Here's a Little Something to Chew On . . .

. . . while I cook up a storm of new stuff in my kitsch kitchen.  It's my latest shipment of gumball beads!  Sure, the shot's a little blurry and the arrangement of the beads is a little haphazard, but I think the promise of exciting projects to come still shines through.  I'm not ashamed to admit that gumball beads are one of my latest obsessions (another is toy tea sets -- but more on that next time).  I love how they manage to marry the cray cray and the everyday (despite my vow to never say, much less write, the word "cray cray," the siren call of that rhyme really snared me) in a look that's fun and easy but still full of flavor -- just like gumballs themselves (imaginary gumballs, that is, not the real ones that taste like wallpaper paste after five or six chews).

Speaking of crafting (and, really, when are we not speaking of it?), I couldn't help but notice some DIY references in last week's sitcoms.  First there was Monday's episode of  "Two Broke Girls," in which an exuberant if misguided yarn enthusiast is bent on beatifying Brooklyn one crocheted fire hydrant cozy at a time.  Then Tuesday had "New Girl's" Jess admitting, "I craft so hard!" upon learning that her crush boasts a yarn collection (yes, yarn again!) rivaling her own.  On Wednesday, "The Middle's" Brick brought a date to Thanksgiving dinner clad in a turkey-print dress that most definitely did not come from a factory.  And finally, on Thursday, "The Big Bang Theory" featured Sheldon shutting down his beloved Fun with Flags podcast series only to resurrect it after reading the comment of a viewer who "kind of liked it."  Although a podcast isn't exactly decoupage (not to mention that Shelly would shudder at the thought of getting Mod Podge on his fingers), the creative, off-kilter element of the flag fiesta is of the same sentiment.

And that's that.  As Turkey Day draws near, may your sweet potatoes be marshmallow studded and your cranberry sauce can-shaped instead of lumpy.  After the bird has been butchered, I'll be carving out some time to string my gumballs.   I can only hope that my apple crisp turns out half as tasty.

A Sneak Peak and a Story

What do a little girl's tea set, pompom-filled cups from said plastic tea set, and gumball beads have in common?  (Although it's probably not too difficult to guess), you'll have to wait until next week because I'm still toiling away at new projects.  So, for the remainder of this post, I'm moving on to something else, a kind of book review-slash-fiction-exercise mash-up.

The book in question is Barefoot, by Elin Hilderbrand.  The particulars of the novel aren't important (well, they are, but not to this post); all you need to know is that one of the characters is a college student struggling to write fiction that's about something bigger than himself:

"Chas Gorda warned his students against being too "self-referential."  He was constantly reminding his class that no one wanted to read a short story about a college kid studying to be a writer.  Josh understood this, but as he rolled into the town of 'Sconset with the mysterious briefcase next to him, he couldn't help feeling that this was a moment he could someday mine." Hilderbrand, 21.

This passage caught my interest.  After all, I'm always tempted to fictionalize my own experiences, cloaking them in the dubious disguises of different ages, different towns, different names.  (Is that Technicolor-caftan-wearing craftista named Casey a crude caricature of myself?  I should add that  Casey lives on a houseboat, by contrast, paddleboats make me seasick.)  I can't help but wonder what it would be like to make up a story -- or at least the beginning of one -- that's as alien to me as Alaska.  So, I'm forgoing my usual alliteration-addled, pop culture reference-riddled write-up to give it a whirl, even if a blog, by its very nature, is the stuff of self reference.

Ever since she had entered her second trimester, Mitzi was constantly craving things.  She wanted gumballs, ice cream, and lemon raspberry iced tea, but whenever she indulged, she threw up.  "Too sweet," Dr. Lindstrom had clucked when she called his office to to ask his opinion.  She had gotten into the habit of consulting him about these prenatal yet not quite medical queries because he was the only person Mitzi trusted.  Her husband, Mark, was teaching a course about supernatural themes in Victorian literature at Indiana State University while she managed the store at home in Vermont.  The store was, inexplicably, a hardware store, something Mitzi knew nothing about.  But it had been in Mark's family for decades, so when he got the offer to teach his dream course at ISU -- his doctoral thesis had been an analysis of the nuclear family as it related to Dracula through the ages, an irony that was not lost on Mitzi -- she agreed to hold down the fort.  If she glanced at her gently rounded stomach and wondered what she would feel like once she was bigger and alone, then she didn't voice it.  Mark promised to take leave and return to Vermont closer to her due date, hastily adding that until then she would have her mother and sisters.  And, of course, Dr. Lindstrom. She nodded, trying not to think of her mother's more overbearing-than-helpful maternity advice, and of her sisters squabbling, or, in rare spells of harmony, complaining about their husbands and children.  They had six children between them, three each, and watching them tear through their mother's scrupulously maintained pink Victorian never failed to give Mitzi a headache.  Her mother never once rose her voice, instead offering the little miscreants fresh-baked cookies like the born hostess that she was.  True, her eye had twitched a bit when Caitlin knocked over her antique milk glass fruit bowl.  But she let it pass, waiting a beat before reaching into the overturned-but-not-cracked bowl and handing Caitlin an apple with such grace and aplomb that Caitlin cowered, shyly accepting the fruit and slinking off to a corner to eat it.  Mitzi's mother had the rare ability of charming children to that they both loved and respected her.  Thinking of this, Mitzi nervously rubbed her stomach, worrying that she herself would never be as effective.  Unfortunately, that was one problem that even the esteemed Dr. Lindstrom could not fix.  "Aw, screw it," muttered Mitzi, then ducked into the freezer for some rainbow sherbet. 

It's Only a Paper Shoe

Every Christmas I get a Workman Publishing shoe calendar.  And every year (well, every year later), I cut out the pictures because they're too exquisite to throw away.  Here's a sampling of my stash:

So, some weeks ago, in the spirit of my recent use-every-part-of-the-pig crafting ethic, I decided to make some of them into brooches.  At first, I was pretty excited.  I glued and rhinestoned and ribboned, all the while thinking, "Hey, I'm on to something!"  But, then, without warning, the whole enterprise began to seem kind of doomed, the pieces shaping up to be -- for lack of a better word -- wonky.  It was all very disappointing, kind of like spotting the perfect pair of pumps on a far-off department store riser only to find out that they have kitten heels.  But such is life, so often trampled by the foibles of footwear.  I'll either wear them myself or add them to my free gift grab bag, but I won't list them.

Dress: JCPenney

(No need to adjust your monitor; those are indeed two different shoes that you're seeing.  Although I've never braved the look myself [too much uneven pavement out there] it's my nod to Helena Bonham Carter, who's done just that on more than one red carpet.)

Pink T-strap: Payless
Blue leopard pump: Ami Clubwear
Black scarf: JCPenney
Belt: B Fabulous
Bow scarf: Gifted
Fuchsia scarf: Express
Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's
Bag: Fred Flare

On an unrelated note, I may have given Halloween candy short shrift last week.  Since then I've been scarfing down the leftover fun-sized snacks, an experience that reintroduced me to the joys of Twizzler-tinged Milky Ways and Snickers-scented Dots, flavor mash-ups that could come only from the fragrant fracas of a Halloween candy bowl.  Chocolate and fruit, delightfully artificial and all up in each other's grill -- it doesn't get any sweeter than that.

The Many (Masked) Faces of Tammy

 Rad Ribbons Necklace

Skirt (a dress!): Modcloth

Sweater: Marshalls

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: Betsey Johnson, ROSS Dress for Less

Belt: Wet Seal

 Chartreuse Charms Necklace

Top: So, Kohl's

Skirt: Material Girl, Macy's

Shoes: Venus

Bag: Bisou Bisou, JCPenney

 Coconut Lime Necklace

Top: Kohl's

Skirt: Eric and Lani, Macy's

Shoes: Bucco, Kohl's

Bag: Merona, Target

Belt: Marshalls

It's no secret that I've always been a little suspect of Halloween.  Partly because of the ghouls and what have you, partly because it's a holiday that revolves around food (if Reese cups can be called food) instead of stuff.  I'm told that after my first time trick-or-treating, I lined up my candy instead of eating it.  Which sounds about right, considering that whenever I got a goody bag at the end of a birthday party, I was more excited about the stickers than the Tootsie roll pops.  Still, I decided to trick Tammy out in this pumpkin pail on the heels of this Halloween weekend.  The husband was kind enough to slice out the bottom (almost as if he were carving a real pumpkin!), making for a much better fit.  My first round of pictures, which featured the intact pumpkin awkwardly perched on top of Tammy's neck instead of around it, were downright frightening, and not in the good way. 

Speaking of treat bags (which I was, albeit a paragraph ago), A.C. Moore is now packaging jewelry supply purchases in fancy pink and black shopping bags, complete with pink tissue paper.  A far cry from the standard Thank You for Shopping-style white plastic bags that they used to give you, and in fact still do at the rest of the registers (the jewelry register is now sequestered from the other checkouts, giving the jewelry department an exclusive, boutique-y feel), it's just the sort of "carrier bag" that Confessions of a Shopaholic's Rebecca Bloomwood would have displayed on the back of her bedroom door.  Although I haven't gone that far, I still have mine, just waiting to fill it with something awesome.  Like maybe some beads shaped like candy.