Wednesday Winston: So Happy Together.

Despite everything, we are.

I've been sewing.

Since I have obtained a sewing machine, I have been practicing my novice 4-H skills from fifth and sixth grade. I'm still a complete amateur, but I am having fun.

I sewed a ruffle on this formerly slightly-too-short skirt. 

I finally, finally, finally made my bird pillow officially a pillow. (I have another in the works. Pictures to come indefinitely.)

I even used fancy stitches.

And I didn't sew these but I did order them from anthropologie.com.

Lovely little swans.

Wednesday Winston: See no evil.

If you're feeling low....

Just think about this.

My sisters and I have been doing this for as long as I can remember--dressing up, pretending to be someone else--usually our characters morphing into someone a good deal uglier and more decrepit than any of us really are.
I used to own some extremely tight, long underwear-type, red pajama pants with tiny penguins on them that made me look exactly like Tweedledum when I stuffed a pillow down the front. I had long skinny legs and was substantially awkward looking, and Koseli would force me to wear these almost on a daily basis and perform a routine for which I became quite famous in my family. My audience would watch as I would hobble slowly into the dimly lit room, hunched and dejected, with an old blanket thrown like a cape over my back and a purple parasol that I used as a cane in my hand. Sad music would be playing, Then, on cue, Koseli would turn up the music and flash the lights as the song took a sudden an unexpectedly raucous turn. I would swing my blanket-cape over my head and dance-- still hunchbacked-- until Koseli almost peed her pants from laughing. We called it 'the hunchy dance,' or something to that effect.
I know for a fact that it was disturbing for our poor mother to see her daughters acting in this way-- constantly stuffing up our bellies and drawing uni-brows on one another. Most girls wish to be princesses or fairies. My sisters had these wishes too, but at the same time we didn't mind dressing up like goblins or elves or very fat men, talking in ridiculous voices, or using our mother's makeup to draw well outside our lip lines. She would stand at the edge of the room, shaking her head and suppressing a smile. She seemed less entertained by our silliness than by how much fun we had together--shrieking with laughter and forgetting any of our real insecurities in the warmth and happiness that only true friends can share.

Wednesday Winston: Misery Loves Company

This week I have been very sick.

Vomit. A pounding head. A string of terrifying dreams, all involving monkeys. (Planet of the Apes?) These are things for which I pity myself greatly.

However, when it comes to being miserable there is always one thing that can cheer me up: Winston. This is a video of a very sick and congested Winston. He had a difficult time breathing and nothing we did (nasal spray, q-tips, etc.) could clear up the snorting. 

And so, if you, too, are having a bad week go ahead; sit back, relax, and watch. I guarantee it will make you feel better.

But you'll want to turn up the volume.

Wednesday Winston: The Evening Stalker

You may not see him, but he most certainly sees you.

A spot of tea?

I got this tea set when I was seven years old.

As you can see, it features a multitude of very happy bunnies. Some are hanging out by the pond. Some are simply wearing top hats and bonnets. Others are stringing together flower garlands and staring up from their tea saucers with anatomically impossible smiles.

I love it.

The colors! The details! And my goodness-- the bunnies!  As a child I longed to be one of those bunnies, frolicking in a world of painted pastels. Perhaps my taste is simultaneously old fashioned and decidedly childish for my age. After all, I have a fetish for lace, anything white with ruffles and big flowered prints. I spent three quarters of my free time in elementary school making my bed, reflecting on books and arranging flowers. But looking at this tea set makes me feel young again.

Really young. 

When I first got it, Cecily and I had a grand old time with the bunny tea set. We had "tea pohtties," which were really just the bunny-head teacups filled with Ovaltine and tiny toasted Melba crackers which were our cakes. We wore white gloves, long gauzy dresses and my mom's old lipstick and I think it was the most sophisticated I have ever felt-- then or now. By the time I was 11 I had packed my tea set away, on account of it being too babyish. I remember peeking into the packaging later and spying a shriveled spider at the bottom of one of the cups. I gave myself a ten year hiatus from the tea set then. If there is one thing I cannot abide, it's a spider in my teacup.

When I unpacked it last week the spider was still there.

The bunny tea set now sits in my home-- all shiny and clean and spider free. Perhaps it's a decoration best used for a six year old girl's bedroom and not for a married lady. But then again, so are most of the things that I love most. I don't think Jason minds too much. After all, he knows that the bunny tea set is just the most prominent parts of me-- the old woman and the little girl-- mixed into a motley of brightly colored and happy pieces of porcelain.

I don't know about you, but I'm glad it's Friday.

Because I get to spend my entire weekend with this wonderful boy.

What is your favorite part about the end of the week?

Wednesday Winston: A losing battle.

Like any living, breathing, thinking creature Winston has his faults.
The primary of these is that he enjoys sleeping next to my face.
Next to, pressed up against, or on top of my face.
After he has placed himself in front of my nose making breathing difficult, he winds himself over the back of my head like a furry snake and proceeds to knead my hair with his paws. Sometimes he'll lick my face, which, if anything, is even more unpleasant. I've tried everything to get him to stop. Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, piling blankets over his head and pinning him to the mattress or simply tossing him high up in the air and far away from the bed. Despite everything, he comes creeping back, slowly inching from the end of the bed, working his way up to my face; unearthing his nose from the blankets that have buried him and stealthily winding himself around my neck like a hot hairy scarf. In my tired state, all I have left in me is a menacing whisper, "Curse you, Winston!" as his rough itchy tongue begins its long sojourn over my tired skin.

Wednesday Winston: Belly-up.

This is how we found Winston sleeping yesterday-- face smashed against the couch, legs in the air, belly-up.

As I have evidenced before, he sleeps in these positions on a regular basis.

He just might be the weirdest cat ever.

 

Wednesday Winston: I spy with my little eye...

A small, white paw.

It's Winsty! Sleeping with his legs in the air.



And you thought I was out of control...

For the avid stylist that knows no limits to creativity.

B-A-R-T-O-N

You gain a lot of things when you get married.
A new sense of purpose. Growing responsibility. A greater appreciation for your spouse. A few extra pounds and, most importantly, a new family.
Before I was married, the idea of in-laws always daunted me. How could one reconcile oneself to people with which there is no history? What if your backgrounds are too different, and you become the person in the family that everyone rolls their eyes at or ignores? The crazy aunt. The weird sister-in-law, perpetually out of place, creeping into corners and scaring all the children at family parties. My fears, of course, were completely unwarranted. Every single one of my siblings have married incredible men and women-- people that, though I have no direct relation, I feel I could be bound to by blood-ties.
When I met Jason's parents for the first time I was deeply impressed by their kindness. I saw their newborn grandson in the hospital at the same time I met Jason's sister in-law, Michelle. I was touched by this willingness to include me, a complete stranger, in something that was so exciting and precious. I watched Rod tease Jason and was, in turn, teased myself. I lost a MarioKart race to a four year-old. I wiped snot from the noses of nieces and nephews. I held Tarrin's beautiful baby. This was something that I quickly learned about the Bartons--once you're in, you're all in. I loved this most about Jason. This is what shaped him into the person I had grown to adore. I saw his face reflected sometimes in the faces of his siblings-- a passing shadow across the eyes, a facial expression, a laugh. I saw how at home he was with his family and knew that this was important. If I wanted to be a part of his life I had to know more.
I went to Oregon with the whole family for a week the summer before Jason and I became engaged. How different the Bartons were from my own family! And how good it was to be different. My family revolves around food and loud, interrupted conversations. The Bartons revolve around activity-- there is always an agenda, a new sight to see, an interesting experience. While it was different, it was good, but there was something missing. I was separating myself from these people, from Jason. I'm not a part of the family, I would think sadly to myself and painfully pride myself on letting Jason have moments alone without me to savor with his relatives. This untrue and silly thought was remedied while I stood by myself on the beach watching the waves roll and foam over the sand. The Oregon coast was profoundly beautiful. The Barton family had so much history in this cold, misty place that I had never seen before. I felt alone. Was I going to marry Jason or was I not? Was I in the family or was I out? I felt like every moment I was not myself made my uncertain future even more foggy. Rod came to stand next to me. We didn't say much, we just watched the waves, silently contemplating our own thoughts. I felt such comfort and peace--such sincerity in the silence that it could have been my own father standing next to me. My emotions had been rocked like the waves in a terrible storm-- and then, suddenly, the sun came out.  I knew what my future held. This was my family.
I was in.
You gain so many good things when you get married.
I'm just grateful that I got the Bartons.

Wednesday Winston: A slight scare.

My scream probably scared Winston more than being flipped upside down.
It was the spiders that did it.
They were terrifyingly huge, with abdomens the size of a penny and long, thick, hairy legs protruding from their sides. After Jason slammed on the brakes, Winston and his carrier did a silly little flip in mid-air and landed wrong side-up in the backseat. The spiders scuttled heavily over the bottom of the cat-carrier while Winston struggled to right himself and I screamed and screamed "Jason! Jason! Pull over!! Pull over!!"
He did.
After the spiders had been disposed of and Winston righted in his carrier, we continued on our way. Winston was shaking. I pulled him out of his carrier and felt his little heart pounding through his small chest. His whole body was overcome by violent tremors. I couldn't bear to put him back in his carrier.
This is how we rode to Salt Lake.

He was so happy.

Tootles.

A few weeks ago I encountered the most amazing person.
This person was extremely small. He had sandy brown hair, chubby pink cheeks and brightly gleaming round glasses. He was cute enough to break your heart.
He stood before me, shaking.
"Give her the book," his mother told him sternly.
He placed a thick board book with brightly colored pictures on the counter. Tootles the Train, it was called.
"Tell her you're sorry," said the mother.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice a whisper.
Looking at his small worried face, my mind flashed back to another child who wore glasses. A shy child who wished and dreamed for many things, but never could muster up the courage to ask. A child who was surpassingly crafty-- not because she liked stealing, but because she loved pretty and shiny things--like a crow. But more than anything she loved books, and it was books that she often....borrowed. Without asking.
"He's just fine," I told the mother, smiling at Tootles. I would have loved to give him the book, but of course I couldn't. I watched him walk away and experienced a fleeting impression that he was a person full of enormous potential, thief or no.
After all, I think I turned out just fine.

Wednesday Winston: The Stinky Blanket

Sometimes Winston is dirty.
My bed is white.
In order to prevent these two things from mixing, we have given Winston his own blanket, which he can lick himself on, shed, knead, and do other, undesirable cat-like things.
This particular duvet cover is from eigth grade. I ordered it from a Delia's magazine. It was a bribe from my mother: I would get the duvet cover and pillow cases if I allowed her to teach me about the birds and the bees.
Ahem.
I had to have it.
And now Winston has to have it.

He really must have it.

Wednesday Winston: Sweet dreams

I was in a cold sweat, my hands shaking, my head heavy.
I slumped over the side of the bed, my mind fighting against the aching memory of a disturbing dream. Phantoms drifted in and out of my consciousness, the malaise hanging over me like a dark cloud. "Stop thinking about it!" I commanded myself, willing my heart to cease its frantic palpitations, my mind to halt the fear. Something in the old house creaked, and I froze under my blanket. This was it. The terrors of my imagination were becoming real! Just as I decided to wake up Jason, I turned over and there, stretched out to his full length with his small face hidden under an arm, was Winston-- a furry, fluffy, warm, magically alive Winston. I pulled him toward me by his back feet. His whiskers twitched. He opened one eye. I wrapped an arm around him and, very slowly, he laid his head down, his face pointed towards mine, the pointed caps of his fangs slightly protruding. As he exhaled I could feel the warm, steady puff of his stale breath on my cheek and I held him close to me, like a teddy bear, until I fell asleep again-- my dreams permeated with softer things.

Wednesday Winston: What Lies Beneath

Don't look under the bed.

The Best Nest

After weeks and weeks we are finally starting to get settled into our home.
When my parents came to visit, my mother described the place as a "dollhouse." With all its nooks, crannies and eccentricities, I think she summed it up just right. Everything in the house is small-- the doorways, the hall, the closets, the cupboards. Jason and I spent a good 30 minutes cramming our sofa into this miniature reading nook.

To this day I'm not exactly sure how we managed it. Needless to say, I won't be moving it again any time soon.

To accompany my dollhouse, I acquired some doll furniture. We bought this desk from D.I. for $25. I painted it mint green and attached a truly spectacular drawer pull to it and this was the result:

I also borrowed a leaf out of my sister's, Sasha;s, book and made a flower wreath for our dining nook.

And then of course there are the various tiny china cabinets throughout the house which I quickly filled with all my treasures...

The bedroom is by far the largest room in the house, and the one in which Winston likes best to respose.

Welcome to the dollhouse.

Better pictures to come soon.