Archive for February, 2007


hello, hello,

not much to say lately, though so much to do. Snowmen to make. Projects to sew. And embroider…I’ve been obsessed with redwork lately….which is basically outlines of things, sewn in red. Or green, or black, or blue. I’ve been stuck on red. Red, red, red. Birds. Tree branches. Little designs that I pull up in photoshop and trace off of my monitor, and then transfer onto my cloth. I’ve been in need of tactile things to do lately, soft things.

The kiddo is happy and terribly bouncy. She prefers to be called Max these days, after some cute little bunny on a show she likes. Dear Mom would be so pleased. Did I ever tell you that my mother loves bunnies? Loves them. She once had seven or so. Now she has two. And five or six cats. I lose count. Though she’s not mad about cats, she’s just a softie when it comes to animals in need of a home. We must go visit the kitties and bunnies sometime soon. Oh, and yesterday, we got this cute little toy…it’s a climb and slide thing from the ’80’s that I’ve had on my ebay search list forever…basically, little seals climb up stairs and slide down a twisty ramp. It takes so little to amuse me. But I let Max play with it too.

I’ve also been watching movies. Though nothing I particularly like. I looked so forward to Marie Antoinette, but all it did was make me crave cupcakes and other pretty confections. It was a pretty movie but lacked the sneak-up-on-you magic of Lost In Translation. I think Sofia works best with subtlety and things that pass in a whisper. This subject is hardly either. Then there was Running With Scissors, about one of my favorite subjects, crazy odd families. And I wanted to like this too, but though it had its charms, like Annette Bening’s performance, and the Natalie character, it just seemed to add up to nothing. In the end, I just didn’t care. Eh. But, I have Babel in the que, and after that the Carnivale season 2 series, which I’d never caught when it was on HBO. If anyone has seen anthing actually good, please…pass it along!

I’ll leave you with this.


long live softies

When I was a little girl….ok, I must include beyond little, I have relatives here who will blow this cover….I liked to make up stories and adventures; some of them rather mature and even disquieting, starring my stuffed animals. I’ve never really outgrown them, and some I still own and have passed onto the kiddo. The animals, not the stories. Heavens, no.

I never cared much for dolls, though I had just about every “it” doll of the Christmas shopping season. They never really seemed real to me, and I’d lacked a maternal instinct until well into my thirties. I’d just drop in on my sister T. when we played “house” and I’d pretend I had a hot date and needed her to mind “the children” while I went off to park myself in front of the t.v. (or, “the movies”, as I would tell T.). But the expressions on my softies made them more than real and were a viable and sometimes outrageous escape that entertained myself and my siblings well into the night before we went to bed. Our rooms were connected closely, sans a hallway, and the stories would start with some details I’d harvest from the sibs, and off I’d just ad-lib until we fell asleep or until my mother would pass through on her way to get ready for her night shift duty as a nurse. If she heard any of these, she’s never told me so. Let’s hope she did not.

Now I have the kiddo and she, like me, prefers her softies, which she has in abundance, over the few token dollies. Some live in her teepee, others hang out with us on the bed, though she for some reason won’t let them sleep with us, instead tossing them unceremoniously over the foot of it until morning.

I’ve been sewing like mad this week…so relaxing…and one of my projects is the stuffed cat in Denyse Schmidts excellent quilting book. And I have just received notice that the adorable Fofers, whom the kiddo and I are quite fond of, have a blog.

Softies Central is another blog that I have been drooling over for inspiration which is almost completely and entirely dedicated to softies in all shapes and materials.

I’m off to go play with some more fabric and thread.

I forgot to mention…

that the vlogger at Youtube, silentmiaow, has a web page, and a page at Youtube, with other clips.


If you’ve seen the video I’d posted last night, well, this post is about that. And my brother, Guy. I was thrilled to find this video…it was like glimpsing just a bit into the thought process of my brother Guy, who’s also autistic. I’m soooooo glad that she is doing this. I hope people understand and perhaps accept that autistic people have these thoughts, and just process and relate to the world and of the world differently. I’m not sure. Some, yes. But others would need to look at that, and alot of things, differently. I’ve wondered often about what would happen if….everyone’s veil of perception were torn away and they were forced to look at everything…everything…through different lenses….you know, like when you go to the optometrist’s and look through that instrument with the lenses that slide back and forth until you’re able to focus.

Guy is sweet. Gentle. Acutely sensitive. He has my father’s hands. Thick fingers. When he eats his chicken, he cuts it from the bones with the precision of a surgeon. When I’d first learned that he was autistic, I was about twelve, and thought of his situation as diminished. I felt guilty. I could do anything I’d set my mind to, had an open world in front of me, and didn’t always try very hard. He’d had his work cut out for him, trying to cross a bridge from where he was at, the way he did everything, to a life that was considered “normal”. Later, I learned that he probably felt and related to things more, not less. In an intense way. That’s the word that comes to mind often when I think of him. Intense.

Sometimes, we’ve been, he and I, on the same plane. I don’t understand everything. I’ve suspected more than once that the select phrases he repeats rotely, again and again, were a code for some other meaning. I did understand that to interact with him, one didn’t touch him. Not a hug, or a tap. Nothing. One didn’t stare at him, or he’d turn away, or put his hand up in front of his face. And he didn’t like personal questions. One summer, about a decade ago, I was able to spend a lot time with him, and we’d developed a regular habit of walking in the evening and stopping by at an ice cream parlor in town. He loved that. And one evening, which I’ve never forgotten, we were walking home with our cones, and almost there, when some kids yelled out the window of a passing car, “hey retard!”. Guy;s cone dropped, and he began running hard, and didn’t stop til he got all the way home. I couldn’t keep up with him. Guy is a big man. He was breathing hard, almost choking, and red, when I got home. He wouldn’t look at me. I think it was a slur he was used to, but not in front of me. Because there were no more walks to the ice cream parlor after that, no matter how many times I’d asked.

I hate it when people who are different are denied their humanity; treated like things. This video showed a person inside, with poetry and feeling, the way I’ve come to see Guy.

this is intense

I will elaborate on this later. I think this amazing:

About me

I have noticed new visitors linking in from my other blog and would like to take the opportunity to introduce myself to new readers. So, a little about me:

I am a 41 year old mom of one incredible daughter, who is the light of my life. We live together in New England with her dad, my significant other, who is a very private man and hence is often an unmentioned presence in my life.

I am also an artist who plays with mixed media, digital art, and photography. Before having the kiddo, I was trained in graphic design and photography. I went on to work for a couple of years at a newspaper, starting out in graphic design, and later picking up spot photography and feature writing.

I love pretty things. There’s quite a few of them cited here. Check them out under the pretty-pretties tag.

I’m a rather rabid baseball fan, though I try to tone it down here. Spring training has just begun. Go Yanks!

I like to read. Voraciously, when I get a chance. My favorite genre is magical realism, which includes the writers Salman Rushdie, Isabelle Allende, Arundhati Roy, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I also like poetry. Dylan Thomas, e.e. Cummings, Anne Sexton, T.S. Eliot, and Walt Whitman, among others, move me.

I love animals and nature…especially kitties, dogs, owls, seals, and llamas.

I have five brothers and sisters. In my recent past, I lost a dear and beautiful sister. It’s hard.

Lastly, I don’t write about any one thing in particular. Randomness is my muse. The title of the blog has come about from my recent embrace of many things French, and my enduring love of the small, hushed things in life, things that often go unnoticed. I love little things. Delicate things. Especially since having my own sweet little thing.

Enjoy, and please stay.

petit treasures

Currently on my Etsy favorite list:

Shana Barry’s delightful Fofers have gone miniature and are now available at Etsy along with the new Peaceballs.

This jewelry is like wearing fragments of vintage France. By Amy Hanna.

ScrapDanny’s work is just like its title…scraps incorporated into bags, scarves, and collages.

And lastly, I just love Sweetpea the seahorse:

February 2007
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