I smell Fall already. One of the birch trees out my kitchen window has shifted from green to orange in three days. My girl is waiting for the UPS man who is supposed to deliver a Captain Phasma costume -- because, you know, Halloween is only 2 months away -- and I'm mourning the fact that I got worked and worked and worked and worked until I gave in and bought the damned thing from Target.com, which goes against everything I try really hard to stand for as a parent and a human, like refusing to be marketed to by large corporations or purchasing factory-made items that may or may not involve fair labor practices. And plastic? Don't get me started. And characters from movies that my child hasn't even seen but has heard enough about to think she wants to emulate?
Can't you wear the princess dress? Or the spotted kitty hood and paws I made last year? Can't you be a spotted princess kitty? With paws?
It makes a person want to pick up and move really far away from the rest of the world. But I can attest that even that maneuver doesn't make much difference.
Other things, besides innocence and summer are also waning: like the open call for vintage linens for the Inheritance Project. The gathering portion of this work will end on September 30, so if you feel called to be a part of this doily-centric craziness, please contact me and/or send your Envelope/Padded Envelope/Shoebox/Box of Mystery up North. My mother is arriving next week and I'm enlisting her Scandinavian skill set for Phase 2: The Laundering-Ironing-Sorting Extravaganza.
And I have plans for my dad, too.
(Shhhh, he doesn't know about those plans yet.)
Now for the contributors who make up the 15th Boxes of Mystery:
Artist in Anchorage, Alaska, sometimes blogging about the collision of history, family & art, with the understanding that none exists without the other.