Grannie Dreams
Sarah informs me that her future mother-in-law is already trying out grandma names.

I would say "Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren't we? Can they please get married first?", except that I have no room to talk.
While I was on Martha Pullen's site looking for handkercheif edgings, it occurred to me that Sarah, unlike the Gymboree-sta, might indulge me in the matter of dear little hand-smocked daygowns for future Baby Genny.



Or, as Taylor is the youngest of three sons, dear little pin-tucked bubbles for possible Baby Milo.
I asked Sarah about it and she applied a little daughterly blackmail: "If I do, can they still have those wonderful hand-carved wooden toys?




"Well, of course."
"Okay, then."

We will have to gently dissuade his mom from "Gogo", though, because that is the name of a particulary repellent Mixo-Lydian refugee in my Thirkell's. We're suggesting Gigi. That's what we call our great-grandma, but with "Nanna" in front of it.

Fr. W. on why there's no whining in Modesty:

"And ladies, before you come to us with your complaints, just consider- our necklines are higher, our sleeves are longer, our hemlines are lower and we're wearing black."

Snippets


Sis arrived with MJ for some babysitting, carrying a ziplock with three pairs of panties. "We are toilet-training" she announced. "I've had it with the diapers."
"You are so psychic," I said, "I was just thinking this morning that it was time to try it again and you know what you should do? Invest in some cheap Garanimals shorts and tops so she can get them off easily."

The Fashionista looked at me as if I'd suggested she dress her in a burlap bag.
"She can learn in her regular clothes. O learned in tights."

"Yeah, but you didn't teach her. The Montessori gals did that."
Which is one reason why Bubs and the Potty was such an ordeal.
But I should have known better- this is the mom who religiously changed Gastric Reflux Baby's clothes eight times a day, so she always looked cute. A couple of peed-on pairs of leggings are nothing, in her book.

But MJ, her tushy pampered by the Princess Potty with the cushy seat, was having nothing to do with my IKEA molded plastic piece of minimalism. She'll just wait until she gets home, thank you.



Bubs is being an jr. usher, which means he is handing out the order of service leaflets at the door, a perfect job for the Mayor. Sis and Jas were explaining to him what ushers do- "They ask the guests if they're a friend of the bride or the groom, so they can tell which side to seat them on."


"Oh- so you know who they're cheering for?"


Ves appears in the bathroom door while I'm putting up my hair: "I think I've got this figured out- if they catch the 9:00 am train to San Antonio, they'll arrive late at night. But I have to see if they can rent a car at the station, so they can get to their hotel-"
"Honey, what are you talking about?"
"The kids's honeymoon... so if they can't rent a car there, they could take a taxi-"
"Why are you doing this? It's Taylor's job."
"Are you sure? I remember planning our honeymoon."
" Yes- when you were the groom."

"Oh."


Went to the Stickley exhibit at the DMA and came home reeling drunk on fumed oak, hammered copper, leather and nubby linen.
I'll just move in here, thanks. Can I get an applewood bacon, Boston lettuce and heirloom tomato on hippie bread from the restaurant, please?

I know we've all had the experience of seeing some particular style of art or craft that sounded a loud interior gong: the Arts and Crafts works, particularly in their American expression, did that for me. For years, until they opened the small A&C room upstairs, I would make a pilgrimage to the Blacker Doors, the only large work of the genre the DMA had, and moon about in front of it until the guard gave me the fish-eye. Rooms and rooms of the same was a bit of sensory overload, but I loved it.

Oddly enough, being a fiber lover- I had never cared particularly for the textiles branch of A&C, but being able to see actual examples have converted me. I bought a repro catalogue of decorative items to copy designs from for future projects.

And it seems that there's a store in Grapevine that sells reproductions of Stickley furniture- they had a little sitting area in the exhibit, which they had underwritten. Don't worry, I'll find a justification...



Went on another little binge at the DFW FiberFest again this year. It's the atmosphere: hundreds of fiber fans milling about, enabling each other to spend money like drunk sailors in port. Insisting that if you like that colorway in a worsted weight, you have to get it in laceweight and chunky, too. Or you need that particular blend of roving in another color as well. And surely you'll find a use for that one of a kind giant terra-cotta button. And the wool wash. And the lavendar-impregnated stones.
The mantra is : Go on, you know you want to...
The next day's hangover is less painful, though, I understand.

In which we have a minor dress crisis, thanks to Miss Middleton.
"Ackkkk!"

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Her dress! Look at her dress! She has lace over a sweetheart neckline, too! People will think I copied her."

I come over to the computer where Sarah, who's been at work all day, is seeing Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Cambridge's wedding dress for the first time and mildly freaking out.
Never mind that tea-length white crepe with an abstract all-over lace overlay does not equal a tussah silk ballgown with a train and priceless perfectly-matched Carrickmacross bodice and sleeves. Never mind that 'people' are 160 of our closest friends and relatives, not several billion strangers all around the world. The similarities are what counts.
Because brides can be crazy.

"But honey, she has a plunging neckline and you have a jewel and yours is sleeveless and she has long sleeves-"

"I like her long sleeves."

(patiently)
"We can put sleeves on yours. Short ones."

(considering)
"No, that's okay."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"So, are we good?"

(sheepishly, 'cause it's really not a case of "B stole my dress")
"Yes."

Happy one-month engagement anniversary, Sarah and Taylor!

On the Corapi reactions



First: I had no idea who Fr. Corapi was when this story broke. It turns out that I have actually listened to him briefly on the local Catholic station a time or two- but didn't know it was him. So, I have no opinion on the case itself, beyond a wait and see stance. I am praying for all involved, of course.

More worrying to me is the reaction in the Catholic blogosphere, especially the response of Fr. Corapi's defenders to those they consider insufficiently proclaiming his innocence. Wise and cool heads have tried to defuse heat vs. the light about this, but without much success.

Clearly, many people are deeply invested in this. It seems Father has quite a reputation for orthodoxy and has been instrumental in bringing many people back to the Church, or helping to deepen their understanding of the faith. Some feel so strongly about him that they are willing to read the minds and hearts of others on the strength of a blog comment, and accuse them of various faults from stupidity to being modernist tools of the devil. The kinder wish for them conversion and repentance, the more severe wish them a similar experience of false accusation.

What this all needs is a huge helping of Prudence, Charity and Temperance.

Prudence to not discuss those things that we don't actually know anything about.

Charity to not make silly assumptions about others simply because they have a differing opinion, or no personal stake in the subject beyond the general welfare of the Church: it is entirely possible to be a perfectly devout and orthodox Catholic in America and not know Fr. Corapi from Adam's off ox.

Temperance, because there is such a thing as informational gluttony.

And on that last virtue, that is all I have to say on the subject.

Morgan Jane, Doctor of the Church

For Christmas this year, I adopted the plan of buying a Nativity scene for the Y's and giving them one piece a day, ending with the infant Jesus on Christmas. Bubs was the one who really got into this, to the point that I sort of planned the discovery of that day's figure for him. For example, one appeared in the theater dressing room when we were collecting loaned costume pieces from "A Little Hous Christmas". But it seems Morgan was paying close attention as well.

She and Sis were in the garden decor aisle at their home away from home- "Oh! that's the Hobby Lobby- I go there with my mommy"- when she spotted a resin statue of a cherub.

"Mommy! It's Baby Jesus!"

"No, honey, it's a little angel. See, he has wings."

"No, Mommy! It's Baby Jesus, he has curly hair, and his mother is Mary and his birthday is Christmas!"

All with emphatic hand gestures, while the granny next to them is biting her cheek not to crack up at our pint-sized Teresa of Avila.
"Morgan Jane," says her mom "I did not know you were a Bible scholar."

Shape of Things to Come, pt 2

"... with the cordial cooperation of many unpleasant powers or dependent nations, large and small, who felt that having avoided fighting themselves it would now be a good plan to throw their weight about and demand Self-Government, Self-Determination, Ambassadorial Status, large gifts of money and arms and complete freedom to be as nasty as they wished to be to everyone, while no nation- under pain of expulsion from a number of Leagues or Pacts, known only by their intials though most people had not the faintest idea what words the initials represented- was to be allowed to defend its own frontier, protect its own nationals, or publish any newspaper article in any way depreciatory of its grasping ill-wishers."

- Enter Sir Robert, 1955

Seriously, Angela? Stop it!

Interesting that Thirkell and Kipling were cousins. She refers to him as 'prophetic' a number of times in her novels, and she seems to have had a touch of the quality as well.

Reading through the new ones I ordered from Alibris- she will eventually have her own shelf, at this rate.