A Quilt Market experience that we aren't likely to repeat

The simple fact that it has taken me precisely 2 weeks and 2 days to share my Quilt Market experience speaks volumes about what went into it, what it was, what it wasn't and how much time it takes to recover. I know that I am not really sharing photos that you haven't already seen elsewhere (provided you're into that sorta thing), in fact many of these aren't even my photos, but borrowed from my pal April (thank you!).

This year I was so happy to have my mama join me for the first time. I mention this because I always like starting with the good news. Having her with me was definitely the goods news. It is more typical for her to be at home caring for the kids while we (Jeff and a rotating group of employees) are working the booth trip. Fall market always falls near Joseph's birthday. I can typically be back home just in time to celebrate with him on the actual day, or pretty close. But this time it fell smack dab in the middle. This fact, plus wanting my mom to join me, plus some cockamaimee idea that we can handle a lot inspired us to make this market a whole family trip. Unfortunately not the whole family, as Juliana is tucked safely into college. But all available offspring from birth positions 2 through 6, ages 12yrs to 18 months, boys, girls, cranky, happy, you name it, if they live in this house, they came. As we say around here, the whole fam damily.

The trip out involved some peoples flying, some peoples driving, and on the way back it was mostly the reverse, so that every kid got a plane ride. Also, Jeff and I, who drove both ways, could have a rotating group of whiny kids in the not very big cab of the truck that Jeff's dad let us drive but that he thought maybe should be looked at before we go because there could be some sort of grumble, grumble, issue with it, grumble. But off we went (without having the truck looked at, which wasn't MY plan) pulling a Uhaul trailer full of my booth, and our big boys, 12 and just about to turn 11, nestled into the not very big cab of the truck. (I should interject the word cozy here because it should be included but I haven't found a factual way to use it in the description of the trip or the truck yet, but doing such, albeit synthetically, might help my mental state, and eventually my market memories. Where was I?) I would say the trip was pretty smooth and uneventful the first evening of driving from about 6:30pm until about 1:00am. The next morning we headed out after a brief hotel stay, a good breakfast and all was going great until the Uhaul blew a tire somewhere around Texarkana. In fact, right before that I was thinking how ahead of schedule we were and that we should be at the convention center by about mid day and have all of the booth structure up by the close of set up at 8:00. I was wrong about that. We instead spent about 3 or 4 hours repairing a tire (two tires actually, because they weren't the right kind of tires so we had to put the same wrong tire on the other side of the trailer to balance the first wrong tire, so I think that actually two wrongs might make a right) during which I just sat in the not very big cab of the truck and handquilted one of my quilts. I was glad that it wasn't worse, I guess, that it wasn't dangerous and that Jeff is very manly when it comes to side of the road car situations and all that.

This story is getting more detail-y than I thought. I think this is why I put it off.

We didn't get to set up at all that day but rather arrived around 8 or 9pm, just in time to rent a van, and pickup the rest of the kids, Mom, and Alexia (good worker bee) from the airport. It was so good to see the rest of the brood after traveling for two days. We had a very late meal at the hotel and I got my second night of not-great sleep, knowing that we only had one day to put up the whole show, teach my schoolhouse class in the middle of it and salvage what I thought would be fun evenings spent with the family.

I need to interrupt this prose with a bullet point format:

* Set up went smoothly in some ways, screwy in others
* I felt a day behind because of that tire
* I still feel a day behind because of that tire
* My booth contract was for a standard 10'x20' booth, which has 3 walls
* My booth display was created to have 3 walls, due to previous bullet
* My actual booth space at the convention center was a corner with 2 walls
* I had words to say to people about that
* If I had known they were going to give me a corner space, I would have either designed a two wall booth, or thought of some really gorgeous and inventive and promotion driven way to design the back side of the 3rd wall that faced the aisle so that I would not be baring the constructed guts of my booth to the unsuspecting and kind quilt market attendees, but rather using the 8'x10' wall space in a useful, beautiful way
* I thought to pack a fat quarter of all of the new fabrics in my suitcase before I left
* I also thought to pack a sewing machine
* The above 3 bullets + Alexia produced a large pieced, and I'd have to say, rather swanky fabric drape for the outer side of the 3rd wall
* During schoolhouse I thought that maybe my tongue was tied into a knot because there were words that wouldn't come out all the way
* Everyone smiled anyway, then we got back to the booth
* By late in the evening all the booth needed was flowers
* Flowers shouldn't be such a big deal, but for me they are
* I'm sorry about that
* I have a favorite place in Houston to go get flowers so I thought that we should all go together
* A family trip of sorts
* Maybe we could eat too
* It was late
* Too late, really, for a family trip to get flowers and a bite to eat
* I could not let my vision of work + family seamlessly working out beautifully go
* But there was that tire
* And the wall
* And the lost day
* And then there was the fact that we went the wrong way to my favorite place to get flowers, which may or may not have to do with my ability to use the direction thingy on my new phone, this is up for debate, nevertheless the situation produced a very very long trip to get flowers and arriving there just 5 minutes before my favorite place to get flowers was about to close and also produced Roman running out of sitting-in-a-rented-van-waiting-for-dinner-2-hours-past-his-bedtime patience
* This means he screamed his head off for about 30 minutes in the car
* I cried harder than Roman
* The rest of the night involved me going to bed with Roman, without dinner, and the rest of the family eating another very late night meal at the hotel (and it could have also possibly involved Jeff insisting that I eat, me insisting that I sleep, him getting me a meal anyway, waking me up to eat it, me refusing to eat it cause I'd already fallen asleep and was not happy to be awake, then not being able to sleep only to get up at about 2am to eat the (stupid) cold salmon while sitting on the hotel toilet with the door shut so I wouldn't wake anyone up. Maybe.)
* My husband takes very good care of me
* The flowers were beautiful
* In the days that followed, said husband also had the golden opportunity to take care of the truck at a nearby dealer once it started making some unfriendly noises
* $2000 and several shuttles from the hotel to the dealer with most of the kids in tow later, Jeff also managed to get the repaired truck back that would hopefully make it home
* We made it home

In summary, the 3 actual show days involved me smiling, talking, chatting, sharing and getting to say thank you for the booth, the work, my fabric, my patterns, my ideas, my art. Sharing those days with my mom was memorable. Sharing the evenings with my family was welcome, but the children were always all a little weary from being plucked out of their normalcy, Jeff always worn from trying to keep them all entertained without driving himself mad, and me always feeling a little bad that I couldn't let the vision of mixing this all up go. If we weren't aware of how much is too much to take on before, I think we may have an inkling now. Its hard to quantify all the benefits of appearing at market each season to share what I'm working on with retailers, but I know that it has become an inherent part of my process that I would struggle to let go. Bringing the whole family along, I think I can let go. The fact is that it is the only time I get to put it all together physically, in a setting or a staging of sorts, wherein I relish, absorb and understand a little better all that I have been working at. Its my show and my work. My pleasure and my pain. I love each of my little bozos, and my husband bounds more for humoring my dream of trying to make it all work at once. Whew.

If I could leave a frosted brownie at the end of this little ditty to reward you for making it all the way through it with me, I would.
your pal, Anna

In the 2nd grade my teacher nicknamed me Mouth

I talked a lot. I had so much to say. I simply could not manage to wait until the appropriate time to say it. Poor Mrs. Taylor.

This week was not what I expected. I traveled home to mourn the loss of a dear man, the father of a very special family, whom I've adored since early childhood. But it was one of those perfect funerals, if there is such a thing, where there was as much sadness for the loss as there was celebration for the life. With that celebration came the reminiscing, the stories, laughter and memories of a life that could not have been improved and one that I am thankful to share some history with.

Sitting at a luncheon after the funeral, talking to my mom and some of the family members, she brought up something that I had no recollection of from second grade. The conversation had led to the size of my family (as it often does) and she told me that my second grade teacher predicted that I would either be a teacher or have a huge family. After a little back and forth we started to remember the circumstances. There was a little girl, Kelly, in my class who had Down Syndrome that become a good friend. That part, as well as other details, I remember. But apparently, another detail included a day where I had gotten angry and spoke out at Mrs. Taylor for saying something to Kelly that I felt was unkind, and I made such a stink (surely in my 7-yr-old mouthy way) that a conference was called with my mother. Its that part that I forget somehow, that I had been mad at my teacher. What I most explicitly recall, though, is that at some point, likely after the conference, Mrs. Taylor moved my desk next to Kelly's desk and our friendship was nurtured. In the days and weeks of 2nd grade that followed I mouthed off to anyone who said anything unkind to her. It was like my new occupation. I can still remember what it felt like in my chest, like a wadded fiery knot, when someone called her a name or taunted her. It inflamed me. I called one boy a piece of poop. (I clearly remember the most important parts.) Don't think for a minute that this guardian role that was bestowed upon me got me out of getting in trouble for my mouth. Looking back, I have no idea how that poor woman even taught the 2nd grade she spent so much time telling me to shut up. Sigh. But I think it was an exchange that we had. She figured out how to use my mouth to help her do her job, and help her care for and teach Kelly too. Kelly and I had several play dates and she was a sweet, spirited, selfless friend that I won't forget.

The drive back after the funeral produced a realization of how her friendship formed me. It also reminded me of some discipline at home that I need to follow up on. One of my boys, who shall remain nameless here (but it wasn't Roman or Joseph), used the word retarded to insult his brother. Enter: fiery wadded knot. I have just about memorized the lecture that follows whenever I hear this. I could bare to hear stupid, idiot, dumbbutt, goobersmack, uhhh, poop or almost any other word used as an insult. And as a parent of kids in those middle years, I could spend every waking moment saying stopit, quitit, no, uhuh, heyyou, biteyertongue, gotoyeroom, etc. But this time, I decided it was time for him to put his money where his mouth is. So today we are researching charitable groups who aid in the education and care of mentally disabled children so that nameless can donate his next two months of allowance. He will be a kind boy. And mostly he is already. But he will be a completely kind boy who is aware of what comes out of his mouth. Even if it it kills me.

Dear Mrs. Taylor, I am a teacher and I have a huge family and I am still defending sweet Kelly. (And I still earn my nickname everyday.)
love, Anna

p.s. thanks for the memories Mom (that's us at Quilt Market!)

Home

As much fun as it was arranging these (few of many) pillows into my Quilt Market booth, the idea of settling in enough back at home to decide where they really belong in my real house is just plain luscious. I'll be doing some of that along with cleaning, organizing, cuddling and hopefully some nothing too.

Missed you! back here next week~ xoxox, Anna
(speaking of home, the new decor cottons are in! hooray!)

Today was a wonderful day. Amen.

Thank you to all my new, and old friends who helped.
kiss.kiss, AM
(p.s. if you reading this through a reader, you may need to come to the blog to view the above video.)

Punk Rock Love

Today I'm on my hands and knees (by gosh) finishing up the Love Emblem Throw. This'll be a free downloable pattern available to you soon. I designed it to feature the home dec and velveteen fabrics from Innocent Crush which are due in a few weeks. Oh- I finally have a flickr group posted for IC. Man, you guys are fast, already lots of inspiration there. Anyhoo, the quilt here was inspired by punk rock, my son's skateboarding ways, Frida Kahlo and did I say punk rock? Oh, yes I did. British-y. Union Jack. You get it, right?



And on that punk note (a shrill, anti-social note?), you could pin a few of these through your ears, nose or eyebrows if there are some to spare after basting.

I probably shouldn't have blogged today.

In other news, there are what sounds like 704 squirrels in my attic that are scratching around above my head in the studio. I just cleaned out and organized up there a few weeks ago, looking forward to perhaps finishing some of the space in the next few months. Its as though they were waiting for me to do this, because they didn't like the mess. Now that everything is in its place they find it suitable enough to make a home there. Anyone know how to deter these critters from your nooks and crannies? You know, humanely? I will admit that my definition of humane may broaden after a few more weeks of the mayhem up there.

Nkay, I'm gonna dig up some Smiths. I know, its post-punk, closenuff.
xoxox, Anna

Its the clothes that kill me

Two bros yo.

This is my handsome husband, Jeff (left) with his little, adorable (still) brother Jason, taken I think around spring of '77. Yesterday my mother-in-law, Bette, sent this jewel to us. Many of us have photos that look like this. The pose, the clothes, the vintage coloration, and those bubba faces are priceless. I can hardly stand it actually. Those ties? Uhhh! I want to squeeze both of those faces!

And after birthing six of this man's children (just that man on the left there) I feel like I've seen these same faces over and over again. That expression just seems to run through all of them. I love it so much. Cherish it, actually. Like I have to close my eyes now, I've been looking at the cuteness too long. Coincidentally, before Bette sent these to us, Jeff and I each spent some time yesterday morning searching a few hard drives for a (huge) batch of our own family photos, that so far we haven't been able to turn up. I'm talking years of photos. We are scared that the file may have gotten overwritten somehow but I am so hoping we are wrong about that. I can't even imagine. It gives me such a sinking feeling thinking about it.

Last night though, I had a little glimmer of a thought in regards to this potential heartbreak in the works. Last month marks four years of blogging here. I can't believe it! I don't know quite what I ever expected out of this endeavor, but one thing is certain for me now. I am thankful that I have a record, albeit micro, of the comings and goings of the story of us here. Obviously intermixed with shoptalk, an other aspects of what I do everyday, but it is still a comfort. And on the note of comfort, I wanted to take the time to say thanks for coming along with me on this little journey. I know some of you have been here for 4 years (or longer!) and some just got here today. I thank each of you for the little nook you've carved out for me in your days, leaving me room to share.

Even if sharing means a really old picture of two boys in silly ties holding what look to be personal mini-Bibles. And I think Jeff's pants are pink. Bette? Oh, nevermind.

xoxo, Anna

Who you callin' spoiled?

Some days this is what it takes. One pacifier, one red wagon, one yellow canary.

(No canaries were hurt in the taking of these photographs. The baby did cry, though, every time we tried to return the canary from his "field trip" cage to his "real cage".)

xoxoAnna

Getting Dressed (and Staying That Way)

When you spend most of your days glued to the computer, sewing machine or phone, with cookie crusted fingers slapping your lap, getting dressed for a wedding can be a dayslong process. Putting the actual dress on only minutes, but deciding all the components? Days. Weeks? Maybe weeks. Juliana helped curate this little ensemble both in person and via skype. When in Williamsburg in June, we had the shopping trip of a lifetime at Beacon's Closet. Best. Vintage. Ever. Not just vintage, but a random trove of every era of clothing from 2 weeks ago to 40 years ago. I found this Diab'less dress, $345.00 new tags still attached, but only paid 35 smacks for it. I know! I love it so much, hits about mid thigh, no closure, just a lovely a-line double crepe, with a plunging, rounded back. And oh, the anemone-like pleated panels under the arms, are so so pretty. Anyway. The line is a Parisian one, and I don't think any shops exist in the US anymore, and even though the dress is only maybe 7 or 8 years old, it felt so special. But I wanted to belt it. I was fully prepared to make a belt. I was headed to Textile to get materials to make a zigzag sequined belt (somehow I couldn't get the thought of zigzags outta my head for this) when I decided I should probably take a quick look at TJMaxx even though I seldom have luck there. What did I find but a random beaded zigzag belt from Express for flippin' $4.95! I knowknow!! So I snatched it, went home and tried it on for Skypiana and she gave it her gold star approval. What would I do without her? Now if I hadn't spent $120 on undergarments to make all this work, then I would really start bragging.

Anyway, what I really wanted to tell you about (the above was just a warm up) was what happened at the wedding that still has me giggling. I realize by the title that you might presume I was involved in a clothing mishap. No, in fact, I double-handedly saved a girl's dignity in the bathroom of a fancy country club. I serendipitously walked into the ladies room to remove the 120$ worth of underhutzpah so could use the bathroom at the exact moment that I heard a friend of mine say "its split from the top to the bottom?" In that same instant I knew that I would be sewing someone into a dress. How? I just knew. Maybe it was because I got out of sewing a belt, and the fact that this is the 3rd time I have either walked into a dressing room or just about walked down the aisle in front of a bride when someone needed my sewing fingers. I was oddly excited by it and happy to help. A certain lovely blonde Julie had a new dress whose zipper head was stuck up, would not budge down, but the zipper coils themselves were split completely open. And I don't know about you, but I can never get an invisible zipper to cooperate and get back on track when this happens- so we drummed up a (really crappy) needle and thread that someone found in a little-used bride's room. I whipstitched her into her pretty green frock and she was so calm. I was so impressed. I woulda been mad as heck. How much of our life and happiness depends on a zipper? Too much! And small world, Julie is from Florence, Al. and good friends with my friend Natalie. The chatting we did while I sewed her back together felt like the chatting I did last week at our sewing circle.

It follows me you see. Which is good. I just need to keep (really good) needles and thread in my purse.
It was nice meeting you Miss Julie.
xo, Anna

A Sewing Circle

Has it been two weeks? Wow. Feels like about one long day. Phew. N'kay.



Yesterday was my favorite day. I've been waiting for months. We had the first of two planned (prolly needs to be more like ten) sewing days to begin assembling the Rainbow Around the Block quilts for flood victims. That's Brittney up there working away while I imagine the rest of us were either digging through blocks, pressing, squaring, eating, eating, eating or planning the next top. Thank you Brittney for your talented hands! And for taking on the pink flamingo blocks.

You are not going to believe these stats----here we go...maybe you'll believe it. I didn't believe it, but you're probably smarter than me. Actually now that I've sorted through all of the blocks, tops and quilts and begun the sewing I most DEFinitely believe it. Uoops. I derailed, the stats:
we've received 1,746 blocks (enough for 41 full size quilts), 77 finished quilt tops and 22 completely finished quilts. I was stunned, amazed, floored, bewildered, happy, thankful and now very very busy!!!



My dear friend and often cohort in various crimes, Tracy Smith hosted us at her gorgeous, sunny, country home for our first sewing day. I think all the women that joined me there yesterday would agree that light doesn't just stream through the Smith home, but also emanates from it and we had a joyful time together. Thank you kind and funny Tracy.



It was such a lot of work to move all the materials, machines and supplies there, that once set up I wanted to stay for about a week. Seriously. I thought about starting to fold some of Tracy's laundry so that I could bribe her into it, but the I remembered my own laundry at home. And oh yea the family.



This is Mr. Toby with the quality control department. Sweet Kirsty tugged him along and he was a complete babbling happy bowl of baby. Kiss Kiss Toby! Thank you for sewing with me Kirsty, you are a dear.



These are the two Jennys at our porch cutting and "squaring up" table. I know that they will thank me for this back side shot. Thank you Jenny 1 and Jenny 2. You guys are the bestest.



Pierrette spent the whole time eating!!! Just kidding. I love you, Pierrette, thank you.



Every room downstairs looked sorta like this. A beautiful little curated geometry of color gathered from generous souls all over the world. Strewn across the floor, being thought over with conversation, laughs and pie. Thank you generous souls for letting us finish your good thoughts and your beautiful work.



And thank you Alexia, you are a sparkly little jewel and so wonderful to have near in all situations, most especially in sewing. Even if you do try to steal the best blocks. Just kidding. The above quilt was born on the design wall after I accused her of stealing my favorite block which is at the center there. She (sort of) happily conceded it to me after admitting it was the only one that wasn't working in her top composition. I like to be bossy, but then really, really thankful. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

If you want to join us next month for the next sewing day (I will feed you), visit the rainbow page for more info, we can use your help! Or email rainbowATannamariahorner.com

smack! Anna

Brokering Piece

I could not put an idea to bed last night, so I stayed up with it for an hour or two past what would be a reasonable time for me to be sleeping. Oh, but the quiet house + the hum of my machine + the whirl of my brain, no regrets. I felt as sleepy-happy this morning as I use to when my sister & I would stay up giggling on a Saturday night way past when our little sponge-curler heads were suppose to be snoozing. Grown up me knows, unfortunately, that every late night will not be followed by a sleepy-happy (slappy? yes, slappy) morning. I'm sure you know how that can turn on you.

I'll be taking some time to work out a peace/piece agreement between myself, my family, the internet and my studio, so please excuse the quiet over the next week or two. I promise to throw up a picture here or there when I think it might shove you into some fun ideas about something.

I'm sorry I said throw up. And shove.



But for now, lots of love from here. xoxoAnna

Forward

A few more pushes and a coupla shoves and we'll have ourselves a complete Roman room. Then I promise to bring you the whole space with details and sources. I really had to chuckle a little at the oohs and aahhs and waahhs about painting over the handpainted wall. I would be lying if I told you doing this hurts me. It doesn't. I love a clean slate. The hard work buried underneath has never called out to me. Ever. Its not forgotten, just done and its purpose served. I could no sooner live with the same handpainted wall than I could keep sewing with the same fabrics. These things are special to me, but never sacred. They are just that. Things. The little, rambunctious blurs of happy that live amongst these things that I create, however, they are all the inspiration and all the joy. And if these loves can delight in the things I make then I am amused. Not fulfilled, just amused. We delight in one another and so move forward.

lots of love from the partially finished and quite contemplative Room of Roman.
xoxoxoAnnaMaria

Who needs a nap?

Distracting me from my distractions are a whole lot of cozy, beautiful things coming soon.....Gathering Flowers Quilt pattern, Flower Patch Pillows pattern, a reprinting of some favorite fabrics (on smooth voile!), the Proper Attire Skirt pattern (wait till you see- and from size xs- 3xl!!) and of course all those other new fabrics and 3 new free patterns too. By my calculations I should be able to take a shower in about 18 days.

All I can think about is soup and a nap (where I will dream about sewing).

So there's a little inspiration ~ have a gorgeous weekend~ it's cooler here today...there?
xo, Anna

Three Days

What a weekend. We moved further through the perpetual large family room switches here, which I began documenting back here. And if you're bored enough to read through that, then you'll of course know what stage we are in now. With the big one away at school, the smaller room that she traded the girls for at the beginning of the year is becoming Roman's room. The little ones were all t0o eager (paint footprints all over the flippin house) to help. The handpainted floral wall that I labored over about 6 years ago is now put to rest under a fresh coat of paint and I actually don't miss it. And surprisingly, packing all that Juliana left in her room in to (lots of) large plastic bins tucked into the closet felt great. Really awesome. Whew.

Can't wait to show you Roman's room here soon~ hope you had a great long weekend. xoAM

Introducing an Innocent Crush

First Impression. LovesMe LovesMeNot. Maybe. Mixed Signals. Woodcut. Turn of Events. Queen of Hearts. Shattered. Slow Dance. Bubble Burst.

These are subtitles that moved along my little story of an Innocent Crush. (Okay, maybe not such a small story.) They're not just plot twists, but also the titles of each of the ten prints that compose the whole saga. I had such alot of fun with this group. That might show itself, I think (like my slip peeking out of my skirt not-so accidentally). But this story is for you. Make of it what you will, as innocent or not as you choose. I will start you with a thought, though, because its one that drove my whole design process: I love the phrase Innocent Crush, the paradox, the youth, the sweetness of it, the awkward-not-quite-right, mismatched, fickle-ness of it too. Harmony is inspiring for some, occasionally an emotional collision is even more so. Enjoy!



Quilting Cottons: Charmed palette 44/45



Quilting Cottons: Swept Away palette 44/45



Cotton Sateen Home Decor: Dream palette 54



Cotton Sateen Home Decor: Blush Palette 54



Cotton Voile 54



Cotton Velveteen: Wink palette 54



Cotton Velveteen: Smile palette 54"

Of course you know I'll be posting lots of projects and inspiration for you as well as some comprehensive info about how best to welcome velveteen into your sewing!

Have a great night, xoxo,Anna

Afloat in a new Patchwork

Today in the studio, I am playing with scant new samples from Innocent Crush, mixing them into the well-worn favorites from Little Folks. New patches swimming around with familiar patches, and I am afloat.

To pick up a bit where I left of in fabric, I wanted to answer questions in regards to the Innocent Crush Sneak Peek - right after I say thanks so much for all the excitement!!!- (even if most of is was for the tights!- that's okay- I chose those myself, so no insults!) No one is more excited than me, and here is the low down on what Innocent Crush will inlcude: 22 quilting weight cottons; 14 home decor cotton sateens; 10 cotton voiles; and 8 cotton velveteens (!!!!) I'll be sharing 3 free patterns for the collection and we're working on loads of inspirational sewing to share for all the different fabric substrates. I am so excited. I am jittery right now and the coffee finished its job a little while ago- these are bonafide fabric jitters. I will share all the images next week!

About the darling "dress" in the photo: Its made from one of the new voiles called "Shattered" and it is not a dress at all! The top is a Roundabout Blouse (we just left the lower band off) and it's tucked into a "Flirting the Issue" skirt which will be one of the free patterns due out at the same time as the fabrics (Oct/Nov). Making the blouse and skirt of the same fabric achieves the lovely dress look, but with the obvious advantage of wearing the pieces separately too, if ya wanna. Make note of this with an ink pen on your palm.

The tights are from Anthropologie and I picked them up a few months ago. They are from one of the their in-house brands, called Eloise, otherwise I would stock them and sell them to you. I would get say sentences like "I stock stockings in my store". So it would be worth it for that alone. I think I may have helped sell out the last of them the other day once it was figured out. Sorry. I mean, you're welcome Anthropologie. The shoes are red suede pumps from Steve Madden that are so perfect to behold, but so hard to walk in. Perfect for shoots.



Now. I can't say enough how much I appreciate your comments ever since I wrote a mini-novel. Like a beautifully woven, fine net, catching me before I fall too deep. Thank you so very much. I have read every word and happy to be in accord with so many kind souls. This is new. And while I realize that the indulgence I take here every so often with my thoughts is more than some of you might expect, or even care for, from just a mother-artist-business-owner-designer-fabric-lady, what I'm sharing with you, I am sharing with myself too. And it helps.

I cried at the meat counter in the grocery yesterday. I kept buying things that she likes out of habit. But every minute, it gets a little better. After wrapping up a very busy day of work yesterday, still catching up from that lost rainy day in Astoria, I got the meat in the oven, potatoes prepped, peas ready for steaming, a few started on their homework, Jeff had started a bath for Roman and I dared to think I could go out for a quick evening run before everything/one came to need me for something. I quickly changed into my gear and headed for the door. Then in one single instant Roman pooped in the bathwater and helmut-less Nicolas slammed his head into the driveway curb after skating something fancy on the quarter pipe. I stood frozen between the two, trying to figure out if I should give Jeff a pack of ice and give Nicolas some wet wipes and the tub cleaner....or the reverse.

I snapped to. I am needed here. Everyone got taken care of and I headed out for my run. Each pound on the pavement was accompanied by knowing that my life is full and these changes are new patches being sewn onto the familiar. And it is all so beautiful, no?

with thanks, xoxoAnna
(the tub & Roman are both sparkling and Nicolas' head is fine)

the Bridge

I'm not sure what I was expecting. Taking her to school. I should have guessed what would have drummed up inside me ready to spill everywhere, leaving a trail of years and memories between here and Brooklyn. But I didn't see it coming, not all of it. I am very used to living in the present, but was shot out of a canon to the past. So many times over this past summer. Just shot towards her birth and the beginnings of all of us, the beginnings of Jeff and me. But being hurled past it in a rush of memories it is so hard to see it all the way you saw it then. You think it will last forever, and some days even wish away the difficult parts. Humans just don't know the blur it will become. I believe this to be by design. Inherent in our making. We couldn't handle the frailty of ourselves walking around, if we knew how fast.

Getting her settled, saying our goodbyes, it was bitter and sweet and beautiful and sad and perfect. We walked slowly back to our hotel with the sky threatening rain, my eyes threatening worse. We took a detour through Fort Greene to sit and take the walk as slow as possible. And it happened. The sky sobbed. I rained. And we were stuck, under the shelter of the visitor's center. We are after all, only visitors. We waited for it to stop. Waited. Waited. Didn't bother to verbalize much of what we were already feeling in perfect synchronicity. Fearing we would miss our flight, after waiting as long as we could there, and with no change in the weather, we decided to drown down the hill in a rush of water and emotion, getting utterly soaked.

At the hotel we made a quick grab of our suitcases, while the taxi waited, and headed to La Guardia. Not much conversation, but an unusually talkative cabbie who asked us all about our family, was shocked we had a daughter old enough to be in college, further shocked that we had 5 waiting at home, and I wasn't in the mood for any of it. "I like you two", he kept saying. "Children are God's greatest blessing" he said. And I. Was not in the mood for conversation. I was definitely not in the mood to hear that all the crying the sky had done delayed our flight by an hour. Two hours. Four hours, so now we'll miss our connecting and be stuck in Baltimore. Cancelled. So now here we are. Rush back to her? See if she wants to skip orientation and hang out one more night with her parents? No. Stuck. Floating in a sea of rain and utter sadness. It was calling to mind something, a memory, I couldn't place what.

Then the waiting. We couldn't get out of New York for another whole day later. I needed the intoxicating hugs of the rest of my brood. I wanted to cry into Roman's bewildered but willing little neck. We poured into a nearby hotel. The room was freezing and the only thing that I could do was crawl into the bed. I didn't move for hours. Didn't even shift. Just Jeff and I there. Waiting for the hours to go by. Jeff went to get us food. Went to get us water. I slightly laughed at a movie or two, but mostly just laid there, out of body. Looking around inside my new self at how it looked and couldn't see much that made me happy without her. I dozed off around 1am. Woke up around 3am. And was arrested again by the familiarity of this set of circumstances. Trying to get somewhere, but getting stuck twice, once in the rain, once at the airport, then the all night waiting. Jeff. Me. And searching. Looking for her precious smile in my mind.

And then remembering.

We were 19. Unmarried, and unexpectedly expecting. Expecting Juliana. We had chosen adoptive parents. It seemed like a good idea at my age and we could continue the paths we had begun. She could continue with an eager family who was prepared for her. Had been praying for her.

We went to the hospital in labor, lawyers, parents, everyone, waiting in the wings. My labor stopped after I got there. We got stuck. Then sent away. We went again, a second time, to the hospital in full labor, which after an hour of convincing everyone around me that it was the real thing, decided to stop in its tracks. On the way home, I realized it wasn't a mistake. It was her, begging to be mine. My body would not give her up, even if my mind already had. I called off the adoption. Then the third time in labor, we decided to wait it out at home. Jeff. Me. And searching. Looking for her precious smile in my mind. For a whole day. And then, the third time, she was ours.

So there it was, in the middle of the night (a Sunday night after 3 am, quite near how she was born) at a hotel in Astoria, New York, raining, I was granted the memory to answer the nagging something that I was recalling. We brought her, again into a world. This time she is her own.

This past June just she and I went to Brooklyn to get a feel for it, and just enjoy some time together for four days. Really, the trip of a lifetime. We did nothing special, we didn't have to. On the last night, we took in a French film in a small theater in Soho. Leaving Manhattan into the wee hours of the morning, those cabbies fly. It is funny, how fast, and like a roller coaster. As we approached the Brooklyn Bridge, I thought, there it is: the bridge between where she is now and where she will be at the end of the summer. The summer: the bridge that will give us our last childhood days with her. We were so tired, barely spoke, but both obviously enjoyed the coolness that had cloaked the city after a hot day, windows down, our hair whipping everywhere. Then as we encountered the stretch across the water, I was flooded with memories of her as a baby, a toddler, her bubbly face, her beginnings, the she that almost wasn't mine, and I fought back tears. I couldn't believe we were about to reach her soon-to-be-home, just on the other side of the bridge. Rushing through the lights and under and over the architecture , I was looking back in time deep inside of me. Then I heard her say it, and I couldn't believe it. She said, like a little child, filled with excitement, "Mom, look back!"

I am! I thought, screamed, inside my head, in wonderment at the moment. How did she know?

I looked away from my side window where I was hiding some tears, that thankfully were quickly being licked up by the wind, to see her looking through the back of the taxi at the lights of Manhattan. They flickered through the thousands of suspension cables in the most mesmerizing way, like a dance. Like a filmstrip of life gone by. She was suspended there on the bridge. The thought of it is suspended forever in my mind.

And I am, more than I am anything, grateful.

To quote a cabbie, "Children are God's greatest blessing"

xoxoAnnaMaria

Innocent Crush Sneak Peak

Launching at market in October, in stores this November! More soon!
xoxoA

the early

Our bed abandoned earlier than normal.
The bed pillows piling in the corner chair each night.
Seen under an earlier than normal light.
An explorer setting off to his tasks.
Earlier than normal.
The house, so quiet. Just the cicadas on the other side of the window.
One yellow canary finally settling after so much early singing.
One yellow dog breathing in a cold marble entry floor. Dreaming.
One father to work.
Two girls backpacked, fed and brushed on the early bus.
Two boys, backpacked, geared for afterschool activities, fed and hand-combed on the later bus.
One young lady still sleeping in this house. For now.
One baby back to bed after enough exploration. Eagerly to bed.
And a mother. Thinking of what the quiet might bare.
Thanking the early.

Found: After-school nothingness nap

Its amazing the toll just a half-day can take.

xoA

Wanted: More summer days in which we do nothing

I could at least stand to watch the kids do nothing a little longer even if I have to do something. But alas, I will deposit 4 out of 6 children onto a school bus in the morning. There are some emotions there. Hmm, what are they? I think generally relief for a schedule again. Tomorrow is the day I thought I had been waiting for since the moment they tore through the front door on the last day of school. But now that its here, I dunno. I like turning around from my work every now and then and seeing just this sort of silly nothingness that seems to only happen on a boring summer day with nothing better to do than hang upside down from Mom's studio chair.

But then. Relief, yes. They are ready, as much as they whine, to have a big round clock to watch for prompting them onto to the next room, next friend, next subject, next experience and then home again. And by this time next week we'll have Juliana just about packed for her venture off to college. I know there are emotions there. My pillow is a bit damp with those most nights. I haven't quite figured out how to put those into words yet, but they are swirling about up there inside my skull. I think I'll go hang upside down on a chair and turn them into a dizzy brand of summer nothing for now. My capacity for denial improves with every passing year.

xoxo, Anna

Favorite

My favorite photo of the week of my favorite version of the Evening Empire Dress made from my favorite combination of Little Folks Voiles worn by my favorite model twirling on about on my favorite piece of earth. Home.

Shared with you on my favorite day of the week.

have a good one. xo, Anna Maria

Finding Passion

Sunday afternoon, Jeff and I were taking a few minutes at the dining room table to have some after lunch coffee. A favorite Sunday moment. Chatting away about the kids, the upcoming family visit that we are in the midst of now, the looming escorting of Juliana off to college here in a few weeks, recapping the book signing from the day before, etc. Typical life download that we do every few days when we get the chance. I started talking about the exhibit at the Frist as I had seen it for the second time the previous Thursday (going again today, I'm a junkie). There are television screens throughout the exhibit playing a loop of fashion footage from the era of the show. Black and white moving images of 1940's models prancing about in the perfected and gorgeous frocks, holding themselves so still yet moving here and there. And my favorite, the scene of women employed by the house, several of them, sitting around an endless chiffon hem and hand stitching a scarf hem all around. Talking, laughing, enjoying, working. Working.



I cried. Jeff got that look on his face like oh no she's crying. I really am not a crier. Really. Talking about it, thinking about it. The idea of these dresses being the result of the dream of one, then the work of many. The subtle twists and turns of several eager, knowledgeable hands whipping needle and thread and cloth and a dream into something tangible. Still, though tangible, a dream to behold. And half a century later, I'm sitting at my dining room table crying about the beauty of the hand stitching, trying to explain why its so special. And my poor, patient, sweet husband, who looked as confused as he could be was not at all confused. I didn't just wet my lashes with nostalgia or appreciation for a dear craft. I sobbed like a baby. I kept saying over and over.... what is wrong with me, I'm such a freak , why am I crying so hard about this. Its my grandmothers, are they doing this to me? I think of them when I see that group of women sewing, I think of each of them... How does this not make everyone cry? where can you see this anymore? - a scene like that- I'm sorry. I am such a weirdo, I'm sorry



You're just passionate, he said. (insert adorable husband smile with that)

Oh. Yea. I guess. And weird, I said. (insert dorky, wimpery wife sniffle with that)

The next day I was putting some freshly washed bath towels in the linen closet of the boys' hall bathroom and I was sure that I heard the sound of running water through the walls. I instantly thought back to a few months ago when I learned too late that the boys had let the outdoor spigot on for like, uh, two weeks without me knowing and we paid an impressive water bill. I dropped the towels, headed outside, mummering something about a lashing (though I've never delivered one in my life). But the spigot wasn't left on. After following the snaking hose, I found at the mouth, a really damp area where it had been left on weeks before. And for the first time ever in my yard I found a tangley patch of wild passion flowers growing out of the damp earth. Beautiful. Plucked one. Plucked a green pod fruit too. Completely forgot about the running water sound. On the way to the studio to take pictures (of course I had to) I thought of the embroidery that I had started the day before. The flower made me. The colors. So unbelievably beautiful. Like sea life. The flower, and those spindly, curly threads, of course. Threads.

So if I didn't have passion the day before, when I was accused of such, sobbing at my dining room table, I found it the very next day. In the midst of laundry, no less.

xoxo, Anna