If only...

...it were true. I love burritos.

And then maybe they could send me some El Pollo Loco, too. Although, now that there's one open in Connecticut, I have great hope for the future of East Coast fast food.

Self-Portrait

From my last drawing lesson. Our instructor had us cover a paper with graphite, and then draw by erasing and using a pencil (9B) to add only the darkest shadows back in. I think it's a pretty good likeness of me. Better than any other self-portrait I've done.

Raggedy Betty

I don't know why her name is Betty. It just is.

A few weeks ago, I got this little yen to make something by hand for my little sister, sweet Olivia. I think the idea was sparked by my mom's gift of these old craft books from her shelves:

I found a pattern for a rag doll in the book on the left, and decided it would be the perfect thing, even though I haven't made any stuffed creatures before, and this one had a lot of pieces. In my usual cavalier, I-have-no-idea-how-to-do-this-but-I-will-figure-it-out-as-I-go manner, I went ahead and made a doll.

Of course, since I am still a bumbling beginner when it comes to sewing machines, I decided it would actually just be easier to sew the doll by hand. This was not an unpleasant experience. Sort of meditative, really. It's sort of like driving a stick versus an automatic. The automatic might be simpler, and easier on the knees, but driving a stick keeps you focused and truly involved with the driving.

I did have to alter some features, including the rotating arms, to eliminate small baby-unsafe pieces.

I'm quite proud of her facial features, considering that, in spite of the fact that I've owned a small mountain of embroidery thread for many years, I have never embroidered anything in my life. I tried making a stem stitch, which I looked up online after reading the instructions on the pattern, but it ended up being more of a fill-in-the-blanks stitch.

I have sewed by hand off and on since I was young, but during the making of Betty I learned a few new, very useful things about hand-sewing:

1. It is totally possible to draw blood with the eye end of the needle.
2. So you should use thimbles.
3. Cut lots of extra fabric, above and beyond the pattern's seam allowance. And make sure that both arms are the same size.
4. It would be a good idea to actually buy some thimbles and keep them around.
5. Band-aids are always useful.
6. It will take three times as long as you think it will.
7. Thimbles.

By 10 p.m. the night before I drove up to New Jersey, Al and I were channeling Project Runway at the dining table, me frantically cutting and recutting fabric for Betty's clothing, trying to make patterns by sight, while he stitched with a machine that stuttered and jammed every five minutes or so. And unfortunately, I didn't judge the clothing dimensions well, so the tailor didn't have a whole lot to work with. But I think she looks lovely. He even embroidered a little bird on the back pocket of her jeans. Which brings us to the last hand-sewing lesson:

8. It is wonderful to have a husband who knows how to use a sewing machine.

But it was all worth the pain and permanent scarring. Betty seemed pretty happy at her new home, with her new pal. Who promptly started chewing on Betty's arm. I think that means Olivia likes Betty, too.

A Day in the Life of Philadelphia

Well, the first picture was actually taken two days before the rest. And it's not in Philadelphia. Forgive me.

Most of the snow was brown and slushy and dirty and nasty. But the snow enchanted the trees, and there's no way I could take a picture to do them justice, because there were no safe places to stop near the trees, but imagine someone throwing a sheet of lace over a forest, and making it glow from within, and there you have it. I was lucky I was able to stay on the road, even without the dangerous picture-snapping-while-driving, because I couldn't stop staring at the trees.

Now, back to that day in the life.

I always try to revisit a few of my favorite places when I go to Philadelphia, and this was one of them. I spent a LOT of time in parks when I lived there, and I was lucky, because there were (hang on, I'm counting) FIVE of them on my walk to work, which was only four blocks away from my apartment (in Philadelphia, that's just under half a mile), and another just on the other side of office building. This, the rose garden, was one of my favorites, mainly because it is in the middle of a block, and so most of the public, especially tourists, don't realize it's there, or at least that it's open to the public, making it the perfect place to sneak a reading break. And when the roses are in bloom, which they sadly weren't this weekend, it smells incredible. The magnolia garden behind this one is also a lovely park, and even more secluded, but the benches are far less comfortable.

I always liked this building, on Market Street. It's at the end of my old alley.

I used to walk past Independence Hall every day on the way to work, and I was always fascinated by the thought that I was walking the same path that Ben Franklin and Thomas Jefferson, among others, once did. And this is another park where I spent a lot of time, right across the street from my old office.

Funny enough, I've only been inside once, and it was when I lived there the first time; I was about six years old. I had a camera with me that time, too, a Kodak 110 camera, but I held it backwards the entire time, and when we got the film developed the pictures were all of my ear. I still kept them for years. My packrat tendencies started early. But if I still have them, I don't know where they could be. The pictures, that is. I am still a packrat.

This building, former home of KYW, one of the world's oldest television stations, and once home to The Mike Douglas Show, will soon be history. My dad worked here for many years. Now, KYW has left the building, and Dad tells me it will be torn down soon. I can't believe how bowled over I am. It just doesn't seem possible that it could happen. (Of course, it doesn't seem possible that Veteran's Stadium is gone, either). I spent quite a bit of time running around up on the station's third floor, as a kid in the early 80s, and I have vivid memories of the ice cream sandwich machine in the basement. I am sure the ice cream sandwich machine is no longer there, and probably hasn't been for years, but I am still sad.

At least I got to say good-bye, in a way, and didn't just show up to find a big hole in the ground.

Little Bunny Foo-Foo

Driving through the snow-snow. I'm heading out for a weekend holiday jaunt to Philadelphia (New Jersey, really) to visit my dad, step-mom and baby sister. Wouldn't you know, after weeks of lovely weather in the 70s, it's snowing right now and supposed to accumulate noticeably on my drive. What fun! What excitement! Wish me luck!

Easter was originally a celebration of the coming of spring. Yeah, so what happened to spring?

Well, I wish you a beautiful Easter, no matter what the weather (and no matter what your spiritual beliefs).

In the meantime, thank you all for your visits and lovely comments; I'm sorry I haven't been returning the favor lately but I'll be back soon.

Just Step to the Left

Sometimes I need a reminder that beauty is just a matter of perspective:

Just look at it from a different angle, that's all. Or look a bit closer, or from a bit further away. Or take a few steps to the left or right.

And suddenly, the same thing looks totally different.

Wait, it's April? In 2007?

Where have I been? I think it was just yesterday that I was griping that winter would never end (this being the warmest winter I've experienced since leaving California, it was also one of the most difficult to get through, I think because the cold came so late in the season, just when I thought it never would).

But now it's a bright, sunny 80 degrees outside (27 degrees Celcius). Perfect weather for sharing this photo of the Sierra Nevada Mountains:

and this one (me on the left and my mother on the right):

and this one:

(Yes, after 11 or so years of skiing, I am still a beginner and use the "big, easy" skis. I tried using a different kind the next day, because the girl adjusting the bindings told me she thought I could try faster, more advanced skis, and my ego said, "Oh, yes, do it!" And then where was my ego when I was standing at the top of the mountain, breaking down into tears because the snow was pure ice and the skis were too much for me to handle in such conditions? Nowhere to be found.)

But the pain was soothed and the ego sent scurrying even further away by some good West Coast eating:

On my last visit to southern California, my uncle explained to me why I will likely never see an In-N-Out Burger in Virginia, to my chagrin: apparently, company policy insists that they don't build any restaurants more than a day's drive from their central warehouse. To keep the food fresh and all that. So Reno's about as far as it gets.

Well, I say, I'll take stale In-N-Out over most other food any day. Then again, it's probably for the best. It's hard enough eating healthy as it is. Maybe I'll get lucky and the food gods will bless me with El Pollo Loco out here instead. That's healthy, right? I mean, it's chicken and guacamole and rice and beans.

Haute Cuisine? Nah, just West Coast fast food for me, please.

We drove around a lot while I was in Reno, too. I never really noticed the interesting things when I lived there:

(This is where my brother works right now. They have fabulous carpet:)

It might be the most beautiful kitsch I've ever seen.

My only regret on this trip is that I didn't go visit my good friend Tessie at my favorite place on Earth (so far). If I had just been able to make it up the mountain to a more advanced run, as in, more advanced than the beginner run, I might have caught a glimpse of the lake over the mountain. But I was concentrating on staying upright. So maybe, next time.

Now that I'm back in Virginia, I'll just keep going East and jaunt on over to Paris, thanks to Corey, who is serving up an incredible selection of delicious photographs and allowing her readers to travel along with her. The funny thing is, I could have gone to Paris without even leaving Nevada. Somehow, though, I just don't think it would be the same.