French Friday #31: Magical scarves and the evil breeze

The French are known for being particularly stylish and for seeming to achieve that without effort. As though it’s in their genes. It may be. (Apart from the goofy man-capris that young men seem to like.) One accessory a French person is almost never without is a scarf. Be it winter, spring, summer, or fall, there are scarves for all occasions and seasons. Aside from pulling an outfit together, did you know that French scarves also have magical properties? Oh yes, its true. Magical healing properties. You may look at your own humble scarf in a different light after this. But first, let’s take a look at the evil breeze.

The French people cannot abide a breeze, or courant d’air. It’s not fear of any pestilence that the wind might be carrying along, it’s the very air itself that incites such panic. Malevolent, moving air has the power to strike you down and surely render you a feeble, rheumy mess of a human being. Serious measures must be taken to ensure that the slightest puff of air does not penetrate any home or building. If you’ve ever traveled in France during the summer and wondered at the lack of air conditioning, even when the populace is visibly sweltering, now you know why. There are a few restaurants who, understanding that they cater to tourists, will install a small window unit in a far corner of their establishment and then turn it on at the very lowest setting (so as not to induce terror in the rest of their patrons). Even so, your French server will inevitably attempt to steer you away from the air conditioning, suggesting several other tables because surely no person in his right mind would want to sit by a machine that actually blows air directly on you! Quelle horreur!

Summer meal with friends. We were not allowed to sit by the window or AC.

Mr. Gren and I participated in a gospel choir through our church while living in France. It was a great draw for the community. The choir was 100+ strong and we had rehearsal in the small sanctuary of our church, formerly a carpenter’s workshop. When you pack a room that full of people, the air begins to get a little dense, even in winter. Once the temperature had risen to an uncomfortable height, a Brit or an American would quietly crack open a window in the back. Relief never lasted for long because as soon as the French choir members felt the slightest whiff of air, a cackling clamor arose as though we had just let a fox into the henhouse. It really was an interesting social experiment: Open the window and watch the French people climb over each other in order to shut it as quickly as possible. After that we would leave it closed because, well, “When in Rome…”

Our church, Emmanuel International in Rueil. Note the two offending windows between the cross.

Now, obviously, in a country with architecture as old as France has, not every building is airtight. Enter the magical scarf. The scarf will prevent any rogue currents from attacking your neck, which, in the French mindset, is the gateway to health or illness. Another interesting social observation was to watch and see who left their scarves on indoors, despite having shed their coat upon entering. This was almost always a clue that said person was either 1) already suffering from a cold or 2) felt one coming on and wanted to be sure to ward it off. I always found it a little funny in an endearing sort of way when, if I asked French friends how they were doing, they would point at their scarf and reply that they had a cold or sore throat, as though the mere fact of them wearing a scarf should have made that obvious to me upon sight. When we saw our friends a week later and noticed that they took off the scarf with the coat, it could be safely assumed that they were feeling better. Always a good sign.

How the temp could rise when this place got packed

I found it funny, but it turns out that it may not be as quirky as it first seemed. A couple of years ago, I was researching natural remedies for sore throats and found an interesting treatment prominently featuring… a wool scarf. But, it is not the scarf itself which promotes the healing; rather it is the carrot poultice that is applied to the neck. Carrot apparently has properties that draw toxins from the lymph nodes, alleviating the pain of a sore throat. With the poultice against the neck, the scarf is then wrapped around to it hold the poultice wrap on and also to generate heat. It was weird enough that I decided to give it a try. And you know what? It worked. It sounds like the sort of thing a backwoods great-grandma would do, which got me thinking. An old folk remedy like this has probably been around for centuries. Somewhere in the French collective consciousness is a vague memory of it. As time passed, the carrots slipped out, transferring the memory of healing properties to the scarf itself.

This was mid-June. Spot the sick French person.

This is just my theory, mind you, but it seems to me to be a good one. It would be interesting to visit small French country villages and conduct a sort of survey to see if there is anyone who still remembers the carrot + scarf antidote. But I would be considerate and not dare touch a window lest I throw those French country mamies into a frenzy. Scarf or no, you don’t invite a courant d’air inside.

Edited to add: Mr. Gren reminded me of one of the funnier things that happens when the French are confronted with a courant d’air. While they’re clambering over each other to close the window, there are always at least a couple people exclaiming, “Ça tire! Ça tire!” — “It’s pulling!” As though the breeze were going to suck out their very souls. Who knows, maybe it would?

Expanding my German vocabulary

Before moving to France, my German vocabulary consisted of about three phrases: “schnell,” “Guten Tag,” and “Heil, Hitler.” Apparently I learned it from World War II movies. Oh wait, there was also “Danke Schoen.” I guess I can thank Wayne Newton for that one. Once we were in France, we had to make a couple of trips to Germany, so I was compelled to learn a few more phrases. Helpful things like, “Ich spreche keine deutsch.” (I don’t speak German). German has never been high up on my language-learning totem pole. But I recently learned a new phrase that is kind of fun: holz hausen. “Holtz how-zen.” My understanding is that it means “wood house.” Like, a house for wood.

A few weeks ago we got slammed with an ice storm that took down trees and limbs like crazy. (German for tree: baum. Thank you, Christmas songs).

Frosty lives to see another day

This monster fell across our driveway, all the way across our neighbor’s yard into their driveway, where it smashed the back of their car. The neighbor took his chainsaw to it a few days later, which resulted in this:

Heap o' wood

We didn’t want to store it up on the porch, because that’s where we keep our seasoned firewood and obviously this stuff is very, very green. I don’t even know how I came across it, but I found an article on a unique way to stack firewood that apparently originated in the mountains of Germany and Switzerland. (German for mountain: berg That one I must have learned through osmosis). Enter, the holz hausen. I showed Mr. Gren the article and he liked it, so we decided to construct one. Right after Mr. Gren split all that wood.

Foundation

First, we made a 7′ diameter ring with scrap lumber and lined the inside with bark to keep the wood up off the ground.

Ring around the... pole.

Then we started stacking the split logs around the ring, one layer at a time. More or less.

Das ist gut.

Once it was about three feet high, we dropped in several more splits to fill up the middle, then laid two poles across for stability while building the next story. But Mr. Gren needed to split more wood and wasn’t up to doing any more that day. A couple of days later, he was feeling especially industrious and split the remaining wood and finished up the rest of the holz hausen all by himself.

Little hut

Complete with bark shingled roof to help keep out the rain

Isn’t it cute? It ended up being a little over 6′ tall. The wood won’t be ready to burn for several months, but in the meanwhile, this is a nifty way to store it. And we all learned some German to boot. Tschüss!

Get used to disappointment

I love Cary Elwes (Except in “Twister” because his Southern accent was lousy and he was a bad guy). It’s ok; Mr. Gren knows. I especially love him when he’s being all suave and dashing. I mean, how could I not? His name is Welsh, he’s got those eyes, and that smirk, and that voice and… {sigh}. What was I talking about? Oh, right. And of course, “The Princess Bride” is the most quotable of all his films. Today I direct your attention to the famous sword fight scene with Inigo Montoya. Do I need to set it up for you? Really, shame on you. Go watch it. I always loved the dialogue when Inigo asks, “Who are you?” and Westley replies, “No one of consequence.” Inigo insists, “I must know!” only to be met with the flippant, “Get used to disappointment.” Inigo ponders this for a second and then gives an amiable shrug.

Cling! Clang!

I’ve come to the recent conclusion that I, too, must get used to disappointment. Not in dueling (because I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t even last long enough to be disappointed), but in crafting. I know you’re probably all sick of hearing about my power outage, but it really did something to me. A couple of days before we lost power, I noticed that I don’t have a stocking hat. I have a beret that I wear through the winter (which is October through about April here), but it doesn’t cover my ears. And some days that is a real necessity. So I began knitting myself a stocking hat with a leftover skein of Homespun yarn. The power went out and I huddled up next to the window with my knitting board and kept stitching. I didn’t finish it until after the power came back on several days later. I sure could have used it as we sat freezing in our 45 degree cabin. I also wouldn’t have been able to see.

It might be a bit big

The cuff is supposed to start about where the pink is, but if you look closely, you can tell that that’s where my nose is. I don’t see through my nose.

Cuffed all the way to the top of my head and it still threatens to fall over my eyes

It calls to mind the first stocking hat I knitted on my knitting board about a year ago this time. It’s not any better.

Warm? Yes. Wearable? No.

So technically, I possess two stocking hats, but apparently I knit for Goliath. Or Andre the Giant.

I put the hat away and tried a different knitting project — a scarf similar to the pine tree scarf I made a couple months ago. This time I wanted to make a heart scarf.

Looks nice, feels scratchy

This wasn’t my first choice of yarn. Turns out my instincts were correct: it just doesn’t feel nice at all. And nobody wants to wear a scratchy scarf, no matter how cute. So I pulled it off the needles and stuffed into my yarn bin and put away the knitting board. Time to try something else.

I began sewing an Easter bonnet for Granota. I know it’s early, but I thought, if it turns out nice, I can make a few more for my etsy store. It turned out… passable. She loves it, so I won’t tell her all the things that are wrong with it. Of course, I can’t make something for one girl and not make the identical item for the other girl. I started sewing Rana’s bonnet and called over Granota for a fitting since Rana was at school. It didn’t fit her. I tried it on Konik and it didn’t fit him, either. How do I use the same pattern and end up with such drastically different results? I had enough seam allowance that I was able to let it out enough to eventually fit Konik’s head. I wish I had pictures of his face when I would try it on him. Even at 2 years old, he knows that is a girl hat and he wanted no part of it. It was pretty funny. In the end, I turned out a sweet little bonnet that I can’t use for my children.

Modeled so nicely by my tailor's ham, which didn't put up a fuss

Come on, now, something has got to work out one of these times. Next project was to crochet little cuffs to sew on the bottom of Rana’s pants. Remember all those clothes I made her at the beginning of the school year? Yeah, she’s outgrown them. Her pants are too short and we have no money, so I thought I could use what I already have. I measured around the hem of her pants, then got out my crochet stitch book, chose a stitch and started crocheting up a nice little decorative cuff. I used crochet thread and a size B hook. I was pleased with how it turned out and got right to work on the second one.

There might be a size discrepancy here.

Same number of stitches and yet… So I started a third one. Three different times. Tightened my tension and it would still turn out too big. I can’t even begin to explain what is happening here. I thought I would have all this great stuff to show you after the little scare with my computer (which has been behaving itself of late, so we’ll see…) and I can’t properly finish anything. I’ve gone through the stages of confusion and frustration, so now I’m left with disappointment. But y’know, it’s so much easier to take when I imagine Cary Elwes telling me to get used to it. Anything for you, Cary.

French Friday #30: The king wuz here

Whew! It has been a little while since we’ve had a French Friday, hasn’t it? Here’s a fun one! (As usual, all photos are mine).

Every king needs a healthy dose of megalomania, right? The French kings weren’t lacking, that’s for sure. They were awfully fond of their building projects, and wanted to be certain that everyone knew who was behind it. What better way than to carve your name in stone? Names can get long, though, so initials or symbols serve the same purpose.

Queen mom and son at Ste. Chappelle in Paris.

Under the relief carvings of the book of Genesis on the upper porch of Sainte Chappelle, you see this castle and fleur-de-lis motif repeated. The castle represents Blanche de Castile, who served as regent for her son Louis IX (St. Louis), represented by the fleur-de-lis. These same images are also used on the floor tiles in the lower level of the church.

François 1st really kicked off the building party during the Renaissance. He was tired of living in drafty fortresses and decided that a king of his ilk needed something more magnificent. So he had the entire Louvre razed to the ground and built himself a new one. But that wasn’t enough, so he also commissioned the château at Fontainebleau. And Chambord. And several others. The man liked the good life. His personal symbol was the salamander, which hardly seems very kingly. But back in François’ time, the salamander was believed to be akin to dragons. Now we’re talking! That explains why you will see fire-breathing salamanders wherever François spent any time. François’ monogram was a double F, one often mirroring the other for symmetry. He also made sure that it graced all of his new construction.

François' golden F's and flaming salamander in Fontainebleau

 

That's one fierce salamander. Stone relief in Vincennes.

After Francois, came Henri II. He has one of the most recognizable monograms and one of the best stories behind it.

Look closely at the chandelier and ceiling and upper walls

On the chandelier, there are blue medallions with an H and three interlocking C’s alternating around. The H is obviously for Henri and the C’s are for his wife, Catherine de’ Medici. But the most famous of Henri’s monograms is the one just over the window at the left. The DHC.

A little clearer in black & white

Inexplicably, this is the only photo I have of this particular monogram, even though it was repeated with abandon throughout Fontainebleau and the Louvre, among several other châteaux. The H is visible in the center, flanked by forward and backward-facing C’s. Well, that’s what Henri told his wife. But if you look more closely, you’ll see that the “backward C” is, in fact, a D, which stood for Diane. That’s right — the other woman. Diane de Poitiers was Henri’s mistress, and there was no secret about it. She enjoyed such an important distinction at court that Henri had no qualms in incorporating her into his monogram all over France.

The next few kings also had monograms which are visible in the royal palaces, but no one was quite so full of himself as Louis XIV. Besides all the old places where he could build on additions and new wings, he also built Versailles, possibly for the sole purpose of putting his name everywhere. Ok, not really, but Louis XIV wanted to be in everyone’s head all the time. His monogram is the mirrored script L and his symbol is the sun, because he likened himself to Apollo.

Louie Louie! Floor at Les Invalides (unfortunately taken upside down. Whoops! But I flipped it so you could see the L's).

 

Bright and shiny as the sun. Main gate at Versailles.

Of course, history’s biggest megalomaniac left plenty of evidence of himself. Would you expect anything less? You’ll find N’s everywhere in Paris. Napoleon definitely left his mark. The subsequent revolutions and reinstatement of the monarchy erased a few and replaced them with their own symbols. Once again, I remember taking photos of at least a few of these N’s, but can’t seem to find them in my photo folder. You’ll have to take my word for it. Or better yet, take a trip to Paris, and snap a few shots yourself! I should start making lists of things I need to photograph whenever I do get to go back… But I digress.

Louis XVIII, post Napoleon, scraped off the N's, but left the Napoleonic lion. Hm. (Louvre)

 

Not to be outdone, the new République Française made sure to put its stamp on the Louvre.

So here’s a French-inspired craft project for all of you: Go brand your own house. Don’t they say, “a man’s home is his castle”? Well, that makes you king (or queen). And don’t let anyone forget it.

 

 

Technical Difficulties

I wish I could say this post was just about learning a new crochet stitch or something. Unfortunately, it’s actual technology causing me problems.

The other night, my laptop started fizzling, crackling, popping, maybe some snapping thrown in there, too. I shut it down in a hurry. When Mr. Gren got home that night, I showed him where the noise had emanated. He sighed and said, “That’s the mother board.” Three cheers for an expense we can’t afford right now! Hip, hip, nevermind. Currently, I am using Mr. Gren’s laptop, which is also on its last leg. It has all kinds of fun lines across the screen, and sometimes, if you’re really lucky, the screen never wakes up at all and you’re just left staring at a dismal black rectangle. I don’t know how long I’m going to be offline. I don’t know when we’ll be able to get a new computer. Mr. Gren’s dream job as part-time minimum wage cashier at the home improvement store surprisingly doesn’t rake in a lot of cash. In the meanwhile, I guess I’ll have lots of time to finish up some of the projects I’ve got going on around here, so I should have plenty of material for posts whenever I do get to come back. Until then… go do some fearless crafting of your own and stay tuned for the grand re-opening. Maybe I’ll do something fun with lots of fanfare. Ciao.

French Friday #29: Il court, il court le furet

Today has not gone as planned. If King Midas had the golden touch, then today I had the touch of decay and demise. There weren’t any major catastrophes, more just a series of disappointments and frustrations that ultimately resulted in nothing productive to show for my day. And it would have been so good! Blah. I guess we gotta let those days just roll off our backs. I briefly debated just flaking out on French Friday, but that would have been like three weeks in a row (although I think the first two that I missed had more valid excuses). So I will not flake out on you. I had a good post, but I can’t find the pictures I needed for it, so it’s being shelved for another time. Which is a bummer, because I liked that one. But I shall forge ahead and give you something French while it is still Friday. Good thing I’m on Pacific time ’cause I’ve still got another three hours.

I’ll probably never have another chance to use these photos because they don’t fit any particular theme. You’ll see in a minute. First, you should know that they were taken in the Museum Carnavalet. It has nothing to do with the carnival, but everything to do with the history of Paris. It is housed in an old mansion in the Marais district. There are old store shingles (signs, not roofing tiles) from the 1600s-1800s, maps of the city in its various stages, paintings of the city from different eras, rooms reconstructed from other mansions, and a variety of objets-d’art and other things that don’t fit neatly into any category. Like the pictures you’re about to see.

But first, a decoy picture so that my whole post isn’t spoiled when it goes up on Facebook with a little telltale thumbnail.

Hôtel Carnavalet

Here is the interior courtyard of the Hôtel Carnavalet. It is not a hotel. “Hôtel” means mansion. It’s difficult to get a photo from the true outside of the building because the streets are so narrow, but here you get to see the lovely garden with the extremely manicured miniature hedges. Inside this stunning building are all of the treasures I’ve already mentioned, and then, there’s this…

Everyone needs a taxidermied ferret diorama.

As you would naturally assume, such a jewel is lovingly housed in a glass case. Can’t have your ferrets getting dusty. At least, we think they’re ferrets. The faces don’t look quite right, but they were about the right size overall. I shudder to think what else they might be. From left to right, we have the Society Lady Ferret dressed in her finest velvet robe with a spectacular hat; the Tinker Ferret reaching for his tiny little mallet to… who knows? Maybe the table leg is wobbly and needs fixing. Third, is the Blacksmith Ferret, fashioning a horseshoe with his bare hands (paws?), which may explain the gruesome expression on his face. And lastly is the Wizard/Dunce Ferret. It’s hard to be sure. And is that a baseball bat at his feet? I really don’t understand this. I also have no explanation for the glass tubes placed throughout the display or the questionable spots on the floor. There was no sign on this work of nightmares art to give any hint as to its origins, purpose, or what the heck it has to do with the history of Paris.

And just in case you need a different angle to enjoy these cuddly little guys:

Ils ne courent plus, ces furets

There is an old French children’s song called “Il court il court le furet” — The ferret runs. This is usually one of the very first songs high school French students learn. It’s catchy, it’s easy, and it comes with a little game.

Il court, il court, le furet
Le furet des bois, mesdames
Il court, il court, le furet
Le furet des bois jolis
Il est passé par ici
Il repassera par là
Qui l’a?

He runs, he runs, the ferret
The ferret of the woods, my ladies
He runs, he runs, the ferret
The ferret of the lovely woods
He went this way
He’ll come back that way
Who has him?

I would gladly sing this to you all, but alas, I have not the means. I do, however, have youtube links. For your listening pleasure:

A weirdly creepy version befitting our wee friends up above. (With lousy picture quality, also befitting our dodgy photos)

A partitioned choral version.

A more traditional version with “animation.”

You’re welcome.

I filled a page!

In my Etsy store, that is. It’s been a long time coming, it seems. I really need to pick up the pace. But I am pretty proud of what I’ve got in there so far. This week I added five sets of cloth napkins and three aprons.

I’m a sucker for fruit prints. A few years ago, I decided that our family needed to do away with paper napkins and all the mess and waste they create. I found fabric with oranges and with grapes and fell in love with them. I decorate my kitchen in blue and yellow, so I obviously wasn’t following any kind of color theme in choosing them. But I think the vibrant colors of the fruits can go with any decor. They’re fun! My family has been using those same oranges and grapes napkins (with the semi-recent addition of blueberries) ever since and the colors are still as bright as ever, even going through hot water washes. I’ve never had a problem with the dyes bleeding, either, although I wouldn’t recommend washing them with your whites!

I love the style of this apron with the reverse sailor collar. This pattern was kind of strange to put together at first, but it all makes sense now. The collar snaps in the back and then it ties at the waist, too.You can’t help but feel a little sassy wearing it.

I’ve made this heart apron before for a craft swap on craftster a few years back. It was fun to do again and I know I did a better job on it this time around. That’s the fun thing about sewing the same pattern more than once: you can see how your skills have improved!

This one I love! Apron with built-in potholders?! Genius! The pattern said to sew the diagonal part of the potholder down all the way. But I could tell right away that doing so would result in many dropped dishes; there was no way to use the potholder portion without it slipping. So instead, I sewed the bottom half of the diagonal line, leaving an opening to insert your hands. Now they work kind of like oven mitts. Another thing that I will change the next time I do this is to bind all of the edges of the apron and potholders in bias tape instead of trying to sew them wrong sides together and fold it back out. Once you have three layers of batting and four layers of fabric, you’ve got a lot of thickness to deal with. I ended up topstitching around the outer corners of the potholders to help hold them down where they wanted to turn back inside-out. Thanks to my friend, Rebekah, for all the great photos!

If you, personally, don’t need aprons or napkins or assorted baby things that I have in my store, maybe you know someone who does. Pass it on, if you do!

I’ve just completed a prototype Easter bonnet for Granota and learned a lot in the process. It’s not as perfect as I’d like it to be, but I plan on correcting those small mistakes when I make Rana’s next. Hopefully after that one, I’ll have it figured out and can move on to the ones I want to put up in my shop. I’ll post about them next week.

Survival of the most prepared

I suppose I’ve always had a bit of a survivalist instinct in me. I remember as a kid, sitting in my room, planning for the end of the world or some other catastrophe and deciding that the bathroom was probably the best room in the house to be. There’s water, you could pad the tub with towels and make a nice bed, and there was toothpaste to eat. I may not have thought that scenario all the way through… My plans have grown in sophistication since then and, while I’m not where I’d like to be as far as disaster preparedness is concerned, it is a lot better than counting on toothpaste for sustenance. The recent power outage brought to light (in the midst of the darkness, ha!) just exactly where we were lacking.  I also had plenty of time to reflect on how much knowledge has been lost thanks to our modern conveniences. Face it — we’re pansies. And ignorant ones at that.

Mr. Gren hauling up river water to flush the toilets.

The day before the power went out, I had just finished reading “Little House on the Prairie” to the girls. When we first started the series, shortly before moving to the cabin, I had pointed out to the girls the way that the Ingalls did things that are different than how we do them nowadays. More people have lived without electricity in the whole history of the world than currently live with it and the human race didn’t die off for lack of toasters or hair dryers (solution to both: Fire). Rana was ready to smoke meat in a log and wash our clothes in the river months ago. While dipping my hands in glacier water is not my first choice of ways to spend a day, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. And there are better “primitive” ways of doing laundry than that, too.

Melting a pot full of snow to use for washing hands and dishes.

I started making a list of things that would have been helpful during those four days. In the case of laundry, we could put that off, but if we were going to truly prepare for a prolonged outage or a Volcano-Tsunami-Earthquake Trifecta (oh yeah, we get it all in the PNW), a large washtub would come in handy for a lot of things. While I did manage to cook a few meals in the fireplace with my solitary cast iron skillet, it was not an ideal situation. As imposing as that fireplace is, it’s not really set up for cooking. In order to really make it work, the mouth would need to be much larger to accomodate a hook and arm and so I could see what the heck I was doing. My family appreciated the warm pancakes I made, but they came out looking like Othello chips, although I think they tasted better, especially with butter and maple syrup. The cabin would have stayed a lot warmer if it were smaller, like the Ingalls’. If the well had a hand pump, we would have had less trouble getting water. Lots to contemplate for the day we get to move into our own house, whenever that may be.

No grill? No problem. I used my cookie cooling rack. It's a little worse for the wear now, but it served its purpose well.

So what business does all this survivalist-apocalypse talk have on a crafting blog? Creativity is the link. It takes a certain amount of creativity to figure out how to cook, read, and wash up with no power. What do you eat? How do you stay warm? How do you provide clothing and blankets? It’s that can-do attitude that so many crafters possess that has helped progress civilization as we know it. Something that began as a necessity (ie. I need a covering to stay warm), evolved from mere utilitarianism into works of art (intricate afghans and colorful quilts). I enjoy making things for the challenge of seeing if I can do it and also to see if I can improve some aspect of our lives through my craft or innovation, and then bring a bit of beauty to our home in the process. The “simple living” movement has tapped into this growing realization that centuries worth of knowledge has fallen by the wayside. Self-sufficiency isn’t goofy. Maybe you will never need to put up food for the winter or mend a pair of shoes to make them last, but wouldn’t it be good to have that knowledge, just in case?

Ich liebe mein liebster

My new friend Lisa over at yarnchick40 surprised me with a Liebster blog award! Isn’t it cute?

We’ve been getting to know each other a bit over the past few months. She has a great eye for color, awesome skills with a crochet hook and never fails to make me laugh. Thanks, Lisa!

So, a little info on the award. Liebster is German, meaning dearest, beloved or favorite. You get the idea. They like me, they really like me! The idea of the Liebster award is to bring attention to blogs with fewer than 200 followers. Here are the rules that come along with it:

Rule #1. You must acknowledge the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
Rule # 2. Give this award to 5 other bloggers who have fewer than 200 readers. Please let them know through a comment on their blog.
Rule #3. Post this wonderful award on your blog.
Rule #4. Bask in the glory bestowed upon you and appreciate all the amazing bloggers out there.
Rule# 5. Enjoy and spread the good vibes around.

Rule #1: Lisa, you are hereby acknowledged.

Rule #2: Check out some other blogs I enjoy!

• Kristen at Kristenisms knits like the wind and has a sock wardrobe that will blow you away!
• Erratic Elle and I go way back and it has been fun to follow her crafting adventures on erratic project junkie.
• My dear friend, Carrie, reflects on life with her four small & busy people Life Is Like a Mountain Railway
• Jen at Pint-Sized Pioneering writes about a lot of things that I want to do like raising chickens, gardening, and canning.
• Last, but not least, Kimberly of One Fine Day relates the joys and trials of raising her three daughters and autistic son as well as finding her creative voice through painting.

Rule #3: I’ve got to figure this out.

Rule #4: Basking and feeling warm and fuzzy.

Rule #5: Imagine me skipping by your house, flinging good vibes out of a basket like a flower girl.

The beautiful side of destruction

Everything was coated in a half inch of ice which resulted in untold damage. But when you look a little more closely, there is beauty to be found despite all the carnage.