etsy shop is back!

Last night I stayed up too late updating my etsy shop for the first time this year. I am not done, but so far there are luggage tags, makeup pouches and the old standby, drumstick cases. I hope this stuff resonates with people, since I feel like it was a step up from my last offering.

sussex county

I love Sussex County. When Paul and I were dating he would take me on long drives out to this corner of New Jersey that I never knew existed, all rolling hills, dairy farms and verdant summer grass. Even in the winter it looks like a winter wonderland. There is no snow in New York City at the moment, and hasn't been, so it is nice to see a place where they still have weather I used to know.
After a few years and learning about the downside of the country, I am still charmed. It is still a place of relaxing weekends and family and oddities. Such as the lamp above, which I saw in a junk store on Newton's Spring Street. The next evening, we ate dinner at the Walpack Inn, where deer come up to the rear windows at dusk like clockwork, because the restaurant leaves feed out for them each evening. So it is also a place of contradictions?
My husband's high school yearbook gives me pause, of course. Anyone who actually had ambitions made a point to mention in their "dislikes": Sussex County. I understand it can be claustrophobic and scary. I love dreaming about picking up, packing up, and living off the land in a place like that, but will my kids hate me for it? Will I?
I am glad I have the option, the understanding that the world is bigger than Brooklyn, or New York City, for that matter.

I took an amazingly productive day off from work on Wednesday - I called it working from home, and I did answer a few e-mails to that effect, but mostly I worked on some things that had been piling up. After phone calls, cleaning, and browsing, I came across this pattern for over mitts on Design Sponge, and decided to sit down and make something for myself, for once, with fabric that I actually liked. Usually, that fabric stays carefully folded and unused because I have problems letting go. But the pattern was fun, worked up quickly (to borrow a knitting term) and made me feel even more super productive that I answered some more work e-mails just to have a banner day.

The thumb turned out a little wonky, probably because I used batting AND terry cloth on one side to make sure they were safe for the heat. They were, and I overcooked some brownies later that night, just to make sure.

I am off for a relaxing few days in New Jersey. Enjoy your hopefully long weekend, and I have a feeling things will be re-launching when I resume posting.

Valentine’s Day Commute

These are two images that bookended my commute this morning. The left is a door in my neighborhood. There are better looking Valentine’s Day displays, but this one looked heartfelt.

On the right is a gentleman capitalizing on the human instinct to wait until the last minute to get a gift. He wasn’t mobbed at 9 a.m., but I bet lunch hour meant brisk business.

Tonight is dinner with my Paul at a local restaurant that does not do a special $$$$ menu, if such a thing exists. Happy Valentinstag’s Day, everyone!

a jumping start

There have been, and will continue to be, changes. I was working with Dreamweaver last night, trying to make a new website, when I realized that I don't even know what to do with it. I could, and probably might, take a few months coming up with a design, but Blogger's got everything so nicely laid out and I finally went and did some design changes. So for now, a blog is the way to go with jilluary. I will be updating the etsy shop as soon as I get some decent photographs.

As for a jumpstart, I was very much inspired by the above refurbished night stand. I have one that has been patiently waiting for years for a fancy updating, and I love working with furniture. It is the most useful of crafts, I think. It deservingly took home honors in the Apartment Therapy January Jumpstart contest, and has got me thinking about the techniques to adhere fabric to different surfaces.

meh

I have just gotten off one of the busiest stretches of work in a looong while. At least since November. It is just a temporary lull, really, until next week, when it starts all over again. This week was flush with events, write-ups, dealing with press, press releases, deadlines, couriers who don’t show up at the appointed time, courier services that don’t have your pickup on file, ad specs, bleeds, photography, business cards that litter my desk and will never be organized no matter how much I mean to, preparing packets for meetings that will run out because some people can’t be bothered to RSVP to an e-mail for chrissakes, budget bullet points, the Albany trip, compiling survey results, stuffing breakfast meeting bagels in my purse because I knew there would be no lunch, seminars, orientations, mailing lists, bawling out reporters and feeling the self-loathing pulsing through my veins as I do so, and peas. Too many peas in my dinner. Which lead to the inevitable marital discord.

My greatest misstep was settling into episodes 1 to 3 of Footballer’s Wives last night. I had gotten home at about 9, after dragging myself and the other guy who worked too much this week out of the office. I saw it had come via Netflix and knew – KNEW! – I should not succumb, for I have stories to clean up and write and a very early morning meeting. I watched them all, all but episode 4 (which I am not angry I didn’t suffer through so I could return it and possible have a new disk by Saturday) and fell asleep around 1:30 in the morning.

I am listening to this to take my heart rate down before I go home and die.

the one where i am productive

I had a very simple list of things to do with my long MLK Jr. weekend, and I am happy to be able to tick them off.

The first and foremost was to scan the first pictures taken with the Diana+ camera I got for Christmas. 120 processing is not cheap and while I clearly have a long way to go, I am getting there, one day at a time. Sha lala la.

I also tracked down and visited the Save-A-Thon fabric on Flatbush and Caton Avenues to pick up some supply. I needed a grommet pliers (some musicians had a suggestion for my drumstick cases, which I will be putting back up on etsy soon) and vinyl. Which, I also managed to learn how to spell this week. Nice! It is nowhere near as convenient as the one on Bridge Street was, but I have to make do.

Sometime in the spring I am planning on a tour-de-force of the big three: JoAnn’s, Michael’s, and AC Moore’s, which I have never stepped inside of. The fun part of that trip will be that it leads to Staten Island, a mythical land where all three reside. I miss my Borough Park Rag Shop dearly as well, but this should be fun for laughs. I have been on Staten Island exactly twice, not counting driving through on the highway, so I am excited to see if I come back alive.

As for today, it is not even noon, and I have been more productive than I have in a long time.

To wit:
That is my first, and rather successful attempts at buttonholes and sewing vinyl. I am shocked! This machine is not too shabby. I sort of half-heartedly named her Tiffany a while back. I am in debt to her. The vinyl is for a new project I hope to make some inventory for, and the buttonholes were as well. I will leave you in suspense.

Go home. I can't.

I know I should not fall prey to commenting on New York times articles, at least the nimrods who are often profiled in "The Hunt" column of the real estate section, but these people really infuriated me.

WHY are you living in New York City, if what you are after is "tomblike silence" ? You are paying $10k to outfit your new three-quarters-of-a-million dollar condo in soundproof windows because you cannot stand noise? You bought on Atlantic Avenue, you are idiots, plural, both of you, so please move away.

Is my bitterness peeking through? That is because my husband and I are looking to relocate. The bitter comes from growing up in Queens and not being able to afford anything save a one-bedroom co-op across from where my parents live in the far northeastern reaches of Queens, where I grew up and spent most of my teenage years stoned on a corner, whining about how suburban it was. When I was 16, I used to scan the Village Voice classifieds at lunchtime and know I could totally afford the East Village with my hourly wage from the Hallmark store in Bayside. Then I went away to college, came back, and everyone else beat me to it. Bitter? I call it rage.

Rage that I cannot afford to live and raise a family in the same place I grew up. I think all that whining made me a stronger person and would gladly subject my children to the same thing. But that won't happen. New York City is out-of-control, crowded, policed, insane and too goddamned expensive. From Riverdale to Tottenville, these asshats from Ohio (sorry, but it is ALWAYS Ohio) are traipsing in, buying it up, and declaring it awesome. Staten Island was never cool, that was the point. That kept the balance on people who grew up and work here, so they had a place to go when they wanted kids. I have no idea where all our policeman and teachers and sanit guys live. I really don't.

so ill

so there is really no point to this post - no photos, no wise sentiments. Just me, bitchin'. My throat hurts so bad. my head hurts. my life aches.

let's caucus

I normally shrug off New Year's and resolutions and reflection, but it wasn't until I wrote it all down that I realized how much I have accomplished this year. This page has the good, the bad, the great and the ugly (can you make out "gained weight"?) but it really was a spectacular exercise.

So many things happened, huge hurtling changes. Most of it good. Much of it stressful but worth it. My husband was helpful to pipe in about my "freakouts" along the way. Thanks, dear. Yes, I did break out in a mysterious rash on my shins and fracture my foot a month before my wedding but I managed to get there, golfcarted in like a queen.

As to not completely ignore the Iowa goings-on - I am scared of the Huckabee people. Yes, the only thing typical urban smartypants, believing in evolution and all, has to say. As the results are called and counties are filled in, and they are calling it for Barack Obama - I am a little amazed. I know I am not alone. Maybe people really do think he is the harbinger of change. I admit, he sounds the most like it. But my friend Gayle makes the sticking point - can he play with the Beltway crowd? I am wont to think Hillary will know how to play the game, osmosis is a very powerful thing, especially in a place like the capital. Idealists have not fared well in recent memory. Hey, I was a mobile volunteer Deaniac in 2003. The standard is that no "candidate" can really get anything done in D.C. ... or can they? I would love to see someone prove me wrong.

And now, my own consumption and adding to the problem - Christmas presents! I will preface this by saying we took it easy this year, even if it didn't seem like it. We saw What Would Jesus Buy? a few weeks before Christmas. All my wrapping was recycled from other gifts, and by getting married, we actually got to consolidate gifts. Instead of a gift for, say, his mom from each of us, she got one from both of us. In fact, both his mom and dad got the same gift! Aren't we brilliant!?

In addition to the Gocco PG5, which I am terrified to use as I will then need to buy more lightbulbs express mailed from Japan, I received The Power Broker, which I have wanted to read for a while, and the gift du jour, a Diana+ camera.

I have the first roll sitting in my bag until I find a place that does 120 prints.




And this? This is just a gratuitous shot of Gen. Biscuits and Gravy. Paul got her for me (in June) at the Animal Care and Control (where they kill puppies and kittens. Please don't buy your animals!) in New Lots, proving once and for all just how much he loves me. They said she was given up, but I don't believe it. She's sweet.

5! shopping! days! left!

I just read this birthing story, which was really and truly amazing. I feel I would have such a similar experience. And now I don't feel so bad about getting personal.

My DH is off having a ball at a show right now (that is, if Glasslands actually stocks something other than Rolling Rock these days). I am wrapping gifts (sans wrapping paper, mind you, but armed with a copy of the latest Craft magazine) and eating a Crunchie bar that I bought in a tea shop today. While part of me wants to cry at the tragic figure i cut, it is fine, I guess. I do like the Christmas season for the purely selfish reasons of getting pressies and even more, the warm fuzzy feeling getting someone something they actually like! I stress myself out over things like gift-buying, letter-writing, and overall impression-making. So to hit the nail on the head and see my friend Gayle genuinely excited about something I got her would make it all worthwhile. Besides, she is terrible liar, so I would know.

Paul (the DH), I am fairly confident, will like his gifts. He is a man, and therefore needs guidance. I know what he needs before he does. Not for a second do I think that all men are created equal in that sense, but I have known him for a while and I know he likes few things more than being looked after. And a large part of me likes being handy and useful. I wish I could think of another way to put that. It is not selfless at all, either - this is something I get off on. I think it works for us.

This takes me back to our wedding story, which is like a birth story of sorts, which I started writing and will probably post in the upcoming reflective days. It is about two people with very similar ideals and aesthetics, but very different ways of executing them.

A special thank-you to all 4 of the lovely people who bought my creations from Etsy this month. I am still humbled and ultimately energized.

progress in progress

So, I got the notion a week or so ago, to start putting stuff up on my etsy site. I had the lipgloss there for a while, and no one was buying it. Then I saw that a blog I read at work (I love knowing someone nearby is doing something like this) was looking for local crafters to put into a gift guide. I gathered my things, put down one of my wedding tablecloths (I will be blogging about that later this week) as a backdrop, and took dark, fuzzy pictures of a wallet, a hat, and a drumstick case. I uploaded everything, priced it, and sent the link to Icky in Brooklyn (sorry Icky, I’ve no idea about your name. But I totally have a bone to pick with Gersh as well. We’ll talk!).

Well, my shop was featured on the site! I was so proud I blushed. And then the amazing Mr. Guskind mentioned me in a post about the Icky guide. So I felt like to be name-checked twice by two blogs I read on a regular basis was so cool. I felt amazing. I felt so amazing that I went home and made a new drumstick case to liven up the listings in case the Times called. I posted that and work got crazy and then I forgot about my life outside of work.

Then someone bought the drumstick case.

I was dying. I know etsy has been revolutionary for the trade, and for small, emerging craftspeople the world over, but to actually have someone buy something I made? Without even thinking about it too much? I threw up a mishmash of what I had and someone bit. So I immediately went into marketing overdrive and have been trying to come up with a branding and logo strategy to focus my attention. I am proud to say I have since sold another drumstick case (so I might be onto something. I will gladly single handedly supply drummers everywhere with my case, which was actually an on-the-fly Christmas present for my then-boyfriend last year. I mean, I literally sewed it up on Christmas eve morning and hoped for the best. I actually liked that the most of all the gifts I got him. Then we got engaged. Coincidence? No.)

I should also mention the karmic factor in all of this – I had been keeping up with Shannon at Make It and her daily blogging/progress. I was so inspired with the epiphanies she was having that I left a comment, which I never do. And then I actually looked at her store and bought something, because I liked her tag and envelope design. And then I had the first sale. I have long admired the selfless swapping and gifting and support that all the ladies and occasional guy partake in on the crafty blogs I read, and I see the beauty in it. Friendships are forged, progress is made, word gets out. I have never been one to brag, and I am terribly shy, but I will try and be more involved and supportive. I feel like I had nothing to back my name up with before, but now I have a little push that feels huge and wonderful. I still may harbor more cynicism than is normal for a still-20-something, and inherited my mother’s forked tongue, but goddammit, maybe there is hope for me yet.

All this goings on has been why I have not done my holiday ornament swap yet… crap. I actually have the idea already, so I just have to concentrate doing them this week. So ladies of group 41 (I think?), not that I gave out my blog address, but they are in the execution phase! I will get them out by the deadline. Like a true journalist.

setback

This is the look of despair. With a seam ripper.

I knew the entire time that I was sewing the small and large card holder pieces of a wallet I am mass-producing to sell on etsy.com, that they were too small.

I forgot to take into account the seam I would sew when attaching them to the billfold part, and sure enough, I could not coax a credit card nor Metrocard into the pocket of the one I tried to finish. So my 50 small rectangles of fabric, all fused and nowhere to go. I don't even have more fusing to start anew yet. Let alone the sanity.

I am trying to not think about it too much and keep the momentum. I have spent about 24 hours on them at this point - from sketching to patternmaking to color theory to cutting to sewing, ironing, etc. It is a painful process, but I will finish this. The goal is to have 5 of each of the 4 designs I cut pieces for, not counting the faulty pockets. Inventory, baby.

I am reading the Make It blog with aplomb, getting inspiration from her efforts. I can't recall her name, but she is doing a fabulous job. I also love the mention of her local small business resources. I encourage all would-be and even established entrepreneurs to seek out the usually free and completely legit small business services in their city. I know from experience they are staffed by professionals whose sole purpose is to help you help yourself. Sounds silly, yes, but since most of the ideas that come through are garbage, they will be more than happy to help someone with a solid, sound business plan. Or, help you write one if you don't have the foggiest idea how to.

It always amazes me how few people take advantage of the resources available. Those are your taxes, people. And if you want to think of the very good odds that your idea is probably one of the best to come through their doors, you could be up, running, and successful in no time.

the happy homemaker

We asked for a bread machine for the wedding shower.

My mother immediately branded me as a deluded happy homemaker, which apparently hurt her indie sensibilities. Keep in mind this is a woman who reared me with the constant refrain "If your father didn't want kids, we would still be living in Manhattan."

So this weekend I made bread. I started with a regular white loaf with regular white all-purpose flour because we didn't buy bread flour. We bought whole wheat flour, but you need wheat gluten something to make bread with it. The white bread isn't bad, but a little too crumbly and blah. I scored, however, with a olive-herb loaf. It tastes like bread should taste. The texture was much better, too.

In craft news, no one has bought from my etsy shop yet. I should not be that discouraged, as my marketing approach could use some work, but I am having a heard time wanting to get some other things up there if they will just languish as well.

I went on a cleaning spree not too long ago in an effort to refine my craft room. It worked remarkably well, I built shelves, so my things are no longer lining the walls, and I just came across a table I thought would be perfect for my sewing machine. Some one left it out with the trash. I dragged it home and used it as a bedside sick table all last week until my husband opened it and realized it was, indeed a sewing table. The top swings over to double the workspace and an arm comes out the side to hold it up. Unfortunately the vintage Singer that was originally attached to it was no longer there. My newer, plastic model won't sit in the cutout, but it is still one for happy coincidences.

back to business

I am going to try, really, to keep this blog updated. Not so much for musings, but for business - I finally listed something on etsy.com...

Peppermint Hot Chocolate Lip Gloss

thing. The lip gloss is a surprise, since I have spent so much time ... and I don't want to loose momentum. I have to get around to trademarking this jilluaryconceiving and thinking about sewing projects. But we go with what we have, no?

Starting fresh, but first I will try and relay what's been going on:

1. I got a new job (finally). It has helped me understand a LOT about entrepreneurship and business, and selling yourself. It is also very close to home. I will not mention where yet.

2. I got a cat (yay for the mental anguish a girl who wants a cat can conjure up...)









3. I got married. It was beautiful, really. Not horse-drawn carriage and princess bride beautiful, but just a really, really, emotionally charged event.










4. I saw America on the honeymoon, and she is beautiful.










I will be taking my leave now. I have been dealing with a cold that I admittedly allowed to wash over me. I am pretty miserable with my nose half-stuffed, but if it means a nice sick day with someone's special chicken soup...

shit!

I guess I'm not surprised, but that really sucks!

I went to Staten Island...

(Photo of an SI resident from the New York Times)

... and I didn't take any pictures. Trust me, there's not much to see on the island. Sure, Richmond Terrace is a lovely coastal ramble, but once you get to the old salt mines and a long stretch of nothing, it gets a little old, not to mention scary. So you will have to make do with pictures I have ripped from other people's Web sites and some handy links. And take my word for it.

Getting there
Of course we took the ferry, and it was filthy with tourists. It was a cold spring Sunday afternoon, but they were out in droves. The ride is nice. I got as close to the Statue of Liberty as I've ever been, and they sell beer on board. This is about all I would need or want to know before I took the trip.

You're there!
Once you step off the ferry, most people turn around and go home. My intrepid friend and I decided to take a walk. Outside of the terminal, you have a choice to go left or right. We went to the right, knowing the S44 bus to Denino's was in that direction (you can also take it right at the terminal.)

The whole point
So, as any lapsed Catholic would, I gave up something for Lent. I gave up pizza. This is a completely self-indulgent move, having nothing to do with suffering for Jesus (though I would have suffered going 40 days without a slice).
I have been hearing about Denino's since my cousin started dating an Italian guy from Bensonhurst, and I am on my own personal mission to have what is commonly known as the ten best pizzas in NYC. (Note: I will likely never make it to Di Fara's because I cannot wait for two hours on a line with tourists.)
The bus drops you right there, at 524 Port Richmond Avenue. My co-conspirator pointed out that it doesn't look like an old-school pizza place, with murals of Venice on the walls and such. It feels more like a country pizza place, a specimen found upstate N.Y. or out in the wilds of Jersey. It has a bar in front with $1 glasses of Bud or $2.25 pints (yes, please!) and the tables in the back. Children everywhere, lots of women in sweatpants, albeit the tight, velvet kind, and good service. It looks more like a rec room, very beige in color and even a generic sports bar feel up front.
The pizza itself? Really, really good. A smaller pie, but as pointed out in other reviews, not soggy, holds a pile of toppings well, and the crust is very chewy and softer than on a typical pie, if you're into that. My companion was, which sucked for me because I can usually count on eating his discarded crusts.
We got our pie (only pies) half "M.O.R." (meatball, onion and ricotta) and half plain. I hate foods that look like ricotta cheese but the melding of all three ingredients was really good.
While it looks like a saucy pie, the red stuff is a little bland for my tastes. Then again, I like it acidic enough to induce heartburn before you even get up from the table. It also had that cornmeal dusting on the bottom that I could live without. But it all went really well with cheap beer and the fact that I was on Staten Island.

In the end, Lazarra's is still unbeaten in the "best of NYC" pizza category. Surprising, because it is a very thin-crust square pie, but it really is the sauce that does it. And for the record, my still-unbeaten favorite dirty pizza joint slice is in Polito's on Broadway in Astoria. Just make sure it is a fresh pie.

Of SI Note:

This story from the New York Times is a very good indicator of what you will find. It was pretty informative and I wish I had read it before we went. I would have tried to make it to Linoleumville.

The Staten Island Advance goes above and beyond the call of duty. It is truly a great newspaper and they have a sense of humor about the whole Staten Island thing.

learning curve

No sooner do I mentally commit to posting regularly does it become St. Patrick's season. I say season because for someone who works at an Irish institution, this is pretty much all we have. I still don't understand the twinge of heritage that makes our subscriptions go up in March, but
perhaps one day I will. I met a man at the (Czech) Bohemian Beer Hall and Beer Garden reading our paper last night, and he seemed a lot more interesting than the readers who call me up to complain about the caricature of St. Patrick on the cover. But I digress...

As I am just getting my free time back, I was thinking about taking the plunge and laying out for a spring sewing class since it has become apparent that I can't sew in a straight line or measure accurately. I also ordered the bible, commonly known as the 1976 version on the Reader's Digest Guide to Sewing. I ended up with two (thanks eBay!) and I actually prefer the 1978 version, not that I have found a difference yet. It is just in better condition.

Well, I may still find a class useful, but this book is genius. It has given me my confidence back, which was sorely lacking. I am no longer lax to, or afraid of changing out needles and using the dials for things like stitch length and thread tension. And you know what? That stuff is important!
I ordered some jersey recently, looking to make a dress I have a Built By Wendy pattern for, and I was doing some practice sewing, you know, to see what to set the dials to. I even put on a ball-point needle in the correct size, which I learned from the handy chart on page 27. And it worked! I sewed two pieces of jersey together and the seam did not pucker or snag and now I am looking forward to making that dress. Sometimes it just takes a little effort, I suppose.

And now, a gratuitous picture of Seamus, who was recently given a clean bill of health and will be getting the snip as soon as I can make an appointment. This picture was taken right after I told him as such. Please ignore the filthy floor, it was rainy that day!

Down on the farm

I am way late in posting my trip to the General Bailey Homestead Farm, but it isn't going away anytime soon.

Once our trip to Indian Lake, N.Y. was set, I started researching fiber farms on the way up. Why? Because I have the most special princess life, that's why! And it was my birthday and roommate was stuck (he was still roommate at this point, he is now my, um, my soul provider. And my fiancé.) I was originally planning on hitting the Morehouse store, but when I realized I wasn't going to be able to see the sheep on the farm, it lost a little of its luster. I looked for something more farmy. And I found General Bailey's, sitting in the Adirondack foothills. It is actually just a short drive outside of Saratoga Springs, for you racing fans. And while you could miss it driving down the road, the bleating of the sheep would carry you back. They are that loud.

The very nice Kathy Bourgeois, who was semi-expecting us, led us into the barn where the store is. It is full of yarn. She has one floor-to-ceiling wall of her own homespun and another of various sock yarns of mostly merino wool (that I saw), mostly from Australia. There is also a good selection of notions and a cat named Buttons (Buttons!!!), named so because she would keep knocking over Kathy's display buttons. You thought I was going to say knitting needles, didn't you!

The real attraction, aside from the hand-dyed yarn, was the flock of merino sheep that do the work. Sheep's eyes give me the heebie-jeebies, what with that narrow slit and all, but they were dear animals. The soul provider got up close and personal with one of them.
Even while the others looked on in horror.

Then it was feeding time! There was a mini-stampede for the hay.
Thanks for the yarn, buddy.
I have decided that for sure, I want a farm someday. I take a sick amount of crap for stating that wish out loud, but it is true, these people know me and how I grew up. It was not near agriculture. Still, I feel that with a lot of elbow grease, I WE can be self-sustaining. But that is for another post, of course.

Now, if you will excuse me, I think I have just eaten a bad nectarine.

Loukaniko

I guess I am going to squeeze it all in so bear with me. At least there are pictures. (Is it bad to type like people are reading?)

The shrug I started is almost, almost almost done. I got lazy after the second sleeve, but here it is in all the glory. The color is a little off... that blue should be a little more turquoise, but you get the idea. Maybe the picture on the cutting mat was not the best idea. But anyway, it is most definitely small and I hope does not look too silly covering only my shoulders. I have decided I love the pattern and will make another one that actually covers my boobs with some bright red dk I bought at General Bailey's Homestead. Oh my god! I have to post pictures of those sheep. So fun.

Then I had a burst of creativity and re-did the old nurse stool (It looked like the stools the school nurses would sit on) that I rescued from - you guessed it - outside a school. You can see in previous pictures how ugly it was, brown on tan or something. I had a hard time actually deciding on a color, of course I wanted something bright like yellow or red but fabric dictated the show here. I found good-quality cotton gingham with some texture to it (like a really light canvas, almost) at Ragshop, and that kind of said it. I also used the occasion to buy my very own heavy-duty staple gun. I did squeal with fright every time I used it, afraid I would staple my hand together. How, I don't know. Moving on!

Then I decided I would move on to felt plush, stealing everyone else's ideas in the process. I want to say that I have never SEEN the plush ravioli, so perhaps this is the first one. hey, at least it's not a doughnut.

And then, so confident with my sewing skills, I decided I would have to try the machine of doom again. After one breakdown, I actually managed to make a tote bag. Canvas, no lining, but I took measurements (correctly), used my iron, AND did topstitching on this one. Can you see the reinforcement on those handles? I am quite proud of it. I realized how plain it was and I am planning to fabric-paint something on it this weekend that does not involve an owl, a craggy tree branch, or a bird silhouette.

In other news, I had really, really excellent homemade sausage (how's that for a transition?) at Ovelia, a new restaurant in my old neighborhood (Astoria, Queens.) They make it in-house and I have to say, greek sausage, when done correctly, is better than any other kind of sausage in the world. Italian sausage has nothing on this, even the freshly made kind from a real market. This was unreal. I don't know if it is lamb, beef, goat, whatever. It is called Loukaniko and it rocks. That is Gayle there, going for my piece! The waiter actually asked why I was taking a picture and, not being a suave food blogger, I said "because it's really good. I want to remember it." Which is, really, kind of true. I have to make note that it does lead to some kickin' breath... the kind that fills up the room while you sleep off your sausage coma. And in the morning, the room reeks of sweat and garlic. Do not eat this on a date.

Also, I am now the proud owner of the 1976 version of the Reader's Digest Guide to Sewing. I hope it is as good as everyone says. I realized I need to go back to the drawing board to learn sewing the right way, especially if I ever want to make anything that resembles clothing that I have to wear. In public. In fact, I might be the proud owner of two copies, unless someone outbids me (please!) on this one.