Holiday Season Begins Here

October kicks off the holiday season and off we went last weekend, to Marble Falls to Sweetberry Farms.


Pumpkins were piled everywhere, including on a lovely rusted bed and inside an old truck:




Notice any difference between myself and the other visitors? I know it's difficult to see all the people in the bed photo, but I can assure you that none of them were wearing dresses, let alone ones from Anthroplogie, nor are they wearing Camper maryjanes. They were not holding toddlers wearing cute shirts that their friend Abby got for them at Tea Collection sample sales in San Francisco. Pretty much everyone seems to wear jeans, t-shirts and sneakers, and I'm not talking about cute vintage Wranglers or sexy fitting Barney's jeans with Petite Bateau tees or American Apparel hipster ringer tees.

Pumpkin patch (a.k.a rural) fashion was a topic of discussion on the car trip back into town and we came to the conclusion that in country settings where people drive everywhere, fashion is not as important as it is to people in cities. There is less reason to dress and also less inspiration to be gained from the outfits of others. Back in NYC you could easily be entertained walking around any neighborhood and taking in all of the ensembles. Back when I worked up on Madison Ave. there were some pretty awesome outfits to be seen- the creme de la creme of expensiveness, and of course, ridiculousness. You know when you look inside Vogue and think Who the hell wears that crazy rabbit fur bikini top with high-waited jeans and hooker boots? Well, just go walk around the 57th St. area and you will see that there is a real-live market for such absurdity. One of my favorite times of year was the dead of winter when one could spot men donning thick fur coats, looking like life-size teddy bears. My co-workers and I would regularly spot Bill Cunningham (photographer of style for the New York Times) standing back from the street with his camera hanging around his neck. We would non-chalantly pass in front him trying to look like we were laughing or enjoying ourselves in slow motion, just in case we would be good fodder for his Sunday Styles section. Alas, we never showed up in print although several of our other co-workers did, and it always felt like we were somehow part of it too (even though we were in no way part of it obviously). I have to say that I felt a kindred spirit in Angelina recently when she talked about still wanting to be able to get dressed and enjoy fashion even though her daily life doesn't exactly require it. As the no-office-to-go-to mother of a toddler, I really don't have any good reason to get out of my velour pants and thermal shirt, but for the most part I do, just because it's fun and I also feel like I lost my identity during the year that this outfit was the only one I wore (2006 when Harlan was a baby). Now that I get a full seven hours sleep each night and am not breastfeeding, there is really no reason not to get dressed each morning.

I hope I am not offending any country dwellers out there- I'm sure many of you own garments other than hemmed jean shorts and puffy white sneakers, but I have not met you so I'm basing this passage on my own experience with country folk (which is pretty minimal honestly- I am definitely the person that the bumper sticker "Yankee go home" is intended for).

Speaking of fashion, the local temperature finally dropped last week (going down the the upper 30's at night and warming up to a lovely upper 70's during the afternoons) and Harlan got to wear this awesome vintage plaid jacket that my friend Karen got him at an auction up in PA.

Karen is due to give birth to her first child in two weeks, so send her best wishes everyone.

On the drive back to town we stopped at a roadside junk shop and picked up this antique child's rocking chair for $15.

It is not in perfect condition as the wood could use a little shine and the vinyl has a hole on the seat and a paint stain on the bottom front. I plan to refinish it one day and keep it in my future craft room with some softies on it. For now Harlan loves it and it goes great in our living room.

Speaking of crafting (and of chairs for that matter) I got three wonderful books in the mail last week as an early birthday gift (thanks to the magic of the amazon.com wish list) from my father and stepmother in law:


I have had my eye on this one for a while since it features so many great interviews and projects from many great crafty bloggers out there. I have to admit I am in love with Heidi Kenney's tissue box cover:



Just when I thought I was too cool for something as lowbrow as a tissue box cover, I find myself feeling I can not live without making one.

Simple Sewing with a French Twist has been at the top of my wish list for a while. Here is a peek of some inspiring projects:



This folding chair is the first thing I'm going to make (as soon as I finish 100 other things) for our balcony. You just need to find a wooden folding chair, spray paint the frame black and sew a basic seat and back for it by tracing the one you rip out of it.

I discovered this book over on Posie Gets Cozy and have been wanting to try a little ribbon embroidery of my own (project 102 on the list I suppose).

Also in the mail as an early birthday gift came this hand embroidered Chinese top from my mother in law who lives in Taiwan:

Also super inspiring.

I'm working away on the business and here are a couple of hoodies I'll be offering. The one with the initial be available upon order with whichever initial the customer wants. The letters are from a vintage pattern that Karen also got at an auction for me a while back.




I need to get a better lens for my camera so that I can control the light as well as get more detailed shots of embroidery stitches. Perhaps as a birthday gift to myself :)

Speaking of the embroidery business, the shop has a new name. I had to cancel my tax i.d. number in NY and have to file a new Doing Business As name here in Texas. As you know I had trouble figuring out how to keep "Bun Bun" but get rid of the "baby" so that people will not assume that I only make baby clothes and items. I wanted something that indicated both genders and that sounded like it was from a few generations back. I ended up choosing the names of my favorite great-aunt and great-uncle, who are still going strong up in Brooklyn in their eighties. They are Rose and Duke, and Rose is a fantastic needlepoint artist to boot. Here is the postcard for the new shop:


I found a web design team to take over the task of creating a site for me, and it will debut in February. Until then, enjoy your Halloween.

Crafts and a giant sofa are in the hizzy

Guess what my friend Kim S. made for Harlan before he moves south?


I love it so much, and the herringbone tweed is made from her father's old sport coat (which Joe says he wishes he could have). Kim was also sweet enough to save me a giant hunk of the Valrhona chocolate bread pudding she had just made. Did I mention Kim writes for Chocolatier magazine? I bet that job beats tempting as a receptionist (not that those are the only two options in the world for careers, but sometimes it kind of feels like it is to me). She also gave me a big pile of cardboard boxes that she helped me carry home while pushing Harlan in his stroller. I can't wait to join the car culture quite honestly (I'm getting a bio-diesel VW, don't worry).

If you wonder why I placed such a cute bunny on a pile of taped up boxes it's because every surface in my apartment is covered in boxes. Every surface that is, except for our giant sofa which had to be lifted up the side of the building with rope and pulled in through the window because the clearing at the top of the first flight isn't tall or wide enough for the couch to get around the corner and up the next flight. My cousin Lori used to own a furniture store out on the North Fork of Long Island and gave me the sofa because it had a bit of water damage on the back of it. The men that worked for her who drove the sofa into Brooklyn for me are a couple of real characters. Andy, who is a mildmannered and hulkish schizophrenic who married his Psychiatrist and had two healthy children with her, and Cleo, an extremely generous older Texan African-American who looks about 20 years younger than he is. Cleo is super muscular and short and has a thin moustache. He also enjoys wearing vintage ladies jewelry like enameled floral necklaces (three at a time), along with gold eye-liner and skin tight jeans with red pumps.

As soon as the two of them realized that the sofa would not fit around the corner at the top of the first flight of steps, Cleo insisted that he would go buy a rope and pull it up, because they hadn't driven the damn thing for four hours on the L.I.E. for nothing. Andy kept saying, "No way Cleo. No way" but Cleo was determined. As the two of them hoisted the sofa up the side of the building a small crowd gathered to watch on the sidewalk. Cleo pulled the rope and dripped with sweat while screaming at the onlookers, "Whatchew all lookin' at? This 'aint no damn picture show, keep moving 'fore I charge y'all!"

I placed a photo of the sofa on Freecycle and on Craiglist and received a few e-mails. The first was my favorite as the subject line read, "I wan your sof". Inside, the message just said to call the sender. I know I'm kind of old and not totally down with text messaging codes and what not, but is it really that difficult to type the extra t and a in the subject line? Needless to say I didn't call. None of the other e-mailers worked out (surprise surprise, an ad that says Free Sofa, Bring Rope didn't get great results) and so we have decided to leave the behemoth to my lovely landlord and his five foot nose hairs (have I not mentioned the nasal growth before? It's nightmare worthy so perhaps I have spared you all thus far). The best part is, Landlord will probably drag the sofa out the door and down the first flight of stairs before realizing that it won't fit around the sharp corner of the stairwell on the second floor. He will have to bring it back up and either get a chainsaw to cut it in half, or pay someone to get it out the window for him. I feel tempted to leave a note on the sofa that just says, "This is what you get for being a hostile a-hole to people who live on your property".

Guess what came in the mail to me today just in time?

The busy bees embroidery transfer, courtesy of the famous Floresita. She had an extra copy of the pattern and was generous enough to send it to me along with a very sweet note. I am such a fan of hers. If you don't know who she is, be sure to check out her flickr embroidery group, embroidery group blog, and vintage transfers blog, which has scans of many fantastic transfers for you to see or use. Needless to say, between the Amazing Dad Sport Coat Bunny and the free transfer in the mail, I scored big time.

Here is a gratuitous photo of me and Harlan taken this afternoon. I had to have a recent photo of myself to post an intro on the new meetup group I just joined in Austin. I'm hoping to meet other moms in my new hood to spend time with. I can't even believe how sad I am to leave all my Fort Greene mama pals. They have really been a bunch of lifesavers over the past 20 months, and the best part is, we would have all loved each other even if we didn't have children the same age. I can't imagine that I will be this lucky again.

Tales from the plagrounds

Harlan wakes up around 6:30 each day, and is rearing to go by about 7:30. He tells me he is ready to go to the playground by bringing me one of my shoes and slamming it against my foot while moaning. Sometimes he brings me his own shoe and performs the same routine. By about 8:30 I load him into his stroller, pack the bag, and gently push the whole load down the flight of steps onto the street while all the nine to fivers rush past me on their way to the subway. We walk in the opposite direction, over to one of many parks in the neighborhood. On any given day Harlan and I have visited a minimum of three parks city wide.

Conversation from Cuyler Gore park last week: A five year old boy is playing on the jungle gym with Harlan (after school) and Harlan toddles past him commenting, "Doo doo doo doo". The boy turns to me in awe and exclaims, "He said doo doo!" I told him that Harlan is only a baby and that he doesn't really know what doo doo means. The boy looks at Harlan and says, "You don't know what doo doo is little baby? It's brown, and it comes out your butt, and it's disgusting, and it goes in the toilet. There. Now you know what doo doo is."

Today in Manhattan: Union square park at 9:00 AM, I unload Harlan from his stroller and as he runs towards the slide I push the stroller, now draped with farmer's market goodies, next to two women sitting on a bench. One of them is Gwenyth. She is dressed like any other mom at the playground at 9:00 AM on a Monday morning, messy hair, no makeup, sunglasses, a flowing long cotton dress and flat sandals, coffee cup in hand. I look around for a toddling Apple to play with Harlan, but see only a storm of elementary school aged children running amok. Harlan plays alone on the mini jungle gym and eventually a couple of teachers gather up the class and form a line. Gwenyth goes with them and I realize that her "baby girl" is already school aged and she is with the class today for some reason. I suppose I need to keep up with celebrity news in order to be better informed about the ages of their offspring. Around noon in Tompkins Square Park I see my old friend Heidi and her sweet girl Beatrix who is running around barefoot with a ladybug ball (Beatrix, not Heidi). I brag to her of my star sighting and she says that in her neighborhood she sees Julianne Moore almost daily with her adorable son. She also once came across "SJP" at a water park on the west side. All the other moms were in their terry cloth sweats and suddenly SJP showed up in platform heels and a freaking Birkin bag (did I even spell that right?) I guess if you have a bag that cost several thousand dollars you don't mind if it gets schmutzed up at the water playground. Hmmm.

Last Saturday my good pal Ellen, her husband Ed and son Zack met up with me and some friends over in Prospect Park for a breakfast picnic. The allergies were fierce, but the grass was lush and filled with clovers and it was one of those mornings where everyone just feels that life is good: