memyselfandeye

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Little Slice of Heaven, Rural Pennsylvania, United States
wife. mommie. daughter. home-maker. my family is my passion. when not chasing children, husband, or pets about i like to bake, sew, quilt, cook, dig in the dirt, tromp around, take pictures, ponder, and fill my lungs with good, clean air. i am a very blessed girl.

Monday, April 30, 2012

Out with the drab. . .

. . . in with the COLOR.

A 24"x24" pillow for the daughter, with scraps culled from the bin.  

Densely quilted using the walking foot, mostly straight-line, with the occasional squiggle.


Flipped over, a bright and cheerful print paired with blue gingham

A close-up of the squiggle quilting, using the gingham as a grid


And a little secret on the inside flap. . . 
"family"

Sunday, April 29, 2012

When life gives you broken eggs. . . .


. . . put them on display! 

(You thought I was going to say something about omelets, didn't you?)

The eggs of yore now reside in the Nature Bowl, nested with various joyful tidbits: moon snails from my childhood beach in Washington State, river teeth from the wild, crystal-clear rivers of the Pacific Northwest, glass eggs, the cast footprint of a raccoon. . .

. . .oyster shells, acorn caps, a black walnut in the shell, a jay feather, a crab claw, and sundry other 
meaningful inconsequentials. . .

(an oxymoron for sure --- but if you think about it, it makes sense).


Moonscape of a moon snail. . .

Nature's mandala. . .

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Someone came a'callin'.....

and left his tell-tale print behind in the soft topsoil, rather close to the house....

My booted foot for scale
Mr. Bric's foot
When it comes to black bears, size is everything. . .

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Thoughtful Thursday

Only the birds are able to throw off their shadow.  
The shadow always stays behind on the earth.  
Our imagination flies.  
We are its shadow on the earth.
---Vladimir Nabokov

Friday, April 20, 2012

Raccoon, possum, fox...

mink, rat, fisher....

Someone of that ilk had a delicious, serendipitous snack of....


wild turkey eggs.
We knew of a hen on a nest of 9 eggs.  We found 7 eggs in the condition of the above.  That's life in the food chain, particularly if you're a ground nester.  It's a wonder any survive at all.


They're still pretty though, don't you think?





Thursday, April 19, 2012

Thoughtful Thursday

How hard it is to escape from places.  However carefully one goes they hold you---you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences---like rags and shreds of your very life.
---Katharine Mansfield

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Thoughtful Thursday

It takes a hundred men to make an encampment, but one woman can make a home.
--Robert G. Ingersoll

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Ahh, the gratification . . .

of small, brainless projects.  How I love making pincushions.  What I will do with the accummulation of said pincushions, I'll never know.


My only rule is to limit myself to the overflowing contents of my scrap basket.  I always feel like I'm getting away with something when I can make something useful out of what could be considered trash.


Here is the hind-end of the middle pincushion.  Makes me snicker with a dark delight, heh heh.

Friday, April 6, 2012

Pretty little maids all in a row. . . .

awaiting their first bath in the creek.  Wild leeks---and wild they are indeed.  The aroma of wild leeks on the breath can send even the most devoted and passionate lover running for the hills.  Nature's spring tonic:  pungent, earthy, biting---a face-punch of flavor that lingers well past its original invite.  How we love them here at House of Bricolage.  Mushroom and wild leek quiche, wild leek and potato soup, leek dip, cheesy omelets with sauteed leeks, the list goes on and on. 


I will freeze and dehydrate Nature's bounty until the season is over.  
And then I will entertain lovely little leek dreams while awaiting next spring. . . 

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Thoughtful Thursday

I believe in the forest, and the meadow, and in the night in which the corn grows.
--- Henry David Thoreau

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Gift. . .

3 AM.  A sick little boy.  A hot rice buddy on tummy, chatting, snuggling.  He sleeps finally, curled up like a C, cool cheek cupped in my hand.  Be present, this is a gift.  They grow, and grow, and one day they are big, and they take care of themselves 
when sick in the night.