Looking forward to:

Driving through SD Badlands

Taking a class from Molly at the Bikram yoga studio that I used to frequent

Maybe finishing a sweater that I started a while back?

Seeing the sweet faces of friends in our old ‘hood, east of DT ABQ

Sheva Sheva Sheva… and maybe some putt-putt golf?

Mountains

Julie and the boys

The night before the hike

Wading in Bright Angel Creek

Scoffing at mule-riders

Tequila at the top.

Be back online sometime after June 4.  Happy summertime everyone!

Footwear test panel:

Potholes!

These apparently formed at the end of the last ice age as the glacial St. Croix carved out the river valley.  The MN bank has the greatest concentration of them in the world.

Think about it… thousands of Minnesotans go to Interstate Park every year to see…

Potholes.

I should start giving pothole tours in my own neighborhood of Bottineau.  Broadway Street NE sports some that are big enough to house a family of six.  They are glacial, indeed.  Not quite as big as this sucker though:

My fighting form:

We followed the Sandstone Bluff loop…

And saw some pretty sweet sandstone bluffs:

We then returned home to feast upon some delicious grilled crab and shrimp at Xan’s brother and sister-in-law’s house, where -to be truthful- neither of our wiped-out selves probably made very good company.  But they tolerated us as family members are apt to do and we all watched the gay cowboy movie together.  A fine Sunday.

I love the prairie.

Inspired by a book of Eric Hosking’s amazing owl photography.  My interpretation doesn’t get anywhere near literal though.

He is weighted with beans and has a piece of hard tagboard inserted into the bottom.  I am pretty enamored with the face.

And how great is this:

Eric Hosking was born in 1909. Already as a schoolboy, he answered the questions of many “aunties” what exactly he wanted to be when he grew up, with a statement contrary to the usual ones of all children his age that wanted to be engineers, and said : “bird photographer”. This answer had one little flaw: there was no profession called “bird photographer”. This profession did not exist before Eric Hosking, nor did it exist after Eric Hosking. He was the first and last and he actually was the only bird photographer as such, ever.

Have a great weekend!

A few shots of my work space… sorry about the photo quality.  It may be apparent (from the decor) that I share this space with a certain young miss who is currently hanging her hat in another state.  The two large wall hangings are Xan’s and came from a shop in St. Paul.  I have been using the small dresser for fabric storage.

The dress is made out of some vintage kimono sleeves that I picked up at the Textile Center garage sale.  The tights are an old cut up pair of my own.

I made her a wig out of Colinette Jitterbug (sock yarn, left over from my Clapotis scarf.)

Shoes are old leather scraps with beads as fasteners…

Tiny, tiny fingers.  Such a bitch.  I made five of these hands before I finally turned one without ripping holes in the fabric.

And a tiny purse full of beans.

Kind of a funny-face.

I’m off in an hour to my friends Eve and Orin’s birthday party.  Going to try and enjoy my last two days off before returning to work on Monday.  I am glad to have had the time off and I’ve no regrets about the way I’ve spent it.  Now to keep up the work when I’m not at “work”…

I was running out of ideas for a 28th B-day present for this lady, buddy-of-buddies, fellow founding member of the FUFC (that’s fucked-up families club, circa 1999).

I wanted to make a little H-Manikin, but time was short.

Here was my solution:

Complete with tattoos and stocking-feet.  But there is more.

Hideous, hideous shoes.

Triathlon-H.

This was really, really a lot of fun.

“Charlie”, as I called her, was a beloved rag doll made by my mom.  My sister and I each received a doll like this one Xmas during toddlerhood.  My first sewn garments were for Charlie.  I designed a bathing suit for her (out of rosebud-printed calico…!!) and stitched it by hand.  Soon I had my adults convinced that it was time for me to learn to use their sewing machines.  I remember how the hair would stand up on the back of my neck when it would become apparent that Mom had discovered yet another piece of her fabric I had sliced into.  And how Grandma flipped when she found I had “adjusted” her machine’s tension for her.

The Textile Center of Minnesota has this great garage sale each spring.  There must have been 3 tons of material, ranging from bolts of fabric to machines, looms, stuffing, scraps, yarn, needlework kits, vintage linens, books, tools, and unfinished projects.  There was a rag doll wearing a long cotton dress.  It felt so good to hold her.  Simple and satisfying, like seeing an old friend.  Nothing akin to hefting a child.

I read Vasalisa the Wise, again.

I came home with this oddity:

She is about 12″ tall and her felt limbs conceal a very stiff wire armature.  Her head is maybe fabric-covered papier mache.  I had to reattach her mohair wig.  It looks like she used to have a tutu, perhaps shorn off by an overzealous companion at one point?  She is slightly hideous and a little reminiscent of Olive Oil in a 1930s sort of way, but she seemed pleased with herself, so I picked her up.

I love her flower brooch.

She ain’t gonna be my guide during any travail through the wilds, but she has been around the block, and has a sense of humor on her side.

About the title:

Well, we all know good old Baba Yaga, right?  She is a folkloric character, a fine Russian example of the crone / witch / wise woman archetype.  She is made out to be terrifying, but that is a trick meant to test your mettle.  Jungian psychology suggests that she may be no more terrifying than our own internal psychic caves.  Spelunking, anyone?

Bébé literally means “baby” but is also a term which refers specifically to some French and German bisque dolls produced from the 1880s, made to resemble infants and children up to seven years of age.  Precious, I know.  But what do they yet know of the woods?

I am relishing this juxtaposition of words now.

Also:

This little guy turned out pretty cute.

Now to sew up that bag:

I like it so much… purchased rattan handles and remnant of shiny stuff for lining.

This project has the stamp of approval from Oscar.

It’s ok, I prefer to have the yarn thank you.

I was given a lovely gift of a bag of unused yarn by a coworker at C & B who has sworn off knitting.  Most of it is Lamb’s Pride bulky.  All I can think of is a big warm cable-y hoodie….

In my stir-craziness, I whipped up a batch of blood-orange marmalade (the Seward Co-op has had some spectacular citrus fruit lately.)  Not only is it pretty, it also tastes respectably good, although I am flummoxed by the challenge of making those tiny slivers of rind.  Someone suggested tiny sharp scissors, but so far the knife has worked best, although I did try the vegetable peeler along the edge.  It cut the rind to a satisfactory teensy-ness but the thin pithy layer just got shredded.  How do you sharpen a vegetable peeler anyway?  Believe me, I tried, and if anyone had witnessed that they might have had a good laugh.

My recently completed dishcloth, together with a jar of marmalade, made a cute if modest birthday present for my friend Jess.  I think the yellow yarn looks like scrambled eggs.

We have also been enjoying some fresh grapefruit juice, which goes nicely with sunshine through the kitchen window:

Yep.  I tried to put up a few half-pints of grapefruit marmalade yesterday but it didn’t set.  Probably needs to cook down a little more.  I really need to get this jelly/jam thing down.  I don’t even know what I am talking about… I don’t really eat jelly.  It’s just so pretty in the jar!  The zestar apple jelly… mmm.  So pink and crystal-clear!  I can’t wait until farmer’s market season starts up again.  I am going to can many more tomatoes than I did last summer – we are almost out already.  I don’t think I will do any more dill or mustard pickles, but maybe some sweet ones, and for sure more pickled beets.  Also spicy pickled green beans.  And okra.  And more applesauce.

In other news I have been enjoying my YWCA membership soooo immensely these last few days.  Even when nothing seems to be happening I feel as if I am accomplishing something.  I look forward to being in better shape when Xan and I go to AZ for backpacking in the Grand Canyon with my aunt and cousins in late May.  (I have been twice before, this will be Xan’s first hike.)  I can’t wait to see all the blooming desert plants and to sit in Bright Angel Creek and cool the toes once we reach the bottom.

To end this rambling post: I find that cats wrapped in blankets are a never-ending source of amusement and inspiration for me to pick up the camera and… take incredibly stupid pictures.