Barbara Jean's Pretty Pink Quilt

Saturday was Pacifica's annual city wide summer sweep charity organized garage sale day.  We happened to be in Pacifica.  WIN!

It is noteworthy that, unlike Southern Californians who like to start at 6 am and other disturbing hours, non of these started befroe 8, and there were only a couple of those.  Mr Snork and I (OK, I) were overly zealous with our 7 am start.  So, we had breakfast, and he gave me a quick pep talk about how we don't need a n y thing.   Hours of fun ensued, all within a few mile radius and an ocean background.

  There was even an episode involving llamas.    LLAMAS.  (they weren't for sale)

It was the home stretch, Mr Snork could see our house (well, my dad’s), and smell the chicken sandwich and a nap.. But there were two more garage sales on the block between him and the house. The first had a camp stove that we considered, but then decided we didn’t want to pay $10 for, because we might actually want a fancier one, with dual fuel options and a middle burner. This is important, we cook a lot while camping.


The last one had a sewing machine, but a plastic one, so I wasn’t interested, a giant old paper cutter that briefly intrigued me until I drew a mental parallel between it and old French guillotines. It even had a wooden platform. I decided to hold out till a newer one, with a sliding blade falls into my lap.

And, The Quilt. I picked it up, and the stern grandmotherly lady was quick to say it’s got a hole in it, her dog got to it. This was true, there was a hole. But there was also some pretty rose shaped top stitching. And it was pink. She couldn't remember if her mom or grandmother made it, then settled on an aunt called Barbara Jean.  I looked around some more, getting the most out of my last sale of the day, found nothing, and came back to the quilt. Jesse wimpered something about ending his life if he didn’t get a sandwich right then.

I asked the lady what she wanted for the quilt, and in the background, I heard the sound of Jesse melting down.  She said, “The one with the big HOLE in it”? as if she didn't have it there for sale, and I was shopping her purse for her personal effects.  Since she had no other quilts, torn or otherwise, I said yes, and traced one of the stitched roses with my finger. (Jesse maintains that she didn’t have it out there for sale at all, it was accidentally brought out with the laundry and if she did, it was c l e a r l y meant to line a dog kennel. Which only made it worse, because, c l e a r l y, the quilt needed to be saved.)

“You want to FIX it!”, the lady said with the inflection one might say, “You’re want to PEE on it!”. And, “you are a sewer” that sounded a lot like, “You smell like eggs”.  Followed by some muttering about me petting the quilt lovingly.  She also said I could have it for a buck – coincidentally, the exact amount, to the last quarter, left in Mr Snork’s pockets, who, by the way, behaved atrociously, suggested I inspect the quilt for dog poop, and asked the lady if she was also selling rope. (The quilt didn’t smell funny. It was freshly washed, and smelled like lavender Tide. My favorite.)

And, anyway, it proved my point that she WAS selling it. If she wasn’t, I’d gotten it for free. Even though I’m not really a sewer, I just like to pretend - after careful examination, its been determined only 4 squares can’t be salvaged, and will have to be replaced – I can swing that.

In Mr Snork’s defense, I had, just earlier gotten a quilt, with no holes, and a matching pillow sham, for $2. But we won’t talk about that.  I also have a bit of an obession with "saving" things from their current environment, particularly, if they are under $3.  And, a slight disconnect between the number of projects I take on and the amount of time I dedicate to them.  But, look at the stitching! -

I mean, what do dogs know about pretty rose stitching?

Lent Ramblings, and 'Un-Heathening' Jesse

Last weekend, Jesse and I played in LA, among Russian Orthodox churches. I would like to get married in one, but we do not attend one regularly. It was the bishop’s gentle suggestion that we come around on Sunday, to talk about engagements, details, and, you know, pray and do all things church like.


This one was on Micheltorena St, and it was lovely, in a quiet little neighborhood. 

I love the RO church in Chicago, on Lee St. The bishop painted it himself (the murals) and it is old and very neat.  There's also a beautiful, big church in San Fransisco that Jesse and I went to during one of our NorCal trips.  To find a similar, older place, we frolicked about Los Angeles. Orange County offers a few options, which we will have to take up on the weekdays – Jesse was baptized a Baptist, and apparently, the difference is great enough (things like the stance on Original Sin, etc) where an Orthodox church would not marry me and him.  Nickname of the week: heathen.  In its technical sense.    

I don't know what Scientology is all about, but they have an impressive 'church'. Reminiscent of Bellagio.

The Russian church on Fernwood St was just down the street, really beautiful.  Really large inside as well, and it's under construction, partially, so more is to come.

The neighborhood itself was a little rough

We passed a couple of Ukrainian churches as well, all within a few blocks.  The last, and the furthest up north was the one we were looking for, arriving just in time for the Russian service.  (English starts at 8 am.  Plus I like to keep Jesse in the dark about the happenings and surroundings.  Ha.)

If you click on the picture (in case you were interested in Russian church ongoings) on the back left, that is a confession happening. Your head gets covered with a tapestry thingy. I think it's part of the garment, actually. And you get asked yes or no questions about your various alleged sins. A few years back, I was really ashamed with the number of "yes"'s. This was also during the time I worked at the University cafeteria and took home far too many day-end muffins and bread.. Did I steal? Well, yeah.. Year after that I was working at Panera where they gave hungry employee students bread at the end of the day, so, whew.

Speaking of inapproriate behavior.  Right down across the street, by some nice apartments.  Shame on you, Tom. 

Jesse hadn’t frequented the church by himself, and since I would really like to be married in a church, he will read up all about the Orthodox religion, and be baptized. For this purpose, he will be seeing Father Martin in a near by church in Orange County. Right now he’s been reading up on it, and shamefully, he now knows more than I do. May be its kind of like I know more technical details about the English language, since I learned it second? On his part, he finds it fascinating, so, WIN.

(Can you spot a Tsar in this icon?)

It is an old religion (Catholicism split from it in 1300’s, I think. I wouldn’t quote me in a Wikipedia article or anything..) with old traditions, and where some religions have branched off and have made modifications to fit modern life better (is rock music really a sin? ), the RO stands its ground. The church is standing room only, the liturgy is in Slavonic (a dead language), with an English early morning option in Los Angeles, women must wear dresses or skirts, and cover their heads.

I was actually baptized twice. In the former Soviet Union, it was forbidden, but religion is such an integral part of people’s lives, that both my sets of grandparents had baptized me, and the other didn’t know. Once in Ukraine, a priest was invited and a secret ceremony was, in a basement. And the other in Kazan, Russia, in a small church. People could lose their jobs and get in trouble for that sort of thing, so it was a great secret.

It is Lent currently, and we are not to eat meat, dairy, or foods with oil. Shamefully, I have thus far failed in all those categories. Today, it was KFC for lunch. I will try again tomorrow morning, and also keeping in mind, that it is not only about food limitations, or particular foods, but limitation in general of that and other things. Skipping meat, but instead eating a truckload of rice is not really what fasting is about. The church can not marry you until Easter, because merriment of that sort is not appropriate during this time. It’s a good time to think about being kind, having a gentler temper, and other areas of life I can work on. That temper thing is rough. While I had bologna for lunch yesterday, I thought about and didn’t have cake after dinner. KFC chicken is a fail, for sure, but hopefully I can pick up the slack elsewhere. That Ebay bridesmaids dress I bought that isn’t *really* in “great” condition. Not at all, actually. But should I complain too much about a $10 dress?.. Stuff like that.

On a side note, after the service, the yard, there is a $9 buffet.  For $3 you can get a bucket of borsch, and for $6 more there are all types of awesome things, like whole fried fish, potatoes, etc.  Next time, I'm all over that place.

I can't live there, but I love Chicago

This was our 5th! trip to Chicago this year. I think that's a record for me since I've moved away. Luckily, Jesse likes to make the trip too, despite sweating like feverish frog all thoughout the flight. He shakes it off sometime after the landing.

Halloween was a perfect time to be in Chicago, all the fall colours and overcast weather. I want to paint every picture that wee took. (Reality - I will probably paint one, in a couple years.)
In an unrelated topic - I wonder if I could paint and open a shop on Etsy. Etsy is pretty new to me; it seems a lot of bloggers I like have a shop on there. I haven't been on there long enough to figure out exactly what it's about, or how it's done (i.e - how is it different from Ebay) but that might be an awesome hobby. I'll log it on the List. I like an opportunity to play with colours, and soon I will run out of wall space. Between awesome finds and my own (or, my own shamelessly copying somebody else) we are quickly running out of blank wall space. Or bright yellow wall space, depending on the location.


On Saturday, the guys were supposed to rake leaves. It looked fun enough.
I'd totally jump in some leaves, but it occurred to me, in order for my giant ass not to bottom out and straight tailbone it into asphalt, the pile would have to be much bigger than I care to rake, and forklift and whatnot.



I napped, during this time. The one thing about perpetually overcast weather, is it's conducive to napping. Perfect for bears, and whoever else sleeps away 4 months, not so much for people who are trying, TRYING to lose and get under 135 lbs. Unlike a bear I'd have to get up and snack. Fat reserves are cool, but sometime during day 3 I would need some pancakes and meat.


It was also my grandmother's 74th birthday. I love that she's here. She's so warm, and seems to know everything about everything. And her cooking is magical. That, and I am her favorite grandaughter. Well, favorite grand child, really. I know, it's a terrible thing to say with 5 grandchildren, but it's true. I'm oldest and spoil-est.


She is pretty disappointed with the state of most fruits and vegetables here (she grows her own in Ukraine), but she made some Pumpkin "Kasha", or Mush, loosely translated. It's pumpkin cooked with milk and rice. To my surprise, Jesse took a liking to it.
Either that or he was desperate for something to eat that wasn't "Fish Eyes", which is what he calls a Russian Meat-Jello type dish. I guess it's redeeming enough that I've got him on my 28 tea-times-a-day scedule, so I'm not too butthurt. Russian Meat Jello (Kholodets) involves boiling hooves, or some other bones, for hours on end, then taking hooves/bones/cartilage out, adding meat bits, and some herbs. After it sets in refrigerator it's just like Jello with Gummy Worms, but not sweet, and meaty. Unfortunately, no pictures of my grandma's, but Google turns up enough disturbing images.

On Sunday, I took Jesse to a fancy Russian restaurant, LaMirage. I hear they had ice in the urinals. I wonder if this is a fancy thing very common in elite circles, but compltely foreign to me, like 20 carat diamonds, bidets, and eating small meals. Either way, Jesse thought it was cool.

We waited for his favorite wrestler, but dude got sick, so instead we got trainers and other people of no interest to me, but, Jesse seemed to make most of it. I made the most out of 3 hot courses (Hello, duck!!), vodka, and desert platter. If I have to wake up at 6 the next morning for a flight, I may as well be bloated, hung over, and severely underslept. Makes it easier to deal with TSA - who, on a super bright note, let all my bags through, the one with toiletries INSIDE, and 10 bags of pastries (Prianiki- Jesse's crack), AND the one with a grapefruit, a pomegranate, a 3 day old banana (I don't know why, and yes, I'm ashamed), more toiletries, all liquid, and extra pointy sharp tweezers. Couple years ago I almost got tossed out of O'Hare for throwing a fit when they "confiscated" the make-up they deemed too "liquidy".. (Chanel foundation) and few mascaras. I think they've been making it up to me, ever since. As well they ought.

Pacifica, the Fog, and Debbie's Attic

Jesse and I occasionally spend weekends up in Northern California. We both have family up there, and Jesse used to live in Brentwood (village, middle of nowhere).

This weekend it was my father's birthday, and I had spent both Thursday and Friday wrapped up in so much sicklyness, that I wanted a nice relaxing weekend out.

We stay with my father, they live over the hill from Rockaway Beach in Pacifica. I like it there, it gives us a nice break from constant SoCal sunshine, and right now, the heat.

Home of the Fog Fest:


Their house is filled with artwork and neat things, there's a forest of eucalyptus right outside, children pick rosemary and mint in the garden outside, it reminds me a little of a Ukrainian village. It's not over populated, there are hills clean of houses, and you can walk to get anything you need. Sometimes we go into San Fransisco, and to the Russian Orthodox church on Geary St, or to the kids' ballet perfomance, or to shop for Russian grocieries.

This time we just relaxed and wandered around town. On Saturday, we hit Debbie’s. Debbie's Attic is an antique/thrift/junk shop that has become affectionatelly dubbed Debbie's Dumpster and we visit it when we're there, along with couple other shops on the street where everyone knows my family. From Debbie's Dumpster came the word 'dumpstering', which is what kids called any activity that didn't involve buying nice new shiny stuff at Ikea, ie yard sales, antique/junk shops, etc.

This time we weren't just looking, Debbie's still (hopefully) had the Giant Frame I want to frame my TV in on the Bright Yellow Wall. We were there with purpose, especially since I had called ahead to check measurements, negotiate price ($75) and sent Linda (stepmom) to measure it and take pictures. While I was sniffing around the frame for chips, cracks, and any unpleasant odors associated with other people's dead skin, the price got dropped even further, so we finally loaded it in the truck.

Aaron Brothers wanted $550-720 for a frame, Debbie wanted $50.


The Next Coolest Thing to a Giant Frame:
For 10c, it is all mine, and I am planning my choice of fabric. Sadly, PatternReview.com had no record of 9777, so I'll be a pioneer of sorts.

An Awesome Chandelier That I Would Totally Buy If it Wasn't $350. (And if Jesse let me) (and if I had room for one)
It's not Jesse's day though, cause my stepmom gifted us a chandelier before we left. HA. It needs crystals and parts, and for me to figure out how it is assembled. It'll be a whole project!

There's also a dress form I've been stalking there. I'm making progress, it was not for sale the the previous two times I asked, but now they've taken my phone number "in case they want to get rid of it". Yes, I know, they promptly threw out my number, but it's progress regardless. I will call weekly to check up.

We drove around to the only Starbucks, the other little shops and even a yard sale, where there was a 24 x 48 (standard canvas size!) painting/frame - I'm always more interested in frames to frame stuff I paint/copy/paint. Anyway. It was $1. How do you walk away from that?

The One Dollar Frame That Couln't Be Left Behind:
The painting is kinda cute too. For now, it is gracing our garage.

We all also walked to Rockaway Beach and hung about Rockaway Antiques and the beach at sunset. I wanted nothing to do with the walking part of the hill walking, but it was a good way to work off the plate of cheese I had eated for lunch. (Sliced Mozzarella, Thinly sliced lemons, Olive oil, Mint leaves. Be careful)

I really do love living in CA:





We had dinner and tea outside with the chimenea running, and I briefly contemplated going out into the forest to stalk deer. I settled for a chimenea/paper ball competition where Jesse taught children obnoxious behaviour and Trash Talking 101. It was ugly. But it reminded me of my graceless winning by cheating at Scrabble (obnoxious gloating thrown in always, free of charge) and why he's perfect for me.



We were froggy about getting an early start next day and almost succeeded, at 4pm.

A yard sale in the middle of nowhere? I think I will! Turn Around!!!


I did really well this weekend not adding to my Collection of Random Things I Could Really Do Without, and here it all went wrong. Who knew? They had tractors parked in the front yard! Tractors!

They also had a pair of incredibly dusty, mid century modern tables. I asked how much they were, AS A JOKE. Anyway...

...$8 How could you not?


(The wood logs are in case I'm ever stranded and need a stool, a table, or a campfire. These things happen!)
Yes.. yes, I'm very ashamed of myself. We ALMOST made it home with no "pieces". I think Jesse and I have a $10 threshhold problem. Seriously, you could probably sell me an extra appendix, as long as its under 10 bucks. I need therapy.
But, BUT! I really do not intend to keep these. Mostly because I don't like the way they look (except that they match perfectly my chairs) But also because (Jesse tells me) there's really no room for end tables of this sort anywhere in our place

I just got super excited about breaking out the strippers, stains, varnishes, etc, and playing with these to refinish them. I figured at $4 dollars a piece I could afford to play with them, and it looks like I can throw them up on Craigslist or Ebay thereafter. I hear some crazy people do their whole houses in this pointy-legged Danish theme.

First time for everything.

Every time I google something, I come across random babbling @blogspot.com.. People telling you what's up with sewing cushions, random babbling about their days, pictures of stuff they're obsessd with. I kept ignoring them, thinking I got my own babble, but then I happenned upon some interesting entries, and then I got sucked in. To complete the -off of bridge jumping appropriately I feel like I need one of my own now, so here goes.

I don't fully understand how these work just yet, or their purpose - but, may be one day I'll need to remember what day I dropped off my dry cleaning, and I'll turn here to look for the recipe of the salmon I made the day before, whose wine sauce stained the skirt I then neeed to dry clean. Who knows.

I'm also hoping I can track my various projects and failures in here, sewing, painting, furniture refinishing, dirt bike trips, and vacations.

For my very first entry - Tomorrow is Chicago!! to see my awesome, magical, warm and fluffy grandma, mom, and my best friend. Or a severe ear infection, depending on who calls to ask. The cruel irony of this is that there actually IS an ear infection, and I look not forward to flying with it. I'm picturing exploding ears, leaking brain fluid, may be blindness.. and that's before take off.

After take off I usually, and hopefully this time, will find mild comfort in watching my boyfriend.. exist during a flight. He turns an intriguing shade of tropical frog green, and gets about that clammy. Then he clutches the armrests and for the duration of the flight (SNA-ORD = 4 hours) he stares very straight ahead of him, intermittently picking up headphones and checking every available station looking for air traffic control. After that fails, he goes back to channeling panic + doom. He looks so intense I'm constantly surprised other passangers don't call him in. I guess we keep getting lucky.

I'm told the cab will be here 655am, (tropical frog likes to get places stupid-early) so I had better get to packing and my nightly cup of tea. And by pack I mean throw 2 shirts into a bag + ear drops + ipod. I could probably pack more, but it's only a 2 day trip, and in the event of unexpected cold Chicago weather/flooding/layovers, I'm always confident Jesse the frog has packed enough wardrobe to stay warm, mop up a small river, and stay warm and stylish for at least 2 weeks with no worries.