mosaic tiles and placing them on a little wooden box. It looks like nothing this close, but when finished I will post the end result and it will look entirely different. You will see.

The Big Hat.

Your life experiences build you layer upon layer into whom you eventually become. It is also the life experiences of those whom you encounter along the way, that influence you in becoming who you are. As a woman, I have a strong admiration for women who disown certain conventions and seek out the experiences that make them multi-faceted and very interesting. I can name a few from the past, Baroness von Blixen, Mary Kingsley, Margaret Mead, Delia Akeley and Isabella Bird a.o. If you think that there are no modern day women who adventure out, then names like Jane Goodall and Alicia Colson come to mind, but granted I can find very few and most are scientists. However on the bright side, there is Sophie, who writes a blog journal about her hotel in the West African town of Djenne, Mali, where she has settled. Sophie, in turn introduces Edith Watts, of Papua New Guinea, in her October 18th, 2010 blog entry. Fascinating women. But they are not the only ones. Many women these days travel the world (outside the tourist circuit), live in little known pockets of the world and do interesting things. One day, future generations will hear of them, only, right now, it is not easy to find them even on the internet. 
Let's hope that they are keeping journals. 

It was Sophie who mentioned "wearing the big hat" when writing about Edith Watts and when I was going through my black and white photographs from a while back, I found this one of my mother.

Twitter & Tumblr & More.

I think my head is about to explode. I just don't understand where people find the time to do it all, and I don't even mean ALL. I mean, what they do behind their computers. I get numerous personal emails that need responses. I get business emails that need to be taken care of. I Blog, and if you are reading this you already know that. Then this Summer a friend invited me to see her photos on Facebook. Turns out you need to register to be able to see them, and once registered, there were many happy reunions with people from the past. People who had worked for me, friends who I had lost touch with and friends I see monthly, weekly or daily too. Soon I had a bunch of friends. Then there was the Tweeting, but I drew the line there, because I am hopeless at small talk and that seemed like small talk to me. But I like to at least know what is out there, so checked into Tumblr, which is a blogging system that I know I don't need. I like Flickr. I spend some time there now and then because I like seeing other peoples photos, but I have never uploaded any of my own. 

Now I come across Pinterest. Which is interesting, but I just don't see how one can manage it all.......and yes, many bloggers whose blogs I read, have Twitter, Facebook, Flickr, Tumblr, and some others.

Between the phone, the mobile phone, text messaging, emailing and T, F, F, T and the others, reading blogs and actually living life and reading a book now and then, I think I have no option but to let my head explode. Perhaps I am taking this Slow and Simple idea too seriously, and should leap back into the Speed and Stress lane again, where everyone's head has already exploded.

What's the rush?

 

Lately, I seem to have been looking down a little more, and that's how I found the feathers that I stuck in my little art book. The ragged looking one will make a great stamp.

The day before Thanksgiving I was on the grocery store parking lot, in the middle of mayhem. A well-dressed man in a nice car was so concerned that I would take the parking spot he had his eye on that he stopped his car right in front of mine. I mimed something that was supposed to say: now what are you doing? His reaction was not well-dressed at all, but I had no time for him because two cars down, a car had backed into another.

What's wrong with having Thanksgiving on some boring Sunday in February? Travel will be cheap and the airports not crowded. There will be months of time for dinner preparations and getting the house in perfect shape for company. There will be no family feud about going to the one for dinner and not to the other. Shopping will be a pleasure in the almost empty stores.

Why not turn everything inside-out and upside-down and walk to the beat of your own drum?