Happy New Year & A Short Winter's Tale.

My friends, I hope your winter break is going swimmingly and that your holidays are full of love and laughter and just enough cookie dough and champagne. I have decided to spend my vacation (mostly) away from my computer and either out in the world having adventures or quietly making things in the studio. To that end, our first CA Christmas was adorned with a handmade pair of upcycled stockings. (Two thrifted wool skirts found their new calling hanging from our bookshelf.)

My mister chose the fabric for the inside: A bit of red ticking stripe I've been carting around since college.

A short winter's tale wouldn't be complete without a cozy-looking Ms. Stella Isabella.

My sweetie got a new hat this Christmas, knit by yours truly. The best part? That brown wool is from the Wensleydale sheep we tended on the world's most wonderful farm in Southern England. About three years ago we spent a few weeks in the UK complete with two weeks as WWOOF volunteers on an organic sheep farm. The very, very best part? These Wensleydales are naturally that dark shade of brown, no dye needed.

Along with the "making" comes the baking, in my book. A pear-apple pie for Christmas dinner and a chocolate pie for an upcoming New Year's party.

Yum, yum.

I've been snuggling up with these beloved craft books, full of great techniques and inspirations and lovely handmade things: Denyse Schmidt, Lena Corwin, Lotta Jansdotter, Natalie Chanin.

I have a patchwork scarf in-progress, courtesy of the incredibly inspiring Denyse Schmidt. One day I will get up the courage to make the commitment to craft one of her quilts. But for now, I'm happy to cut and stitch away at this much smaller commitment.

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Oh, and before I go...I made this little New Year's card for you. I mailed out a handful of winter greetings but made this digital version just for you. I wish you a very happy 2010! This holiday happens to be one of my very favorites because...well...because...eh hem...because New Year's Day is my birthday! xoxo

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Happy Wintery Merry

(A few pretty packages tied up with string.)

(New small print, it reads: "Happy Holidats/ I mean/ Holidays")

(My loot from the recent SF Renegade: Krank Press, Linea Carta, and MaryInk. Two other favorites that are requiring me to save my pennies up: Hilary Williams and Hillery Rebeka Sproatt. Swoon, swoon.)

(Still flowers at the farmer's market: I heart CA.)

(I also heart satsuma.)

(One more hat to knit by Christmas, clink, clink.)

(Small wonder.)

(A new print for someone special. It reads, "My sweet, for you. Happily begin...")

(I can't get enough of that pretty blur.)

(Ms. Stella wishes you a Happy Holiday, she just told me so.)

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My dear friends, Happy Winter Solstice!

Now the season has officially turned and we will start the tip back towards longer days here in the Northern Hemisphere. I often mark the season by the food, the blossoms, the sunlight, the holidays, the special birthdays, the natural and imposed rhythms, colors, smells, tastes, and sounds that mark the specific time of year. Here in CA, winter means citrus and lettuce and, of course, beloved roots. It means rain and rain boots and raincoats interspersed with breathtaking blue skies. This year it also means a first tree, a slew of pretty white lights and brown paper packages, and a stretch of time away from the office and into the studio.

A few more days and then my almost-two week break from the office will begin. I'll be filling it with carefully planned meals with dear CA friends, gift-giving with my sweet husband, a print project that needs some quiet time, a long list of crafty projects that have been waiting patiently in the wings, and slow mornings followed by wide-open afternoons and evenings. Sigh. I can't remember the last time Christmas felt so quiet. Every other Christmas has been full of rush, push, push but this time it's sounding more like swoosh, woosh, woosh. (With that sound I imagine a chimney with the wind tumbling towards the fire, my feet cozy in slippers, my lap covered in a crochet afghan, the windows pressing to keep the cold outside.)

Dear friends, Happy Holidays to you this season! Wishing you a Happy Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, and general Happily Merry Merry.

December, I'm Yours.

("Make a Wish", added to my shop for a little holiday spirit.)

(to illuminate, to let.)

(sweet light, december.)

("I Wish for You", in the shop, a bit of cheer.)

(over my shoulder, shine.)

(sparkle wonder.)

(hush.)

(special garland, by wren handmade.)

(bits & baubles.)

(so pretty in pink.)

(Italian sesame cookies, vanishing as I type.)

(pretty peace by YeeHaw Press.)

Hello dear friends. As promised, I'm back this week with a full surrender to all things wintery December. I suppose, in some ways, December is the sweetest of the winter months. The most full of emotion, of promise, of reflection, of a new horizon looming just out there on the very first days of January. I've had a turn of heart and I'm fully embracing the cold days, the Christmas shopping frenzy, the baking, the decorating, the general holiday making. Yes: December, I'm all yours, sorry I arrived a little bit later.

I find that the holidays bring up a slew of old and new emotions for just about anyone I meet. Do you find this to be true? It seems that somewhere in our childhood memories we are all laced with hefty feelings around the holidays and with the recognition of the traditions of the people around us. And those feelings seem to seep into our adulthoods whether packaged in excitement, anxiety, grief, guilt, belonging, kinship, or celebration. I think this is part of the reason why December seems to catch me off guard each year, that surprising nudge that the holidays are also so very tender and full of feeling.

So, I've found myself reclaiming the holidays this year. We have our first ever Christmas tree dotted with delicate vintage glass bulbs, strands of tiny white lights, and very special handmade garland. We've strung the same little white lights around the living room and kitchen, happy to maneuver through the evening hours with this low pretty lighting. And for the first time in several years, I have carefully picked my wrappings and ribbons, already written my holiday cards to faraway friends, and might even make my own holly leaf stamps for the brown kraft paper. I'm now scouring books and websites for favorite patterns for a handmade Christmas tree skirt or hanging stockings. (Any suggestions?)

We have decided to stay put this holiday season. For the first time in 33 years, I'm not going to be at my mom's house on Christmas morning. And while I'm saddened at the thought of being away from my beloved NY family, there's also a bit of holiday playfulness perking up around our apartment, surprising us with newly invigorated excitement, a whole new set of "firsts" to guide us through the emotional terrain of Christmas. Perhaps I'm just getting a little bit older, softening at the edges as I go, realizing the warmth in some of the things I've forgotten to notice along the way... Hello, pretty little vintage ornaments, welcome to our first California Christmas.

One More Minute of Autumn

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Our trip was short and sweet and wonderful and left me wanting more. Brooklyn and Manhattan are even prettier than in my memory; our friends dearer and now even more deeply missed; the streets more full of sparkly magic; the food and browsing and gawking even more delicious; and the pulsing creative heart of that city, even more inspiring. "I Heart New York", there's no other way to say it.

And our epic Thanksgiving feast for 45 was, indeed, epic and amazing and ever-so-tender with adults and children sitting on steps, sofas, benches, chairs, and porches to eat the traditional feast. Just as quickly, we were back to our equally pretty city by the Bay but with no internet connection at home and me with a nasty winter cold. Ick. But I am on the mend and November has made the full plunge to December, which continues to surprise me every single year.

Every year, it is suddenly December and I'm astonished that I didn't see it coming. I have dozens of photos I haven't shared with you, a new series of linoleum prints in-progress, and a show approaching in January. But instead, I just want to take a moment to linger with the colors and longing sunlight of autumn before I take the full winter plunge. Just one more minute to savor autumn's romance, to notice the days growing shorter, the produce turning to gourds and roots and apples, the knitting needles returning to their spot by the sofa preparing for their big show with Christmas hats and scarves.

Just one moment, I promise, and then I will jump with both feet into the magical month of December, full of things that twinkle and sparkle and shine.