Well, now it does.

Though the wool is felted and will not fray, there was something about having a raw edge there at the top that was bothering me.   I’ve finally found a way to resolve that little dilemma with a bit of fancy, stretchy trim.

It provides a finished, clean edge without compromising the function of the coozie.  In fact, it makes it even better because it prevents the top edge from stretching out over time.

Lookin’ pretty sharp for a beer, eh?

And yes, you can buy them.  I give in.  Coming soon!

Last night I had a dream about my grandmother, not a regular dream but a visiting dream.  You know those kind?

We used to take rides together in the car when I was growing up.  She would tell me about important life stuff that required having a teenager strapped down for awhile, unable to find a distraction outside of the mountain range ahead or twinkling Christmas lights around town.  She reserved these rides for advice like, “Don’t even think about getting married until you’re 25,” and “You’re a butterfly girl.  Pursuing any career that isn’t creative will suffocate you.”

She was a smart lady.

Sometimes I wonder what she would be like now, walking toward her last steps in life if Crohn’s hadn’t ended her journey so prematurely.  I was tickled when she showed up in a mini van, complete with handicapped tag in the window, and translucent white hair.  She pays closer attention than I think.  We went for a drive.

Up the hills.  Overlooking valleys.  To places that I hadn’t seen in a long, long time.  Places that transform with time, shifting in size and magnitude.

“Wow, that valley used to look so much deeper.  It’s really not that big of a drop, is it?”

“I remember when I couldn’t even get all the way up that hill.”

She drove, mostly quiet but giving thousands of words in wisdom through the familiar skylines that we looked at together time and time again.  We sat at the base of a mountain, one I hadn’t seen before, and we were silent.  There was a large playing field at the peak, a professional football stadium.  In the gate stood a man.  She started up the road, quickly.

“Gram, you’re going really fast.  You might hit that guy.”

“Jewel, you gotta keep your momentum high because the hardest part is just before the top.  Don’t stop, don’t slow down.  Or you’ll have to go all the way back to the bottom and start over. He’ll just have to move.”

*blink*blink*

Last week, I experienced a pretty good setback.  And by pretty good, I mean both substantial and positive.  Though I had checked, double checked, and triple checked with lots of official and important sounding people, I was given the incorrect direction in terms of health department requirements and tiny empires of tea.  It seems tea is a gray area and there are particular packaging/repackaging rules that require a hefty amount of paperwork and licensing.  These requirements are now taking up plenty of space on my to-do list.

And that means no more tea until I get it sorted out.

While I’m happy that I finally have a definitive answer and I will eventually be able to offer and produce my tea blends on a grander scale, it kind of sucks that I didn’t have this information three months ago.  You know, before the peak of tourist season.

Sigh.

Thankfully, I’ve been on a little knitting bender.…

And I like to flitter from flower to flower.

It’s kind of my thing.

It’s true.

I’ve finally learned that when I get into bender-mode (or the “tsunami pour” as my Canadian penpal calls it), it’s best to just get myself out of the way and let it unroll.  Screw the general clutter patrol, forget the dirty kitchen floor.  Dig into it and see where it leads.

The other day, I was talking to Barb at The Yarn Shop (who wholeheartedly supports my fiber benders, of course) about featuring a vintage style pattern as a Free Pattern of the Month.  Barb, who attended the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City back in the day, is always game for a little talk about fashion and style, especially when knitting is involved.  We were discussing the resurgence of the styles of the 80s, staying on top of style trends without falling into the fad trap, and simple summer knits.

As it turns out, the lines of the popular 80s styles are actually interpretations of fashion from the 1930s and 40s.

That leads me to a very sweet discovery:

A Stitch In Time

A Stitch In Time:  Knit and Crochet Patterns by Jane Waller and Susan Crawford.  It’s a re-publication of a book originally published in 1972, a collection of patterns from 1920 — 1949.  (You can get it here.)

Without trying to sound like a high school term paper, I just want to point out that the 1930s were a golden era in entertainment, despite the Great Depression.  People used movies, gatherings, and music as a way to escape the drudgery of their dismal realities.  (Think Gone With the Wind and The Wizard of Oz.  Big, dramatic eye candy.)  The same thing is happening on a similar level in these crappy economic times–tv shows where ordinary people are given extraordinary opportunities, movies like Avatar with intense special effects and mad swings of drama, that kind of thing.  I see it through the front lines of the blogging communities, in mama groups, in my Facebook circle, and then I watch it slowly unfurl into the space in front of Annabelle’s stroller on our walks downtown.  People are reaching out to a more solid foundation (chickens, aprons, making our own bread) but bringing a modern twist along with it (organic growing practices, alternative energy, the world wide web).  It’s good medicine in tough times, this influence of the simplicity of the past.

Wait, I was talking about clothes, wasn’t I?

Maybe it’s because I was raised by a collector–a mother who values the history and the story behind the ordinary–but I’m drawn to these old styles in a way that I can’t explain.  They’re feminine without going over the top, beautifully made, and very unique.  Also perfect as a lightweight summer knit or an elegant work of crochet.

rrrrr-ruffles! maybe just on the collar for me.

I like to escape our everyday woes in the world of vintage fashion, I’ll admit it.  Seriously.  Look at this stuff.

um, yes. I am so making this.

there’s some mad potential here.

yeah, some things are better off in the past.

but this little baby is making a debut in the present. fo sho.

there’s even some underwear.

Mad inspiration for this stitchin’ mama…  Once that first sweater gets off the needles, I’ll be tucked behind one of these patterns, hiding from the big, bad economy and enjoying myself.

Where do you find yourself when the world gets sour?  Seriously.  I’m curious.

Learning about the structure of web design, the basics of html and css, the strategies behind SEO…that was easy compared to actually sitting down and composing an entire page about my own sweet self.  How do I provide all the information without sounding like an egotistical ass?  How do I keep it interesting?

What do you actually want to know about me?

There is a lot that has shaped my life:  where I’ve lived, my family, poverty, Montana, the principles of Buddhism, lots of therapy…not to mention art and craft and math and science.  Over the next few weeks, I’ll be using the blog here to figure out what to put on my final Bio page for the website.  I’ve got a good grasp on the code, the colors have been chosen, the fonts and styles and links and puzzle bits are all hammered out.

Now it’s time for the hard part.

What’s your approach on the dreaded “About Me” page?  Any words of wisdom?

I really, really, really needed this.

Thank you my loves.  For a sweet boy and an even sweeter papa who is showing the boy that flowers always make a lady smile.

Curated Mess:  a pile discovered around your home, a precious collection that explains your life right now.

The boy has been requesting a “cake fire” for weeks now (the official term for a birthday cake with candles ablaze), and well, I like cake so I was pretty glad to oblige.  My mama’s birthday was last week and though she lives far away, we decided to make a cake fire in her honor.

While baking a cake from scratch sounds glamorous and heroically motherly, the time invested in such an enterprise distracts me from regular chores like dishes and general tidying.  Not that I mind.  In fact, I don’t mind a bit.

This is our curated mess.

One of the many.

A bead.  A Mazda.  You can’t move a muscle in this house without coming across a tiny car or some kind of crafting supply.

Sleek and ready.

Whipping egg whites, dreaming of the clouds of iridescent orbs produced by the bubble machine.

Baking dish cupboard, parking garage.

These are the happy discoveries of our days, both for the children and for mama.

Share your Curated Mess here on flickr.  And if you find the idea of sharing the reality of motherhood refreshing, check out a related project called Truthful Tuesdays, here at Hip Mountain Mama.

The globe lamp.  This hung at my grandparents house, suspended from a wooden wall attachment that my grandfather made decades ago.  When we would spend summers in Butte with them, the glowing orb served as a night light as we slept.

We lived in Idaho then.  Challis.  A mining town that is now inhabited by ghosts and a stubborn few.

My grandfather worked for Westinghouse, an electrical parts supplier to the Anaconda mine.  (You may have heard of their refrigerators and dishwashers.)  Since he was in sales, he often received bonuses or incentives and according to my mom, this lamp was one of those incentives.

It’s been around for awhile.  My mother was small when he brought it home and Germany was still one country.  And then it split.  And now it’s one again.

It has always hung right above my bed, connecting me to my grandparents even when we lived far away from each other.

Antarctica has become very familiar over the years.  I’ve watched our world evolve and shift, changing names and faces but retaining the same basic structure.

This simple glow of blue mesmerizes anyone who sees it.  Instantly.

…lessons in geography and history and letting things change.

And I’m pretty sure I should move it up a little higher for awhile.

It’s June 10th.  It’s snowing.

I would like to say this is unusual but it isn’t.

You get through it.

You take a deep breath.

You focus on the positive (fewer fires in August and September).

You hunker down.

You accept it.

You bake.

You think about other things.

You get through today.

You make it to the next tree.

You clean your house.

You organize the closets.

You look at old photographs.

You let your kids watch tv.

You remind yourself that it won’t be this way forever.

You’re grateful.

You don’t complain.

You suck it up.

You do it.

Because that is what needs to be done.

And that is the essence of living in Montana.  The lesson that shapes the people who choose to let their hearts and bodies roam free in these mountains and prairies.

A lesson that most places have forgotten.

This year I think the dandelions have won.  Sorry neighbors.

A pleasant moment in front of the screen…a much different scene than mama all hunched up trying to integrate web design into the old brain cells.  Ouch.

Something shiny for Mother’s Day…the fruits of which will be unveiled soon.

My new favorite spot.

Watching things grow.  Cascade hops in this case–we’re hoping to finally harvest enough for a batch of homegrown homebrew this year.

Learning about natural plant dyeing from our local guru, Tina Gilchrist, at Total Immersion Fiber Day.  There will be much more about this in the months to come.  You know it.

Felting, washing, cutting, sewing.  Anyone wanna know some tricks on felting wool sweaters?  I have a little experience in that department…

And waiting for supplies.  Patiently.  Honestly, I’m trying to be patient but this is almost like Christmas.

More soon!