Where's the shortcake?

It wasn't long ago that
I was addicted to bird-making
and feared I might have to sign myself into
The Betty Bird Clinic.
Now I find myself hopelessly addicted to
making strawberries.
If I don't find some way to stop myself soon
I'll be checking into the Betty Berry Clinic.
I know for a fact that it's located in California.
It's out there in the desert near Palm Springs.
They call that state the land of fruits and nuts you know.
Since I'll be in California soon
I could get there lickety-split.
I could work on my addiction while
Mr. Gadget takes a few golf lessons.
The walls were starting to close in on me this morning.
I had to hurry down to Joann's as soon as they opened
to replenish my stash
of beads and beading needles.
Now I'm running low on red felt.
But I know there's lots of red felt in the Calcondo--
leftovers from ladybug production
and Valentine hearts.
I hope I can hold out till then.
If I can just make a few more strawberries
I'll have a whole bowlful to share
with the Calcondo curmudgeons
at the 4th of July picnic.
It's important to be neighborly.
I hope someone brings ice cream.

Crafty sweetness

I'll admit, I've been short on blog fodder lately, so I made a strawberry just to have something to blog about. I've been so busy working on the contest doll--the one that must be kept under wraps for now--that I've had little time for anything else. It seemed like a good time for a little break, though, because I was starting to walk that fine line between he's just fine the way he is, and overworking him into ridiculousness. I'm happy with him now that I was able to find a better skin tone. Here's a little peek:

Yep. Just a little glimpse for now. If he wins any accolades, you will be the first to know--after Mr. Gadget. In the meantime, I'll be thinking up some other whimsical stuff to involve myself with just to keep you entertained.

So back to the strawberry. It's made with felt and beads. The pattern is here on the very talented Abby's blog. I think a dozen or so of these would look nice in a large glass bowl...with a big dollop of whipped cream. I put a hanging string on it so it qualifies as an ornament. You could even hang one from your rearview mirror with some sweet-smelling goodness inside---so much more pleasant than those little pine-tree thingies. People will no doubt leave little notes on your windshield asking where you got yours. Just tell them it was made by a crazy lady who was suffering from blog-fodderlessness.

So Mr. Gadget and I are starting to gear up for our summer trip out west. We've been doing this long enough now that we have it down to an almost-exact science. The suitcases come out a few days ahead of our departure. Mr. Gadget puts a couple of books and an extra pair of shoes in his suitcase.....since he already has a west-coast supply of clothes and toiletries. Since I never know what size I'll be from trip to trip, I must pack clothes. And then I use the vast amount of excess space in Mr. G's suitcase for my craft supplies and whatever else I think I might need. He never complains. What's my secret for this matrimonial harmony, you ask? The man loves apple pie. When he starts getting cranky, I bake. I wonder if he'd like strawberry pie for a change? I should have a good crop soon...

Bawdy beautiful

Here's The Bawdy One in her nearly-done preposterousness. I've been working on her while I sit here at a disappointing road block that's impeding my progress on the contest doll. More on that later.

She's been a hoot to work on, not to mention a nice diversion from the road trip I was not sure I was up for in the first place. The original plan for Miss Bawdy was to give her a witch hat and an unusual witch costume, but that plan morphed into a fluffy little woman with some joie de vivre. She needs some finishing touches, and then she will reappear with a suitable, and maybe even lustful, limerick.

Meanwhile, as the contest doll sits in the corner, I'm considering alternate routes. The problem stems from my inappropriate use of paint. I thought the manufacturer of the craft paint was true to his word when he labeled the bottle Flesh. Not so. It's flesh alright, but more the skin tone one might expect from a malfunctioning tanning salon. So I added white to the flesh and painted him again. Not much better. Then I got smart and added flesh to the white, and now he looks like he's ready for a ride to the morgue. I will be contemplating this dilemma today, and I'm sure the frustrating barricades will be removed soon.

In other news, I'm excited about two new activities I'll be spearheading in the fall. So unlike me. I'm usually one to go places, sit in the back, and keep my mouth shut. I'm not sure what's come over me. One of these activities is actually a joint effort that I'm planning with another condo resident. She and I will be starting up a weekly craft group. The other is a writing group I've volunteered to lead at the local senior center. I believe all of us elders have wonderful stories to tell, and they should be documented for future family members. Early response has been positive for both.

Looks like the traffic is starting to move, so I'd best get back on the road. I'll check in at the next rest stop. I hope there's coffee.

Birds of a feather

You probably don't know this but I keep a flock of sheep here in the Treehouse. They're great for keeping the weeds under control. I only wish they'd graze on fabric scraps.

Well, maybe they aren't actual sheep. They're sheepskins. And maybe they can't be considered a flock. Maybe just a pair. There's a story about these sheepskins.

I purchased them many years ago--it was the early 70's as I recall--on a trip to New Zealand. In the early days of my travels I was not averse to buying big souvenirs and carting them across the world. That was back in the day when one could roll up two bulky sheepskins and check them through with one's luggage at no extra cost. Imagine.

I knew my apartment would look really cool with these sheepskins on the floor. It was so very important to look cool in those days. They would complement my macrame wallhangings and the striped madras bedspread that covered the twin bed in my living room that served as a couch....not to mention, my shag haircut.

So now I'm a little sick of them actually. They've lost their coolness. But I hate to get rid of them. They feel like old friends. So I think I might just put them in a large plastic tote and label it doll hair. Maybe if I get rid of them little-by-little it will be less traumatic.

Here, though, is an authentic flock.

I got out a small Christmas tree to see how they'd look and I'm quite pleased. Very colorful. I've made a little more than two dozen so far. At some point I thought I might be addicted to making birds, and I often wondered just how far the compulsion would take me. Then one day I realized I hadn't birded in almost a week. Boy, was I relieved. I had begun to think I might have to check myself in to the Betty Bird Clinic...

Handy

I don't enjoy making doll hands. They're kinda fiddly.

They look like big fat mittens after I've sewn and turned them right side out. But they really come alive once I've done the hand-stitching between the fingers. If I'm in a hand-making mood, I make as many as I can so I don't have to do them too often. For the witches I give them a watered-down coat of celery green paint--or as I call it, ghastly green. Sometimes I'll embroider a spider on a witch hand. That usually gets a fun comment or two from shoppers at a craft fair. No so much on a nun...
Clay hands aren't quite as challenging. Once I've got the mitten shape, I take the slicing tool and pretend it's a loaf of bread. I cut 4 nice slices--enough for 2 sandwiches. This clay hand is going to be glued to something, so I didn't slice it all the way through. I need a nice flat surface so the glue will adhere. The most difficult part of making clay hands is knowing where to place the thumb. Once that's mastered it's a piece of cake.

My hands, on the other hand, don't look very good.

It's probably because I spend so much time in the Treehouse glueing and painting and working with clay....and occasionally trying to stick a needle through my finger when I mistake it for a doll part. Or maybe it's just from all the pretend cooking and cleaning I do...

Hail as big as hamburgers

We had quite a storm here in Macaroniville yesterday afternoon. At one point I considered going down to the cellar, especially when that hamburger hail started pelting the windows, but then I remembered we don't have a cellar. We have a basement, and I don't think they're the same thing. Basements are for storing all the stuff your kids don't want but might want someday, and cellars are for storing wine. If we were buying this condo again, there's little doubt which one of the two I'd vote for.

So I got my shovel fixed, and while I'm waiting for the clay to dry I decided to dig a little deeper in my closet.

I found these placemats I embroidered long ago. I only did 3, but I have fabric for a 4th.

Apparently I ran out of steam before I finished the project, and I really don't have much steam for it now. I'll put one away and just use 2 for Mr. Gadget and me. It's about time to retire the ugly red plastic woven ones I bought at the dollar store.

Maybe I'll use them for dinner tonight. We'll be eating leftover Chinese. That's because last night I pretended we lost power. I told Mr. Gadget that I was only going to do pretend-cooking, and it wasn't long before he very graciously offered to go for Chinese take-out.

Possibilities

Mr. Gadget is always supportive of my clay work. Sometimes he'll offer me an empty bottle, and on occasion an empty medicine bottle, if he sees potential for a whimsical character. Whatever springs forth will definitely be one with broad shoulders, but it's highly doubtful he or she will be able to pass a breathalyzer test.

There's more clay work happening in the Treehouse today. It's mostly some fine-tuning on the face of the armature guy. Facial features are challenging for me. I've pretty well figured out where everything goes on a face. I'm hopeful the rest will come with practice.

I also printed up some bands for the knitted dishcloths.

I'm fairly happy with the result, but I think I will change the paper color to an off-white or a who-knows?

Today I found these bunny pins in the depths of my closet. I'd forgotten all about them.

There may be even more treasures in my closet, but further searches will have to wait. I was only able to dig down as far as the Mesozoic Era before my shovel broke...

Now trending in the Treehouse

Today it's all about clay. I've shoved the sewing machine out of the way and spread old newspapers on my work table. It's messy and sometimes frustrating--like when I forget to wash my tools and then find the one I need covered with dried clay.

The mummified armature now has a head, although a bit crude, I'll admit. It's amazing what a little sandpaper, paint and hair will do--not to mention properly-fitting clothes. I'm not so confident about that last part. This is going to require me to be a costume designer. And I'm still falling short in the forehead department, probably because I'm still falling short in the fore-thought department. I may have to add more clay up on top. But part of the beauty of paper clay is that wet clay can be applied to dry clay. It's oh-so-forgiving, and I like that in a craft medium.

And since the clay was out and at my messy, sticky fingertips, I thought I'd do a little work on the bawdy one.
She, too, is rather rustic at this point, but I'm counting on the magic of sandpaper, paint and costuming. I've given her a bikini top made from two clay triangles and I'm considering a tu-tu. She's an elder gal who loves to let it all--well, almost all--hang out.

But first and foremost, she likes to be comfortable. Nothing beats an old pair of bunny slippers.

Mummified

The mummification process is almost complete.
This is the doll I'm making for the contest I wrote about earlier. It will be a cloth and clay doll, with the head, hands and feet constructed of clay, and the outfit made from cloth.
Here's his backside. It's not very pretty I know, but he'll be fully dressed and all evidence of mummification will be hidden.

I'm quite pleased with his torso shaping. That just happened by accident. I have no idea what I'm doing. Remember, I'm just out for a pleasant Sunday drive. Soon I will be sculpting the head and face, so there could very well be a four-car pile-up just ahead.

Now back to the mouse-and-cookie story I told a few days ago. There's more.

The young woman had the MRI--which, by the way, she found not to be unpleasant except for that little needle stick or two---and soon afterwards she went back to her ear doc for a follow-up visit.

"No problem with your ear," said the doc reassuringly, "but we did find another little problem. This sometimes happens when a person has a test like this," he added. "But it's absolutely nothing to worry about."

So the young woman, who was now feeling very much like an old woman--especially after the doc's final comment that it might be a good idea if she came in for a hearing aid consultation--left the office deep in thought. Maybe, just maybe, some of these things were just normal signs of aging and not things needing special medical attention. And she vowed to not only eat more cookies, but to make sure she always has a goodly supply of chocolate in the house...

You're building a what?

I mentioned in an earlier post my plan to make a doll for a contest. There's no actual prize being offered other than having pictures of the dolls-deemed-worthy published in a magazine. Most of the dolls that have previously appeared in this magazine have been wonderful works of art, so I'm a little bit embarrassed to even admit that I could possibly rub shoulders with real dollmakers.

I've decided to treat this whole project like a Sunday joy ride. I'll head out and if I hit road construction on the four-lane highway, or it funnels down to a two-lane dirt road with major ruts, I'll turn back and be happy I had a little chutzpah.

The project I have in mind requires me to make an armature-skeleton-thingie. I thought about getting out one of my dollmaking books to read up on the proper way to do this, but I've never been one to waste time reading directions, so I skipped this part.

I'm guessing it doesn't need to be anything fancy. Just two arms, two legs, and a neck that will hold a head.Here I've started to wrap him up. He needs a little meat on his bones. His arms are a little long, but I'll keep my wire cutters handy and snip off whatever he doesn't need once I figure out exactly how he'll use them.

He seems pretty flexible. In fact, he looks like someone who might be fun at a party. I wonder if his crotch is too low? He'll eventually be wearing pants, so it's probably not a big deal. He's certainly not very handsome at this point. Think of him dressed in his underwear--underwear you might put on in the morning if you weren't planning to be in an accident later in the day.

For now I'll continue along on my Sunday ride. I didn't count on all this traffic though. Is this a holiday weekend?

Memorial Day

Uncle Sam has stopped by for a visit today,

because, well of course, it's Memorial Day.

If you're not one for grilling,

or drinking and carousing,

take the family to a Chinese buffet.

Perks

Mr. Gadget and I have been very pleased with some of the benefits we've received since moving into the 'hood (senior-citizenhood.) There are cheap movies, cheap train tickets, and lots of early-bird dinner specials--just to name a few.

Just the other day we learned of a new one. My computer monitor died, and Mr. Gadget graciously offered to dispose of it. I really love a man who can open jar lids, reach things on high shelves, and who doesn't flinch when faced with having to dispose of dead things.

He called the public works department and was surprised to learn that senior citizens do not have to buy a permit to use the local dump. It's absolutely free. So Mr. G. loaded the expired monitor in his trunk and prepared to leave, although he was a bit apprehensive. This was because of his experience with having to satisfy the aesthetics of the garbage man who refuses to accept garbage that is too smelly, too heavy, too wide, or too loosely tied.
After he got home, I decided to ask him a few questions.

"How was your dump experience?"

"I know people our age generally start having some problems with elimination," he said, "but I had absolutely no problem at all."

"Were the employees dumper-friendly?" I asked.

"Yes." he said. "They directed me right to the e-cycling trailer and told me to lay out my dead monitor in line behind the others."

"Sounds like it was pretty well organized," I said.

"Not only that," he said, "but there was an old guy sitting on a folding chair right next to the trailer. I figure he was there to help the dump babes."

"How would you rate your dump experience?" I asked.

"You mean with 5 being a very satisfying dump experience, and 1 being I'd never do a dump there again?" he asked.

"That seems like a good rating system," I told him.

"I'd give it a 5," he said. "It was an excellent experience and I felt greatly relieved when I left."

Mousetrap

Have you ever read the children's book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie? It starts out like this: If you give a mouse a cookie, he's going to ask for a glass of milk. Then he'll ask for a straw. Then a napkin. And on and on and on. My recent dealings with the medical community have reinforced a view I've had for some time--that the medical world is a world of mice and cookies. Here's a story to illustrate.

A young woman--well maybe she was a well-preserved senior--happened to mention to her primary care doc that she had some ringing in her ears.

"How would you describe it?" asked the doc.

"It sounds like it's just in my left ear," she replied. "Though I can't be sure."

"Ringing in both ears is pretty common," said the doc. "But ringing in one ear could be a problem." And she wrote down the name of an ear, nose and throat doc and suggested the woman make an appointment to get it checked.

So an appointment was made for a hearing test.

"You've lost some hearing," said the young whippersnapper of an ear doc.

"Eh?" said the woman. I guess he'd heard that one before because he didn't acknowledge the humor.

"I want you to have another test to see how your brain is receiving sound impulses," he said. "It won't hurt."

So the dutiful young woman scheduled the second test and listened to beeping and buzzing while an auditory technician pounded away on a computer.

"Your right ear is questionable," the ear doc told her at her third visit, "but it's nothing to worry about. I'm going to order an MRI just to rule out a couple of things."

The young woman scheduled the MRI without delay because she knew she shouldn't question the decision of a young upstart who thinks he's old enough to practice medicine even though he can't possibly be old enough to shave.

In the meantime, the young woman sensed the sharp pain of newly-discovered arthritis in her finger. She decided this would be her little secret. She also decided--just in case the end of the world is nigh--to eat more cookies.

Pious poetry

Here sits Sister Edwina

who's weary from too many novenas.

She slipped into her bunnies

and then read the funnies.

There's sure to be a papal subpoena.

Meow

Recently I've been thinking about getting a cat. I even broached the subject with Mr. Gadget. He didn't care much for my idea. In fact, he very quickly threw wet cat fur on it.

"Who would take care of a cat when we're traveling?" he asked. "And what about the food bill? Cats can be expensive pets, especially if you insist on buying deli turkey like you did for Sparkle." Sparkle was our family pet. For most of her life she had only 3 legs, and I did my best to make things easy for her, including erecting a handicapped ramp so she could get up on the bed.

I guess he has some good points, but still. I had my heart set on one of those big orange-stripey cats with big feet.

But I suppose if I did get one the construction guys would put me to work digging ditches, and then I wouldn't have time for dollmaking, so maybe it's just as well....

Getting organized

Mr. Gadget is the organizer in our house, so it really wasn't a big surprise when he offered to help me with some organizing in the Treehouse. Any organizing I've done previously was just pretend organizing--nothing remotely resembling the real thing. This recent effort started after we decided to purchase two new recliners for the loft--to allow for more comfortable TV viewing. This then prompted Mr. G. to rearrange some electronic gadgets, which then required him to steal back a big wooden bookcase he had given me for the Treehouse.

Soon he was strutting around the Treehouse with his tape measure. Actually, it was my tape measure. I think a gal should have a tape measure, and maybe a screwdriver too. The basics. And then he was off to Home Depot for some shelves.

Mr. Gadget is ever-hopeful that eventually he'll be able to train me to be as organized as he is, but the effort required to do this is like pushing a dump truck uphill. I'm resistant. Only because the process of getting organized takes away from precious creating time. He tries to motivate me by buying special containers for my craft supplies. See the nice dark brown ones and the lighter brown ones with the basket weave?

I buy cheap containers at the dollar store. Ones that come pre-labeled so I don't have to waste valuable crafting time sorting things out.

Sometimes I find cheap, colorful ones too. It never hurts to add a touch of color.

See that black area? That's my TV. It's at a perfect level so I merely have to move my eyes up from my handwork and not my whole head. The white drawers are holding my yarn stash. Tech Guy donated this piece. There's no telling what he used it for, so I gave it a good airing-out.

I'm almost totally organized now and I'm feeling surprisingly good about it. Maybe I'll just sit here quietly till the feeling passes.....

A Sunday morning visit to the basement

This morning I decided I'd better get crackin' on my top-secret doll project because time's a-wastin', so I asked Mr. Gadget if he might have some wire that would be suitable for creating an armature-skeleton-thingie. He was pretty sure he did, and he invited me down to the basement where he keeps his gadgets and all of his boxes of gadget-related stuff.

While I reviewed the wire choices, he noticed a box nearby filled with an eclectic collection.

"Isn't this the stuff you were going to take the Goodwill?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," I said. "I forgot about that. Oh, wait. What's that?"

"There's no way that's going to Goodwill," I informed him. "That's going to the Treehouse."

The other crafty one

So Mr. Gadget has completed his table-refinishing project.

He made a valiant effort to revive it from the brink of death--with lots of sanding and scraping and patching and staining. On Saturday when I returned from my trip to the big city the table was in place and beautifully adorned with Mother's Day roses on a white paper doily.

"How did you find the doily?" I asked incredulously.

"I know my way around a pantry closet," he replied. "I'm not just Gadget Man." Sometimes he forgets that in Blogland he's Mr. Gadget.

There's a lot of action in the Treehouse these days. I'm working on witches and bunny slippers. That would be an interesting combo, wouldn't it? And what about a nun in bunny slippers? Nuns must kick back and put their feet up once in a while, don't ya think?

In addition to all this busyness, I'm contemplating taking part in a doll-making contest in the fall. I'm not divulging any details. For now, it must remain top-secret. But I've come up with an idea for a whimsical cloth and clay doll, and it's going to require me to make an armature--one of those wire thingies that acts kinda like a skeleton. I've never made one before, but how hard can it be? Sometimes you just have to ignore those tapes that play in your head--the ones that play over and over and tell you you're not good enough and can't possibly measure up--and dare to dive off the high board. Here's hoping I don't do a belly flop.

Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all youse moms out there. Youse. That's an expression you won't find in the grammar books, but one occasionally heard in this part of the country. It irritates me almost as much as fruit and newspaper stickers.

Today I'm kicking back and relaxing, since it's my day. No dusting, no vacuuming, no laundry, and nothing else of a housework nature. In other words, a day pretty much like any other day....

So yesterday I trained to the city to see Big City Girl. For the first time I was able to take advantage of the discounted senior-citizen fare. And they even allow us elder folks to buy our tickets on the train rather than having to fret over those confounded ticket machines.
Here's a city scene that tickled me. I guess these pigeons were too highbrow to engage in scrounging for food on the sidewalk.

I wish I was better about taking pictures in the city. I wouldn't photograph buildings or landmarks. I'd focus on the weird characters--always in plentiful supply. The sidewalks of New York are a veritable circus. Next time I'll try to do better. It probably won't be long before I go again, now that the train fare is a bargain and I don't have to figure out which buttons to push on the machine. There's nothing like a fun day in the Big Apple. Youse never know what might be lurking around the next corner...

High stakes

Tech Guy has unwittingly challenged me to a game of fruit poker. You may remember I'm quite fond of various varieties of the game.

Last night when TG came downstairs for his regular late-night snack, he must have noticed the faces I'd drawn on the oranges. He decided to take me on. He raised me a mango.Now I'm thinking I'd better cut up this canteloupe on-the-quick so he doesn't sneak in with another tricky play and get the upper hand.

Moving on to dairy products, TG is a big fan of hard-boiled eggs. This morning I made some and put them in the fridge for whenever he gets a hankerin'.It seemed like a good opportunity to remind him of a few things...