Tattoos

I took my son to a birthday party on Saturday. One of the activities was temporary tattoos.

My eight year old does not limit himself to life in the mainstream. He is definitely one of those kids who marches to a different drummer. And that's okay. So when the tattoos came out, he opted out, repeatedly declaring he did not want one. I, however, wanted one. I probably would not have if all of the tattoos were hearts and butterflies. But there were some really cool, black, rocker-type kinds of tats. And I wanted one. Okay, two.

I wonder if it's a middle-age thing. I have a milestone birthday closing in on me. Not too close yet, but enough to start thinking about marking it some way. Perhaps with a tattoo. I guess that would be permanently marking it.

I've always toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo. The primary reason I haven't ever gotten one is the pain factor. And the irreversible decision on placement. But in discussing the pain with a friend, we determined that with enough tequila I probably wouldn't care.

And then I'd have a really cool tattoo.

And a hangover.

I suppose if I'm going to mark the occassion with something so permanent, I should also mark it with something memorable. Aside from the post-mortem hangover. Something like a trip. A trip someplace that requires air travel and a passport. My friend and I can go. Her birthday is only a week before mine and we share the same astrological sun sign. We travel well together. When we can make up our minds.

I think I'd like that. Whaddaya say Lu? You up for it? Tattoos and travel? And tequila?

Who could say no to that?

A Cake for the Harvest Festival

Harvest Festival is, perhaps, a misnomer. There's no actual harvest. It's a PTO fundraiser for the elementary school.

This year, in spite of heavy rains and tornado warnings not far from here last night, the "festival" will be outside. The sun came out today. Last year it was rained out twice, which means they moved the festivities inside. Including the inflatables. Imagine four or five large inflatables taking up most of the floor space in the gym. No ventilation. Many, many children. And smells the like of which you don't want to encounter when walking into an enclosed, unventilated space.

Eeeeewwww.

One of the big draws at the Harvest Fest is something called the Cakewalk.

It's a very popular event. An artistic take on musical chairs. A big circle is made with carpet squares, each with a number. The participants each stand on a square. When the music starts they dance around the circle. When it stops they get on a square. Then someone picks a number out of a hat, and the person standing on that number wins a cake.

Because there are so many cakes to win, the judging often turns subjective. As in, at least one winner will be some five year old crying because he/she hasn't yet won a cake. Or the winner is the judge's neighbor. Or something equally disturbing, like the judges will decide that the winner is the best disco dancer. Let's put aside for a moment, that the parents of these children, nevermind the children, were probably much too young to go clubbing when disco was in vogue. So who wins? Some cute little kid about to melt down because they haven't won a cake.

Do you see a pattern here?

Cakes are provided by the parents. Some are unbelievably creative. Some are pretty basic. Some are store bought. And some... are bundt cakes. The bundt cakes are always the last to go. Usually, the ones that are most creative or have the most candy are the first to go.

A lot of cakes show up for this thing. They never run out before the end of the day.

Our cake offering this year is homemade. Chocolate cake, chocolate buttercream frosting, decorated with randomly thrown M&Ms.

My son, the decorator, calls it an "M&M lovers chocolate cake".

I think that's a pretty accurate description.

And it's probably the cake he will try to win. Because he likes to make cakes that he likes to eat. Or he will go for something improbable... like a store bought cake with a few crushed Oreos on top.

Personally, I say "blech". I'll hold out for the year they have an Ice Cream Walk.

Quilting 101

I sew a little. I'm not bad at it. Age has contributed to more patience at the hard parts or the parts I just don't understand. And I've made some halfway decent "garments".

You may wonder at the quotations. The Thomas the Tank Engine fleece bathrobe I made for my son took so long that he'd outgrown Thomas by the time I'd gotten it done. I had a needle problem. But it looks really good. Hanging on the hook by his bedroom door.

The knight costume I made for Halloween a few years ago came out really good too. I was a lot of work, but I got it done in a weekend. It looked cool, but it only got worn to a party and not for Trick or Treat. It ended up stuffed into a cubby along with the Clifford the Big Red Dog costume he wore when he was four.

I suppose if I sewed more than just a little I'd be better at it. Trouble is, I have no designated workspace. So when I want to sew it means hauling out the sewing machine, hauling out the tool box, and hauling out the iron and ironing board which never see the light of day except when I'm sewing. They don't get out much and are therefore not always very cooperative.

I am currently unemployed. Not by choice, but by the recession. I've been using some of this downtime to explore creative outlets. In the past I haven't had much time for creative outlets.

However, one morning this week, I creatively explored the art of quilting.

My aunt is a longtime quilter. She is also now a local celebrity having used her quilting skills to help people, and to raise money for the local senior center.  She made this quilt for me for my 18th birthday just three or four years ago:

I called her last week and told her I wanted to explore quilting. I was specific. "I'm not sure I want to quilt, I just want to know how. What do you suggest?"

"Come on over," she said. So I went. We spent a couple of hours in her workroom. A sewer's paradise. Iron and ironing board set up in one corner, cutting/work surface against a wall, sewing machine in front of the window. More shelves over another, cluttered work surface. The shelves overflowing with fabrics.

After looking through her book and having to decide on what to make, and which pattern to make it in (not as easy as you might think) I finally settled on making a "star" square into a pillow. I have a pillow form, and I figured a pillow was a small enough project that I might actually finish it. I then had another decision to make. Fabric. I chose colors to match the quilt she made for us as a wedding gift and we were off.

She guided me through measuring and cutting, sewing and pressing, and before I knew it, I had made this:

Not bad,eh? For a first timer. C'mon, give me a break. (The middle part came out looking blue, but is actually a deep purple.)

I still have to do the "quilting" part which will give it some texture and depth. And then it's just a matter of sewing the back to the front, and stuffing in the pillow form.

I can do that.

I CAN.

And I will prove it. Soon.

But I do have to say I feel a certain sense of empowerment. Even from so simple at thing as my star pillow. It's pretty cool to look at it and say "I did this." I could not have done this without the experience of my locally famous aunt. For which I thank her. I also could not recreate it on my own. At this point in time.

I expect that I'll be heading back to her workroom soon. To start another project. Assuming I'll be able to pick a quilting pattern, decide on what exactly I'll make and then choose the fabrics.

I THINK I can do that.