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Miniatures change your life

Well, well, well - I have just discovered I can re-post an old post, not just as a link. This initially appeared many years ago. The dollhouse spent time in storage but then it was time for it to 'journey' again and it is now with a new family.

One thing I like about looking at old photos is seeing clothing I have made over the years and about  which I have forgotten.  This picture is from nearly thirty years ago and the first thing I noticed was the overalls;  they were a wide wale corduroy, an unusual material to use  in a child's garment but I liked the European look and they were certainly sturdy.

The dollhouse unleashed numerous memories. 

The ongoing  adventure started on a trip to Bennington, Vermont and a visit to a miniatures shop there.  We had three young boys but a dollhouse is not about gender.  We ended up ordering a kit to make a dollhouse,  a replica (scale 12" to 1") of the Victorian house owned by Harold Gray the creator of  Little Orphan Annie.

Above is  it in its initial stages of construction.  It was set up on a table in the dining room and came to life there over a number of months with almost daily attention.  It was not only a family endeavour but involved the neighbours as well. 
Here it is just completed.  German friends  advised us of the tradition of raising a pole with ribbons at a house completion and supplied one for ours.

We began to look at things differently once the dollhouse became part of our lives:  a glass earring became a hanging lamp;  the lining from a chocolate box became wallpaper;  could a magazine  be reduced to the 1/12 scale - yes!;  was a weather vane needed - of course!;  was it possible to knit a lace coverlet for the bed using piano wire for the knitting needles - well, likely, but not by me.

Here it is years later, after several moves.

The moves were something else!  We had the movers give an estimate for moving contents of our house, then, an extra cost for moving the doll house.  Finally we figured out a way of separating the top floor from the rest and making the whole procedure much simpler.

It now has its stained glass window...and an inlaid  mahogany star in the fir plank floor...and an  entrance to the third floor because one son could not stand that there was no access...and furniture....and accessories.....

Here is the back view.  Every single piece has a history and carries a memory. 

The dollhouse is presently with family in Toronto.

I have these things ready for when next I visit:  a piano shawl, replica of a French hand-painted silk one, and which, since the dollhouse does not (yet!) have a piano, will hang on a wall, as does the original in my home here;   a 'braided' rug (likely for in the bathroom);  a  'woven' rug for the nursery;  some  die cast tools made from zinc at Cominco in Trail, BC.  We'll need a tool box, next, or at least a tool drawer ....

 

Posted on November 16, 2011 at 09:19 PM | Permalink

Commen

Well, well, well - I have just discovered I can re-post an old post, not just as a link. This initially appeared many years ago. The dollhouse spent time in storage but then it was time for it to 'journey' again and it is now with a new family.

One thing I like about looking at old photos is seeing clothing I have made over the years and about  which I have forgotten.  This picture is from nearly thirty years ago and the first thing I noticed was the overalls;  they were a wide wale corduroy, an unusual material to use  in a child's garment but I liked the European look and they were certainly sturdy.

The dollhouse unleashed numerous memories. 

The ongoing  adventure started on a trip to Bennington, Vermont and a visit to a miniatures shop there.  We had three young boys but a dollhouse is not about gender.  We ended up ordering a kit to make a dollhouse,  a replica (scale 12" to 1") of the Victorian house owned by Harold Gray the creator of  Little Orphan Annie.

Above is  it in its initial stages of construction.  It was set up on a table in the dining room and came to life there over a number of months with almost daily attention.  It was not only a family endeavour but involved the neighbours as well. 
Here it is just completed.  German friends  advised us of the tradition of raising a pole with ribbons at a house completion and supplied one for ours.

We began to look at things differently once the dollhouse became part of our lives:  a glass earring became a hanging lamp;  the lining from a chocolate box became wallpaper;  could a magazine  be reduced to the 1/12 scale - yes!;  was a weather vane needed - of course!;  was it possible to knit a lace coverlet for the bed using piano wire for the knitting needles - well, likely, but not by me.

Here it is years later, after several moves.

The moves were something else!  We had the movers give an estimate for moving contents of our house, then, an extra cost for moving the doll house.  Finally we figured out a way of separating the top floor from the rest and making the whole procedure much simpler.

It now has its stained glass window...and an inlaid  mahogany star in the fir plank floor...and an  entrance to the third floor because one son could not stand that there was no access...and furniture....and accessories.....

Here is the back view.  Every single piece has a history and carries a memory. 

The dollhouse is presently with family in Toronto.

I have these things ready for when next I visit:  a piano shawl, replica of a French hand-painted silk one, and which, since the dollhouse does not (yet!) have a piano, will hang on a wall, as does the original in my home here;   a 'braided' rug (likely for in the bathroom);  a  'woven' rug for the nursery;  some  die cast tools made from zinc at Cominco in Trail, BC.  We'll need a tool box, next, or at least a tool drawer ....

 

Miniatures change your life

Well, well, well - I have just discovered I can re-post an old post, not just as a link. This initially appeared many years ago. The dollhouse spent time in storage but then it was time for it to 'journey' again and it is now with a new family.

One thing I like about looking at old photos is seeing clothing I have made over the years and about  which I have forgotten.  This picture is from nearly thirty years ago and the first thing I noticed was the overalls;  they were a wide wale corduroy, an unusual material to use  in a child's garment but I liked the European look and they were certainly sturdy.

The dollhouse unleashed numerous memories. 

The ongoing  adventure started on a trip to Bennington, Vermont and a visit to a miniatures shop there.  We had three young boys but a dollhouse is not about gender.  We ended up ordering a kit to make a dollhouse,  a replica (scale 12" to 1") of the Victorian house owned by Harold Gray the creator of  Little Orphan Annie.

Above is  it in its initial stages of construction.  It was set up on a table in the dining room and came to life there over a number of months with almost daily attention.  It was not only a family endeavour but involved the neighbours as well. 
Here it is just completed.  German friends  advised us of the tradition of raising a pole with ribbons at a house completion and supplied one for ours.

We began to look at things differently once the dollhouse became part of our lives:  a glass earring became a hanging lamp;  the lining from a chocolate box became wallpaper;  could a magazine  be reduced to the 1/12 scale - yes!;  was a weather vane needed - of course!;  was it possible to knit a lace coverlet for the bed using piano wire for the knitting needles - well, likely, but not by me.

Here it is years later, after several moves.

The moves were something else!  We had the movers give an estimate for moving contents of our house, then, an extra cost for moving the doll house.  Finally we figured out a way of separating the top floor from the rest and making the whole procedure much simpler.

It now has its stained glass window...and an inlaid  mahogany star in the fir plank floor...and an  entrance to the third floor because one son could not stand that there was no access...and furniture....and accessories.....

Here is the back view.  Every single piece has a history and carries a memory. 

The dollhouse is presently with family in Toronto.

I have these things ready for when next I visit:  a piano shawl, replica of a French hand-painted silk one, and which, since the dollhouse does not (yet!) have a piano, will hang on a wall, as does the original in my home here;   a 'braided' rug (likely for in the bathroom);  a  'woven' rug for the nursery;  some  die cast tools made from zinc at Cominco in Trail, BC.  We'll need a tool box, next, or at least a tool drawer ....

 

LOAFIES: Betwixt Cake and Cracker

(repost from Sept 27 2007)

Edna Staebler has passed on so I am no longer able to phone her at her cottage on Sunfish Lake near Kitchener, Ontario.  "If your ears are burning," I'd tell her, "it's because I'm once again prancing  around the kitchen shouting,  'Thank you, Edna, for your - " and it was her Doughnut Muffins or Cucumber Salad or Irish Soda Bread or Speedy-Pat-In-Pastry or any one of a number of other offerings from one of her Schmecks cookbooks.  She was a special lady and I benefit from having known her.

We shared an enthusiasm for life so what I would be phoning her for now - and miss being able to do so! - is to say "Edna, guess what I've done with your Carrot Bread recipe - you know how you love crackers - well - I've turned the carrot bread loaf into  something between a cake and a cracker.   I'm calling them loafies, for want of a better word.  You must try them."  And I know she would. 

Here is the More Food That Really Schmecks book and the Carrot Bread just out of the oven.

For  the loafies it would be better to cook it in a loaf pan but  I've always cooked it  in a tube pan, so that's the reason it is so here.

Here's the recipe:

1 cup sugar
1/2 cup salad oil
2 eggs
1 cup shredded carrots
1/2 cup milk
1 1/2 cup sifted flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon

For the loafies I added 1/2 cup roasted pumpkin seeds (unsalted)
and 1 tsp caraway seeds

I put sugar, oil, eggs, chunked carrots and milk into blender and whirl until carrots are chopped.  Then pour this liquid over the dry ingredients which have been sifted together.  Stir until well mixed.

Pour into greased loaf pan and bake in 350 F oven  for 55 min or so.

Now - remove from pan and let cool. 

Then, cut cake into thin slices, and then bite- sized pieces, and put on an ungreased cookie sheet.  Put back into a 350F oven and bake for 15 minutes.  Take from oven, turn oven down to 300F, turn each almost-loafie over, pop back into oven and bake for another 10 minutes or so.  You want them crisp but not overly brown.  I turn oven off after the ten minutes, leave oven door open, and let them dry as the oven cools.  This is what they look like.   I think Edna would have been very pleased.         

                                                                                                                  

(The inspiration to double bake  came from biscotti recipes and Lesley Stowe's  wonderful   Raincoast Crisps)

I am now wondering how banana loaf would 'loafie'.  And date bread... and cranberry...

The Grinning Robin: painting: story

I painted The Grinning Robin in May 1991

The story behind it came years later.

The Grinning Robin

         Mothers know when their kids are moping.  She sent her father to see what was wrong with her son.

         “Something bothering you?” the grandfather asked.

         “I dunno.”

         Gramps thought about the answer for a moment.

         “You worried about yourself?”

         “Kinda.”

         Gramps thought some more.  He was wise.

         “You worried about the world.”

         “I guess.”

         “Always been something of concern,” the grandfather agreed.

         “Always a worry to those of us on it,” the grandson said gloomily.

         They perched together and considered.

         “You were a human being last life, right?” the grandfather inquired.

         “Yeah.”

         “Guess you remember more how mere mortals are, then.  I been a bird for a few years now.”

         The young robin said, “I feel guilty about my freedom.”

         Now the grandfather was alarmed.  Guilt in the animal kingdom was a serious thing!

         He took his grandson under his wing.

         “You earned the right to be a bird.”

         “But what about all the – well, the – about the – “

         “Suffering?”

         “Yeah.”

         Gramps pulled his wing away.  “So – go ahead.  Suffer.”

         The young robin flickered. “I don’t know how to do that any more.”

         “Exactly!” said the granddad.

         A huge sigh. “So – just get on with it?”

         “Exactly!”

         Young robin said, “Well, I do have a lovely song.”  He trilled a few notes. “And my chest is brilliantly crimson.”  He puffed it out and the sun shone iridescent on the feathers. “And when I fly people do raise their eyes to me.”

         Grandpa noticed that a chorus of dandelions were about to shake their fluffy heads and spread what he said along with their seeds so he chose his words carefully.

         “Exactly!  You have the freedom now to be a bird, only a bird, a bird to the utmost.  You have the gift of making people feel good, without obligation, without guilt.  Even for an instant.”

         The young robin sighed again but this time from the top down not the bottom up.  “I do, don’t I,” he said.  “I’d forgotten.  Thanks.  That makes me feel a lot better.”

         “No problem,” replied Gramps.  “That’s what I’m here for.  That makes me feel good.”         

         Gramps flew back to his daughter’s tree to tell her all was well with the kid and to see if perhaps she had some worm leftovers from breakfast.  She was the earliest of birds.  She took after her mother.

         Young robin fluffed out his chest and straightened a wing feather or two.  He cocked his head with his black seed eyes and sent out his most cheery song.

         Down below on a park bench a father was sitting with his two children, holding the littlest on his lap.  They all looked up when they heard the robin.  “Dog!  Dog!” yelled the baby in delight.  “It’s a bird,” the father said and laughed because he knew “dog” was the only word the baby knew so far. 

         “Dumb kid,” the older child said under his breath and was about to toss a stick he had in his hand at the bird to scare it away. But the father stopped the throw, put the baby back in his stroller, and lifted the older child onto his lap.  Which is what the child wanted much more than he wanted to scare the bird.  Now he could watch and listen to the bird with pleasure too.

         The young robin felt their enjoyment.  He sang even louder, caught the sun and the breeze on his feathers and shone even more.  Then he was moved to acquire what no other robin had ever had before but many from now on would. A smile.

 

Home accessories: shadows

Whether naturally occurring or lit by a bulb I have always considered shadows a delightful and worthwhile part of a home.  

The Story Behind The Grinning Robin Painting

The Grinning Robin

         Mothers know when their kids are moping.  She sent her father to see what was wrong with her son.

         “Something bothering you?” the grandfather asked.

         “I dunno.”

         Gramps thought about the answer for a moment.

         “You worried about yourself?”

         “Kinda.”

         Gramps thought some more.  He was wise.

         “You worried about the world.”

         “I guess.”

         “Always been something of concern,” the grandfather agreed.

         “Always a worry to those of us on it,” the grandson said gloomily.

         They perched together and considered.

         “You were a human being last life, right?” the grandfather inquired.

         “Yeah.”

         “Guess you remember more how mere mortals are, then.  I been a bird for a few years now.”

         The young robin said, “I feel guilty about my freedom.”

         Now the grandfather was alarmed.  Guilt in the animal kingdom was a serious thing!

         He took his grandson under his wing.

         “You earned the right to be a bird.”

         “But what about all the – well, the – about the – “

         “Suffering?”

         “Yeah.”

         Gramps pulled his wing away.  “So – go ahead.  Suffer.”

         The young robin flickered. “I don’t know how to do that any more.”

         “Exactly!” said the granddad.

         A huge sigh. “So – just get on with it?”

         “Exactly!”

         Young robin said, “Well, I do have a lovely song.”  He trilled a few notes. “And my chest is brilliantly crimson.”  He puffed it out and the sun shone iridescent on the feathers. “And when I fly people do raise their eyes to me.”

         Grandpa noticed that a chorus of dandelions were about to shake their fluffy heads and spread what he said along with their seeds so he chose his words carefully.

         “Exactly!  You have the freedom now to be a bird, only a bird, a bird to the utmost.  You have the gift of making people feel good, without obligation, without guilt.  Even for an instant.”

         The young robin sighed again but this time from the top down not the bottom up.  “I do, don’t I,” he said.  “I’d forgotten.  Thanks.  That makes me feel a lot better.”

         “No problem,” replied Gramps.  “That’s what I’m here for.  That makes me feel good.”         

         Gramps flew back to his daughter’s tree to tell her all was well with the kid and to see if perhaps she had some worm leftovers from breakfast.  She was the earliest of birds.  She took after her mother.

         Young robin fluffed out his chest and straightened a wing feather or two.  He cocked his head with his black seed eyes and sent out his most cheery song.

         Down below on a park bench a father was sitting with his two children, holding the littlest on his lap.  They all looked up when they heard the robin.  “Dog!  Dog!” yelled the baby in delight.  “It’s a bird,” the father said and laughed because he knew “dog” was the only word the baby knew so far. 

         “Dumb kid,” the older child said under his breath and was about to toss a stick he had in his hand at the bird to scare it away. But the father stopped the throw, put the baby back in his stroller, and lifted the older child onto his lap.  Which is what the child wanted much more than he wanted to scare the bird.  Now he could watch and listen to the bird with pleasure too.

         The young robin felt their enjoyment.  He sang even louder, caught the sun and the breeze on his feathers and shone even more.  Then he was moved to acquire what no other robin had ever had before but many from now on would. A smile.

May 31 2012

NATURE - IT'S HERE!

re-post May 23 2007

 

Zork likely said to his son, "Zog, stop scratching pictures on the walls of the cave.  Go outside and throw rocks at something.  Try not to get eaten by anything."

Today we are also concerned about our children and their lack of connection with nature. Studies are being done, books are being written.

Hooray for this increasing awareness.  But let's not think the only solutions are complicated or involve programs and agendas or require large expenditures of time and money or going somewhere else.

Nature exists in the city and the country.  We are part of nature. It is our attention and interaction, nature - human and otherwise, that makes all the difference.

That fly or ladybug or spider in our homes is an opportunity to use our eyes and really look at a marvel of insect architecture, to inspire wonder about filmy wings that unfold from under armor, feet that can hold on upside down, webs that can appear overnight between pieces of furniture.  And that amazing Web can answer all our questions, satisfy our curiosity.

A bare branch brought indoors during the cold of winter, stuck in some water, will soon be tricked into a spring display of leaf or flower: for the learning is which bush or tree will produce forsythia flowers or cherry blooms or willow leaves.  And which stems will go on to produce roots and can be replanted in the earth.

After a rain there are earthworms to be rescued from puddles or flowing along in the gurgling water in gutters.  In the autumn sewer grates may become clogged with leaves and a stick or a foot can get the water flowing again.  Rain collects on branches in lines of jewels.  Frost on the windshield forms patterns that heat away under a palm or stick in the mind to be later described on paper with paint or with words.

Herbs hang over fences for touching and sniffing on city streets: rosemary, lavender, fennel, southernwood, tansy, bay............

Leave a foot square piece of lawn to grow long and silky and watch grass flower; discover how many types of grasses there are in an ordinary lawn.

Notice the difference in how the body adjusts to walking on pavement, cement, gravel, grass, playgrounds, bare earth, sand.

Feel sunlight on the face.  Feel starlight on the face.  Feel wind.  Rain.  Sleet. 

Listen to car tires on wet roads.  Listen to bird song mixed with traffic song.  Listen to people stopping to chat on street corners. 

 

Karen Skowron co-founded Urban Wilderness Gardeners whose mandate was "providing alternatives to manicured lawns". UWG was the first to naturalize a schoolyard at Kew Beach in Toronto, Ont. She lives in Victoria BC.