Learning to Sew

My best friend Robin recently moved to Hawaii, taking her family halfway around the world on a brand new adventure in paradise. When she left she handed over her Pfaff Hobby sewing machine. The intention was to keep it put away until July and give it to Nellie for her ninth birthday. Nellie's little brother couldn't hold on to the secret that long, in fact he only managed to keep it for about twelve hours.

Last week we went shopping for fabric and notions, today we finally got on with the sewing.


There aren't many things that make my mom heart happier than teaching my kids how to do something I love.

Little hands and big hands working together. Nellie caught on fast, halfway through the first seam she was flying solo. Very serious and seriously happy.

Here we are having the "foot" vs. the "pedal" conversation.
And trying to figure out where her hands need to be to keep her seams straight.

Stitching away. Maybe not perfect, definitely not perfect. But she is so proud of herself.

One hour later my little girl in a pillowcase style dress and matching headband, admiring her handiwork.
As impressed with her dress as she is with the fact that she made it on a real sewing machine.
Thanks to Robin, the best gift ever, and a Saturday spent at home.

"I feel so pretty" And she is.

Our Backs Against the Wind, Smiling

Here we are at the beach for my mom's birthday, we all love the beach so this seemed like a good idea. End of April, fifty degrees, sweatshirts and blankets packed up and ready to go. Not a cloud in the sky, so far so good. We stopped at Iggy's Clamshack for chowder and clamcakes, and headed for Fisherman's Cove beach in Point Judith. It was windy, and cold. Did I say windy? It was windy, very windy. And cold. We ended up huddled against the granite stones of the Fisherman's Memorial eating our lunch with the wind at our backs. The cold made the warmth of the chowder that much sweeter, to say nothing of the piping hot steam rising out of the clamcakes with that first bite. Perfection.

Only the boys would brave a walk on the beach with me afterwards. Heads down against the wind. Laughing.

We have been through a lot of changes in the year since my sister passed away, some good, some difficult. The hardest has been the struggle to hang onto our house, after a year of jumping through loops for banks and lawyers, worrying, waiting, we have decided to move sometime in the near future. All that really matters is what is in that top picture, all of us together (with me behind the camera) sharing the day. Celebrating all of the good things that we have, and we do have a lot. This decision is so new we don't even have a plan yet. We just know we want to stay together, (the worst legal advice,the lawyer who told us to give "those" kids back to the state and take care of our family. That was his last moment as our lawyer). Our new lawyer is wonderful and helping us figure things out in a way that accomplishes what matters, and that's staying together. Look at that bunch, I love them all so much my heart could burst. We lost one member of our motley crew just over a year ago, we have no plans to let go of each other anytime soon.

We can't say exaclty what is going to happen or where we will be a year from now but we will be like this - Huddled together our backs against the wind, smiling.

St Patricks Day

This year's slightly failed (or completely unrisen) soda bread





And an ode to the much maligned tradition of "it's not really Irish", Corned Beef and Cabbage dinner. And my grandmother.

New England Boiled dinner cooking in a pot
A gourmet meal is something you're not
my grandmother made you this day each year
while humming a tune (but not drinking a beer)

her parents were young when they landed here
to build a new life free from fear
corned beef and cabbage was a rare treat
a way for all ten of their children to eat

it was a new dish to them, to be sure
passed down for decades along with the lore
of lives well lived in a new land
and now my son will give me a hand

we'll make this dinner on this day
to remember the past in our own way
we will make soda bread with it too
while wishing Irish Blessings to you

Celebrate this day with loved ones near
there is no wrong way to cherish those you hold dear
those who are with us, those who are not
what matters most is that they are not forgot.


proving that once again, Joe and I may not be poets
or even very good cooks, but my grandmother would have loved him helping in the kitchen, the way my brothers' and I helped her when we were young.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, Grandma!

Grandma's Doilies

one of my favorite ways to relax after work is to browse all of the lovely things on Etsy. I hardly ever buy, but sometimes I just can't resist.

Doilies! I love doilies, they remind me of my Irish grandmother, and at this time of year I miss her more than any other time. My grandmother who taught me to sew, to love buttons, a good book, and how to bake. And who had doilies on every piece of stuffed furniture in her house. Every sofa, every chair, antimacassars, and doilies for the arms, doilies on the marble tops of her steam radiators for resting your teacup.

I spent almost every weekend with my Pop and Grandma, we gardened, watched Dialing for Dollars in the afternoon, and went to every yard sale and flea market for miles around. I learned to save (or be a pack rat depending on your point of view) and to love a bargain.






Two bargains in one, the beautiful velvet shirt from a local charity shop,




And doilies and vintage trim from VintagePleasures on Etsy
a shop worth any grandmothers attic



the pocket is a doily fragment that has been lined, so it really works as a pocket.
the trim is hand crocheted pillow case trim.
A trio of beauties.

I know most people hear the word doily and think, "Grandma"
so do I, with love.

Happy Valentines Day

The last few months have been a bit crazy for me, working full time, making lots of stuff for my etsy store, and oh yeah, taking care of those three kids.

We love Valentine's Day around here, lots of hearts and love, and in true Valentines Day tradition cake. Usually we use a heart-shaped cake pan that I've had longer than my oldest child, this year we broke with tradition and had cupcakes.

Super yummy, and yes, from a box, Cupcakes.

But not quite by the box directions
No eggs, no oil, no water.
Instead -
-twelve ounces of spiced apple cider
(a local orchard sells it cold pressed with all the spices added)
-one half cup salted mixed nuts

cook according to box directions until they look like this



When they cool melt two hershey bars in the microwave
(kitchen goddess that I am I used a paper cup for this task)
drizzle melted chocolate onto cooled cupcakes..

looking yummy, but not quite yummy enough



ooooh whipped cream. Now they're YUMMY!



Especially since my younger brother and his wife sent an edible arrangement as a gift.
Now that is love on a plate.

Hope your Valentines Day was as yummy and full of love as ours was.

I worked all day and now I have to Cook Soup

Three easy ingredients to start
Unsalted Vegetable Stock
One can of lentils - rinsed and drained
One bag of frozen mixed veggies
(broccoli, corn, carrots, water chestnuts,
red peppers, onions, mushrooms,
in this particular bag)





plus 12ozs water
and a bunch of fresh kale
all thrown together in a pot



simmered through the time it takes for first grade homework

mmmm - soup is good food
we added red pepper flakes and/or curry to taste



served with sourdough bread and apple cider



kid approved easy meal for working moms to make! (dads too!)

I Hear the Pipes Calling

I Hear the Pipes Calling, originally uploaded by marcydebbie.

This necklace and matching bracelet feature WWII Military buttons as accents....I was working on them at a craft fair when an older women came up to me and asked me what I was making, I showed her and I explained that I use old clothing, blankets, etc...for materials. In these particular pieces all of the buttons where vintage, and when buying a pound of buttons at a local thrift shop I found some Airforce buttons from the second world war in the bag.
She took a look at them and sighed...she had grown up in Occupied France, had to make her own clothing out of whatever she could get her hands on, including a skirt for school made out of a pair of her dad's pants. He was not happy. After the liberation she dated and married a man from the USAF and eventually moved to America with him. Now a widow she still lives in her adopted home, near her children, and grandchildren.
We traded a pair of my earrings for one of her pins..Sometimes it's not about the money you make but the people you meet. And the memories they share. Thanks Marie.

Bare trees in Winter Necklace

Bare trees in Winter Necklace, originally uploaded by marcydebbie.

More new necklaces...antique shell buttons on this one...

Giving the Gift of Beauty

Maxwell Mays - artist, illustrator, and very nice man, lived in the same town as me.
He owned almost three hundred acres of woodland with some streams and a beautiful pond, Carr's Pond, named after the family who farmed the land over a hundred and fifty years ago. Mr. Mays was always generous with his talent, his time, and his extra-ordinary backyard, letting people walk through, or fish. Several years before his death in 2009 he deeded his property to the Audubon Society of RI. This month it opened. This day I went walking there with my two youngest. We hiked, drew pictures in our nature journal, got our feet wet, and went home tired. Lucky me, this is only about two miles from my house.

One of our hiking games is this
the kids give me a list of words or phrases
then I have ten minutes to write a poem,
So here it is

Barefeet in October



I like the kitchen in the little green house.
It's a cool place
with a fireplace and a dock
so we can hang our barefeet in the water.



the leaves are magic
color changing
reflecting in the pond
a wonderful warm Indian Summer
October Day



ssshhh! the wind in the trees
the motorcycles miles away
the splash of barefeet
how can the water be so warm
so late
fall forgot the clouds and the cold



there's even an outhouse at the edge of the wood
like the one in New Hampshire when I was a kid
splashing my feet in the water
on a different dock
on a different day
just like this one.



What a gift to have lived a life making art, sharing beauty,
then finding a way to continue that after death.



They'll grow up mindful of the beauty around them.
Thank You Maxwell Mays

A boy, an Anniversary, and a Poem to Remember September by.

On September 11, 2001, I was at my mom's house cleaning out mine and my brothers old rooms, fixing them up for my son Gabe and I. We had been living with my mom for over a year by then, it just took me that long to accept my relationship with his dad was truly over and this was home. I was tiptoeing around the detritus of childhood that my brothers and I had left in the basement of mom and dad's. The day before I had stepped on a fishing hook, which embedded itself in my big toe, one stitch, one afternoon at the ER, and one Tetanus shot later I was back to cleaning. Gabe was helping in the way that a three year old helps, looking forward to a new room painted the apple green he had picked out - and looking forward most of all to the big boy bed we had put on lay-away the week before.

My mom yelled, "come here, you have to see this." in the sort of tone that conveys urgency and disbelief. She was watching the Today show, like we always did, and a plane had just flown into the World Trade Center. Seemingly by accident, but no, minutes later we all knew it was no accident. I sat like so many other people that day in fear and worry, wondering if anyone I knew had been hurt or killed. Fortunately not. To this day I wonder about a NYC fireman I had met on the way home from vacation a few weeks earlier, he was behind me in line at a Dunkin' Donuts in Massachusetts, a long line, the poor girl at the counter was having one of those days where everything that can go wrong does. He had the whole store in stitches, funny, outgoing guy, he diffused the grumpiness with a couple of one liners that I've long since forgotten. I never knew his name, I hope he is alive and well somerwhere making someone else smile on their bad day.

In the weeks that followed I watched my little boy build towers out of whatever toys he had at hand and knock them down. He learned the words to God Bless America and would sing it everywhere we went. He remembered the victims in his prayers and I struggled to answer the far too grown up questions about why people would do such a thing. Questions that segued into questions about war as he watched his cousin get ready to go to Iraq the following year. Ten years later he still has a lot of questions.

I hadn't thought he was paying attention to the anniversary, my teenager, who's just taller than me. I assumed his thoughts were occupied by more boyish pursuits, like eighth grade, girls, and video games. I was wrong, and once again I'm surprised and pleased by the compassion and depth of feeling he possesses for the world around him.

These are his words, his remembrance, and I send it out to world. A few days late on my part, but no less heartfelt for that:


To those who were lost this mourning day;
I'll take a moment to stand and say,
Your lives were certainly not lost in vain,
... Not even leaving eternal pain,
The towers fell across New York's face,
... Smoke and rubble all over the place,
but the lives that were lost, remember me,
We'll never forget the lives of thee.
9/11/11.

Gabe 9/11/11