Day In The Life Archives - Page 14 of 26

1 Feb 2016

August 29th.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Story | 0

What can it mean? Post-It and scan: Me — Welcome to today’s existential pain. Date + Scan: Me

Earlier today, I flung onto my couch and slammed my knee right where the two cushions come together in the center of it. I had never hurt my knee flinging before, so I investigated. Ah. There was a big ballpoint pen in there and I had landed straight on it.

The pen wasn’t all that was in the couch. As I looked, I realized that I was looking at 1.5 years of other people’s couch cushion stuff. Don’t worry; there wasn’t anything wet. Just a peanut, some hair. A quarter. Pink fibers from a pink blanket. That damned pen.

And I found pink post-it note with my handwriting on it. It said “AUG 29th”, a date important enough to be singled out for its own neon pink post-it note to be stuck someplace where I’d see it. The post-it has to be at least three years old. Because on August 29th, 2015, I was in Washington, D.C. On August 29th, 2014, I was in New York City. This note has to be from 2013 or 2012; I got the couch in 2011 but I’m pretty sure I’ve cleaned the couch since then.

Being a dedicated journal-keeper, I have the luxury — or the bad luck — of going back to the books. I write in my journal a lot, but it’s not every single last day that I write; there are days I don’t. But it appears I have entries on August 29th, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, and 2015. I thought I’d pull one line from each for you. I think each line sums up pretty nicely what my life was like that summer, if not that year. Note: “dumping” was what I called it when my ileostomy would just dump liter after liter of liquid/fluid out of my ostomy and I couldn’t get it “stopped up,” if you will. It sucked when that happened and I would get extremely tired and dehydrated.

August 29th, 2011: “But my stomach flips inside me like a fish and I’m dumping today; can’t fill the hole, the hole. It’s probably good I’m going to Iowa to film TV.”

August 29th, 2012: “I’m putting myself on a white wine diet.”

August 29th, 2013: “The reality of love is pile-driving me and the wind that it has knocked out of me is stale in comparison to the air we breathe in bed. He cannot be unmagical to me. He cannot be wrong.”

August 29th, 2014: “Day by day. Meal by meal. Cooky by warm cooky. Earnest conversation by earnest conversation.”

August 29th, 2015: “The summer isn’t quite over, but everyone is assuming the close. I so look forward to the fall, even if the Autumn Dread grips me possibly tighter than ever. Statistically, I should have an easy year in that respect; 2012 and 2013 were both heavy with hospital in the fall. Can every autumn be a crisis?”

When something like this post-it happens, I realize that it’s so painful to have these books. But they’re my life. Literally: they are my life. If I go, they go. If they go, I probably will, too.

31 Jan 2016

Hot 2016 Valentine Tip: Thanks, WikiCommons!

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 2

Leap year valentine, 1904. Image: Wikipedia — Valentine for leap year 1904. Image: Wikipedia

Each post on PaperGirl is paired with a single image. Every once in awhile I’ll use a picture or photo I took or doctored myself, but most of the time I get my images from Wikipedia. More specifically, I find them in Wikipedia’s image repository, WikiCommons. There are 30 million images at WikiCommons; naturally, this number is growing every second because the Internet has only just begun to live.

Every image at WikiCommons is in the public domain. This is great, because it’s actually illegal to post a picture in a blog that you don’t have permission to post. You think no one cares, you think it’s not a big deal to just use the image, but it actually is a problem. Aside from it being ethically dubious, you actually can get stomped for it and fined — sometimes a lot. I had one close call a couple years ago and decided better safe than sorry: I’d play by the rules and only use public domain images for the blog.

Let me tell you: it ain’t easy. WikiCommons is my go-to source and man, is there ever some junk up in WikiCommons. Because like Wikipedia, anyone can edit, upload, and contribute to the Commons — and people edit, upload, and contribute weird, pointless, bizarre, unappetizing, scary, unidentifiable things. The search engine is strange, or maybe it’s how the contributors tag the photos, I’m not sure, but when you hit “search” for something, just sit back and wait to be confused. No, really; go to WikiCommons and search “baby rattle.” You’ll get an old drawing of a baby with a rattle, a sound file of a baby rattle, a picture of a coiled rattlesnake — presumably a young one — several posters of birds, and a scanned copy of the Guantanamo Bay Gazette. The upside is that you can use all those files free of charge. As many times as you want. Forever.

The other day I was looking for something totally unrelated and I found the wonderful card illustration up top. That’s also what can happen with WikiCommons: you’re sifting through underexposed, amateur pictures from a wedding in 1981 in deep Slovakia and bam — a snapshot of a kid and his grandpa fishing in Thailand that takes your breath away. This is a valentine from 1904, which as we can see was a leap year. My friends, this is my early valentine to you. How cool is this? (We’re in a leap year, you know.) I’ll allow an outside link today so you can make sure to get to this image; it’s very fortunate that this image comes in a really big size: click to download the biggest size you can (a 3,857, 2, 309 dpi) and perhaps pass it on to someone you love this year.

Thanks, WikiCommons. And I’ve been donating $10 each month for several years, so please stop emailing me about the pledge drive.

29 Jan 2016

Office Supplies Will Save Us All.

by Mary | posted in: Chicago, Day In The Life | 0

Office supply store, Poland. Photo: Wikipedia

I’m under the weather. I’m body-achy, I’ve got heavy-head-on-necky, and my eyeballs are dry. I’m serious, they’re dry. I continually require drops. What can it mean?

Perhaps the two-hour walk I took yesterday evening pushed me into this. The night was colder than I anticipated. I had been out earlier and it wasn’t too bad, but the temperature had dropped. Not realizing this, I made a suboptimal coat decision.

I needed to walk. I had no destination, just the desire to get out, move my legs. Sometimes I work all day and realize at 7pm that I haven’t gone anywhere but from my desk to the kitchen to the couch and back. This doesn’t bother me, usually. But a brutal nightmare woke me from my power nap that afternoon and the hours following that were just weird. I felt weird, I felt sad. A walk seemed the thing to do, so I grabbed my wallet and my favorite tote bag and hit Wabash Avenue.

Nietzsche said that the best thoughts are conceived while walking. I think he was right on that one; the rhythm of your feet helps sort things out up top. I was sorting out but not liking what piles were forming and actually going deeper into my funk…when the glowing lights of a Staples store shone in the distance and I immediately felt one-thousand times better.

I love office supplies. I squeal when I unscrew a fresh bottle of Wite-Out. I can’t talk about PaperMate felt-tip pens or I’ll need a hanky. The small, sturdy boxes with staples inside. Paperclips! Folders of all colors and styles: hanging, tabbed, pocket, no-pocket, etc. Tabs. All the tabs. Stickers. My mother says that if you love office supplies, you’ll love making quilts. I think the converse is true, as well: if you make quilts, you probably love office supplies. My little sister and I used to play “School” up in the toy room on the farm. I thought about that as I floated through the aisles last night. This is the difference between kids and adults. We do not play “Work” after we get home.

As a rule, I don’t shop for entertainment. When I go into a store, I’m there for a reason, for an errand. But last night, I needed to go up and down the aisles, touch office supplies, and select some to put into my handbasket. An hour before closing, it was pretty much just me and the two employees in the store and they couldn’t have cared less about me. I had the place to myself. I studied paper. I deliberated over the thin highlighters or the thick ones. I considered purchasing a slim spiral folder with the bend-back cover that I don’t need but might need soon. I put that back, barely.

It helped. Sometimes I resist taking a walk because taking a walk for no reason, by myself, can seem sort of pathetic. But that’s silly. Walking is a noble thing to do. Even if the chill I got made me sickly, the walk snapped me out of myself, which is what I needed. It snapped me out of myself and into Staples and here I am.

22 Jan 2016

To Rest Or Not To.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 0

She looks lovely, there, going mad. "Ophelia" by John William Waterhouse, 1889. — She looks lovely, there, slowly going insane. “Ophelia” by John William Waterhouse, 1889.

A handsome German philosophy professor reminded me recently that “Europeans work so that we can live. Americans live to work.” I reminded him that Americans were the reason the Allies won the war and I patted him on the shoulder.

It’s true, though. I’m up here in Door County and though I’ve had a string of hours here and there of feeling a world away from responsibility and labor, I come back from this world and feel anxious I was away so long. This is not a quality I admire in myself. Writer Annie Dillard once said, “How you spend your days is how you spend your life.” Consider that: How you spend your days is how you spend your life.

I spend my days working toward some sort of floating cloud of satisfaction. Here are three accomplishments that didn’t satisfy me enough to say, “I got to the cloud and I’m good.”

1. Going to the senior prom with a popular guy
Jed, you basically made senior year for me and it’s okay you didn’t kiss me. You were really tall, so maybe that’s why. You could’ve hurt your back. It’s cool.
2. Graduating from college
I was even valedictorian of my department, which just gave me bragging rights and excruciating pressure to give a good speech at commencement. I didn’t knock it out of the park, but it’s cool.
3. Making Quilty the show and being editor of Quilty magazine.
I left the magazine and it closed, but it’s cool.

There are many more examples. The worst part is that doctors, the media, our grandmothers, our German philosophy professors, they all tell us that stress is bad and that we should relax, take time off. I am getting better at this; the road trip this summer was good for me, very good. But the pressure to relax is twisted.

Here at thirty-six years old, I have discovered that one slice of relaxation and non-work — just one slice — per day is possible. Tea in the morning with no computer. Eating lunch at the table or on the couch in silence: no radio, TV, or Internet allowed. Taking a walk with a German philosophy professor. This way, I can say that how I spend my days is how I spend my life: busy, but with breaks.

15 Jan 2016

Doorknob, Meet Pantloop: A True Tale

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Story | 3

I come this night with a true tale of a dinner party, a doorknob, pants, and great distress. I got permission from my friend to tell this story.

Not so long ago, I attended a get-together at my friend Nathan’s* house. Dinner was served, there was plenty of wine. Everyone around the table had interesting jobs, so we talked about those. We discussed books. I often look around and can’t believe I’m an adult. I get bills in my mailbox and I think, “I get bills. And I pay them. I have kitchen utensils. I can get myself showered and to the airport on time.” I can’t believe I do these things on my own. At this dinner party, I had that feeling. I was listening intently to someone discussing their recent trip to Bangkok, took a sip of red wine, and thought, “Fons, you are pulling this off.”

Between dinner and dessert, my friend excused herself to go to the ladies’ room upstairs. Keeping tabs on how long people spend in the bathroom is weird, so I didn’t do that exactly, but it did cross my mind at one point that my friend had been upstairs longer than a typical bathroom visit takes. But before I was officially considering it, she came down and everyone had fruit.

I stuck around after the other guests left to help with dishes, and that was when Nathan and I learned what had happened up there. “Did you notice how long I was gone?” Sally asked. I told her that I kinda noticed, but it wasn’t weird or anything.

“Oh, it was weird, all right,” she said. “As I was leaving the bathroom, the door swung closed behind me and my pantloop got caught on the doorknob. Have you seen that thing? It’s this weird curlique doorknob. I twisted around to free myself, but I guess I went the wrong way somehow, because I made it worse. Like, the twist got twisted and I was stuck. I was stuck on door to the bathroom.”

I brought a dish towel to my chest. “Sally no.”

“Yes,” she said, and our eyes got big and mirth began to well up in us and Nathan stopped loading the dishwasher. “I was twisting this way and that way, just trying to get free. I was up there the whole time, stuck on the door! I could hear you all downstairs, laughing and clinking glasses. I’m telling you: I was really stuck. I was moving back and forth and the door was banging… I thought the only thing I was going to be able to do would be try to take my pants off but I couldn’t do that, either — I mean, how was that gonna happen?” We were weak with laughter. Sally squeaked, “Could you hear me? Could you hear me like, rustling?”

I shook my head and wiped tears from my eyes. Poor, poor Sally, dangling like a fish on a hook, only feet above the civilized dinner party, thrashing silently, trying not to curse, Sally — a woman of faith — prayed for divine intervention. We imagined her sweating, pulling, pushing, all in shame, desperate to solve a very strange, very immediate problem.

“Just when I was about to call down, ‘Hey, Mary, can you come up here for just a sec?’ and make it sound real casual, like I wanted to show you a new dress I bought or something, just that moment, I untangled it. I kind of fell forward, but I caught myself.”

I haven’t known Sally too long, but I foresee good things. And as getting one’s pant loop hooked to a doorknob is something that does not happen to grownups very often, I may be able to avoid these “I am an adult” realizations if I hang out with her more. Done.

*Names have been changed.

13 Jan 2016

Small Wonders Wednesday: Solve The Puzzle + Win!

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 0

The block is four Snowball units sewn together.

Okay, comrades. Here’s the game.

In the block above, I’ve used five different fabrics from my Small Wonders “World Piece” line. (NOTE: The green solid is not from the line, so that one doesn’t count.)

The first person to correctly identify the fabrics I used and emails their answers to me at smallwonderswednesday@gmail.com gets this totes adorbs baby quilt from my China line. The quilt was made by me in November, with quilting and binding love from sweet D.C. Carla. Hi, Carla!

I had to pre-wash all the blocks I made, so don’t judge the wrinkles! I’m going to quilt that out.

Good Luck,
Mary + Pendennis

I'm stoked about this quilt, which I'm calling, "Twinkle." — I’m stoked about this quilt, which I’m calling, “Twinkle.”

13 Jan 2016

It’s Small Wonders Wednesday! Here’s Today’s Prize…

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 1

Need a baby quilt? Don’t we all?

Today, I’m giving away a gorgeous baby quilt that uses the China line from my Small Wonders “World Piece” collection. Pendennis is modeling it here. It’s yours if you can solve the puzzle that I’ll be posting in the next hour.

The first person to solve the puzzle and email me the correct answers at smallwonderswednesday@gmail.com will get the baby quilt! This is your fair warning and the teaser, I guess, so you can get your engines ready. No purchase necessary — but if you’re familiar with the line, you’re smart. That’s the only clue I’m giving!

Good luck, and I’ll be watching the email box.

xo,
Mary + Pendennis

Closeup of the darling Log Cabin blocks.

Pendennis says it's gonna be hard to let this go, but it's the right thing to do. — Pendennis says it’s gonna be hard to let this go, but it’s the right thing to do.

11 Jan 2016

Treasure Island!

by Mary | posted in: Art, Day In The Life, Tips | 0

I was up in the laundry room this evening and the joint was really hopping. I was continuing my pre-wash odyssey (I’m close) while a couple other people were laundering regular things, like underpants. After a bit, it was down to me and a pretty lady named Catherine who appeared to be in her early fifties or so. We got to chatting about what we do for a living.

Catherine has worked for many years in the children’s department of a bookstore, which means she is my new favorite person. Learning of Catherine’s job, memories of my favorite childhood books came flooding back: The Pokey Little Puppy. The Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day. Anything/everything Pooh. Anything/everything Shel Silverstein. Sideways Stories from Wayside School. Phantom Tollbooth. The Secret Garden. Anne of Green Gables. It felt so good to think of those books.

And then Catherine said something that instantly changed my entire winter.

“You know what I’ve been doing recently?” she said, soft-spoken and sweet like she needs to be to fit my children’s-bookstore-lady archetype. “I’ve been listening to audio recordings of children’s classics. It’s really wonderful. Treasure Island. Black Beauty. Little Women.” She smiled at me. “I’d recommend that to anyone, especially you, if you like to listen to books while you make your quilts.”

It would’ve been rude for me to run out of the laundry room at that moment so that I could get back into my living room and load up Treasure Island, Black Beauty, Hatchet, Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings and other A-listers in the genre. So I didn’t do that. But they’re all cued up — and while I folded three batches of fabric, I began with Treasure Island, which I have never read. I couldn’t wait.

Guess how good Treasure Island is? It was hard to break away to sit down with my computer, to be honest. Catherine and I didn’t exchange info, so unless I see her again she won’t know how much I appreciated our conversation. Maybe I’ll just go into the laundry room around this time next week and just bellow, “Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum” until she comes and I can tell her she is very inspiring when she washes socks.

10 Jan 2016

Mission: Peeps

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 0

I may be looking at the next quilt I want to make; I may be looking at cheesecake. Photo: Claus — These guys are a start. Photo: Claus

I’m on a mission. “Mission: Peeps.”

Here’s what my life is like: working, traveling, writing, sleeping, running errands, hanging out with Claus. Many of you will find that list is roughly your life, too, except for the Claus part — I hope. It’s a busy kind of life, but it’s important to not lose sight of what’s really important. Community. Relationships. Friendships.

I talk to friends and family in my life and write sincere emails, comment on posts, and send/receive funny texts and things. I have people I love and I assume these people love me at least a little bit or they wouldn’t send me .gifs of dogs getting blowouts. There are catch-up calls with long-distance friends from time to time, but those are often months apart. Even years apart in some cases.

The problem (and I hope this is not a problem for you) is that I don’t hang out with people much. When someone asks me to do this or that fun thing, I’m out of town. When I’m home for a spell and want to get together (in the past year or so I was never, ever home for a spell but that’s another story) other people are on vacation. Or they have a commitment, or they have a baby. So it’s all texts and emails and it’s better than nothing.

But then I need a friend and there’s no one there. “There” like on my couch “there.” One friend would be fantastic; I don’t even let myself dream of a whole crew coming over and hanging out just because. It used to be like that. In high school, in college, people just dropped by, and your whole world was your relatively tiny campus, so it was easier to have a close community. If you were going through something, sometimes you wished you could isolate and think for five minutes, but nope, there’s The Fons coming in in her leather jacket going, “Eeyyyyy!”

This has to change for me, this lack of real-life peeps in my life who I see on a regular basis.

When I come home from a teaching trip, I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing for a long time, now: flop, bake things, write things, work on the next thing. I have to call people. People who are in town, not six states away. There’s a once-a-month sewing group that my (fabulous, steadfast, now longtime) friend Heather hosts. I love going to sewing group and even if I’m bushed, I need to go to sewing group. And I have to connect with and follow through with new friends from sewing group. I need to make friend dates and keep them. I need more women in my life and I need them in my house, not just on my text message screen. If I can go to someone else’s house, great. Not only will new relationships form, hopefully, I enjoy seeing the inside of people’s homes.

The great news is that it’s already begun. In fact, I began Mission: Peeps almost two months ago. I’m happy to report it’s working. You just have to say yes to things. For me — an introvert who likes activities that are usually done on one’s own, e.g., writing, sewing, bathing — it’s a challenge to say yes. But I need people around me like anyone else and I’m not going to stay stuck in a place that on a really bad day, has an echo.

9 Jan 2016

Ode For the Ocean: My Shedd Aquarium Adventure

by Mary | posted in: Art, Chicago, Day In The Life, Poetry | 0

Residents of the deep ocean. Photo: Wikipedia

There were fish, sharks, fish, strange plants, and 1.5 millions of gallons of water at the aquarium. In response to the Shedd, I’d like to post a poem I worked out this summer. It’s longer than most of my poems, but I hope you will read through it today and when someone asks you, “Did you read any poetry this week?” You can say, “Yes, I did.”

Ode for the Ocean

by Mary Fons
© 2015

I’ve never thought it beautiful.

I much prefer a mountain range, which
strikes me as more traversable;
The ocean just strikes you with waves.

The “treasures of the sea,” to me,
Are going silver
(such foolish gold)
Not proof of some grand, courageous adventure,
Just wet and old.

We are to find an endless blue
(or anything endless) a reflecting pool?
This is madness
and all madness should frighten you.

For lurking under sunset fire, just beyond the lovers’ sighs
Are beasts with coal black eyes
blind with only one own-only mind:
survive

And longer than you, laughs the whale;
Killer, indeed, and with a tail to crush you,
As you clap and wave and save your photo.

All combers,
Mind the suck down —
that human-sized sucking sound;
So much chum and lunchmeat now,
First for the mighty maw that spied you
(what’s red and white and red rolled over?)
Blood becomes you
‘till you’re dispersed in that vast, mast-hungry pool
adrift on the waves that lulled you
Back when Cabo was not the site of your grisly end;
The fishes catch the tissue last
and any flecks of left eye that’s left —
Are you finally out of the office

Further below, in depths we cannot fathom deep —
translucents sleep
Why they wake at all
A question we ne’er allow to ask;
Preferring such questions as:
“Shall we take the pink umbrella, dear?”
“Is Carol bringing Jake?”

The sea does not care
The sea does not love Carol

But for heaven’s sake!” the swimmers scream,
“Death’s not all the ocean! Think of schools and dolphin,
Think of shells and oyster feasts!”

Please

A grinning manatee emerging from misty black is a heart attack —
You’d mess your pants and your electric fan;
And if walls of undulating weeds or tangerine clowns are cool to you
Fix them in your mind for
five minutes down the line these lives, too, are over;

Such is the lifespan of sea color
And what a drag!

The cleverest trick the ocean ever played
Was convincing us of her placidity

There’s chaos in the drink —
A jungle reversed,
inverted earth
Primeval monster bedlam,
Time and zero memory locked in loggerheaded war;
What in heaven’s name
are you out there for

The sea does not love you

The sea married herself a long, long time ago
and she’s kept a tight ship ever since

See how she takes out the garbage

See how she freezes her food
See how she sweeps the floor
See how she claps herself on the back,
see how she races herself at the shore, one more touch,
one more touch, one more touch, one more

She doesn’t love you
She doesn’t even warn you

You: land creature
Get out

7 Jan 2016

The View From Above: My Chicago SkyDeck Adventure

by Mary | posted in: Chicago, Day In The Life, Story | 0

Love at 1,351 feet. Photo: Me — A teenage couple looks out on Chicago from the SkyDeck. Photo: Me

While in the admission line for the Adler Planetarium on New Year’s Day, Claus and I looked at a pamphlet advertising something called the Chicago CityPass. For $96 bucks, you can buy a book of tickets to five of Chicago’s best art/culture destinations for half the cost if you were to buy tickets for all of them separately. The catch is that you have to use your book of tickets within nine days, which means you have nine days to see: The Field Museum, The Shedd Aquarium, SkyDeck Chicago, The Museum of Science & Industry or 360 Chicago, The Adler Planetarium or The Art Institute.

It’s lousy they make you pick between The Art Institute and the Planetarium, both of them being potentially life-changing experiences if you’re on a family vacation and you’re six. “Look, Denny: it’s either stars or art. Make up your mind or we’re getting in the car and going back to your Aunt Rita’s. I need a bathroom.”

Claus and I went to the SkyDeck on Tuesday. The SkyDeck is the observatory on the top floor of the Willis née Sears Tower. It’s strange that I like flying so much; airplanes hang out at 30,000 feet or so. The Willis Tower is 1,450 in the sky and I hated being up there. I got nauseated. I got dizzy. And then I had to “face my fears” and step out onto “The Ledge.”

The Ledge is a clear glass box that extends 4.3 feet out from the tower. You’re supposed to walk out into the box and stand there. Stand in a 4-sided glass box 1,450 feet in the air. There’s nothing under your feet but a clear glass shelf. I do not ride amusement park rides. I do not sky dive. And The Ledge? I did not want to do it.

“You have to do it Mary,” Claus said. When he says “Mary” it sounds so nice, like, “Mah-rie” and this is dangerous.

“Absolutely not,” I said. I was feeling queasy again and wanted to go back to the gift shop to discern why they were selling those monkey toys with the velcro hands that hang around your neck. How was that a relevant Willis Tower gift shop item? Plus, the gift shop is at the center of the observatory, so I was safer there.

“Oh, come on, Mah-rie. Face your feers.”

I hate it when Claus or anyone else says that because then I have to. What, I’m going to live this life without facing at least half of my fears? Damnit! People laughed at me because I had to stick one toe at a time into the cube. Inch by inch, I made it out there, took one look left, one right, one out, and one down past my feet (oh sweet mercy) then immediately nose-dived back to what now seemed like safety. Relativity is a cruel mistress.

We checked the SkyDeck off the CityPass. Tomorrow: The Shedd Aquarium.

2 Jan 2016

What Happens to a Resolution Deferred?

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 2

Phone. Holger Ellegaard, 1972. Photo: Wikipedia

We have the Babylonians to thank for many things. They’re the ones who put 60 seconds in the minute and 60 minutes in an hour, a system called “sexagesimal” which is a word I think we can all agree is best left out of our vocabularies. We can thank the Babylonians (5500 to 3500 B.C.) for page numbers in a book. Very helpful, guys. Thank you.

And we can thank them for New Year’s resolutions. At the turn of the new year, the Babs had an eleven-day festival to celebrate the occasion, during which they made promises to the gods so the gods would show them favor. (Now that’s what I call accountability.) According to sources that I’m too lazy to cite, most Babylonians pledged to get out of debt.

I gave up resolutions years ago, mostly because I hate going with the flow. There’s one I flirt with each year, but as I know I cannot achieve it, I quit while I’m ahead. I resolve not to try and fix what I need to change. Want to know what I want to change?

I want to answer the phone every time I can see/hear it ring. I have a terrible phobia of talking on the phone, even to people I love. And I loathe voicemail. A week can go by before I finally enter the numbers to access my voicemail and when I do, my fingers feel like they have those little finger weights on them. “You seriously have to listen to voicemail,” I’ll say to myself, and it feels the same as when I say, “You seriously have to make a dentist appointment.” If I discover I only have three messages, I feel like I found twenty bucks on the sidewalk.

What is the root of this crippling phobia? Is it a control issue? Why am I this way? I just can’t do it. I can’t answer the phone. Text messages are the greatest invention since the telephone.

I cannot resolve to get better at this unless someone unlocks the problem. If you can do that, I’ll help you in your resolve to eat Marshmallow Fluff straight from the jar. I’ve got that down.

23 Dec 2015

Reporting From Inside THE HOLIDAY ZONE.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Family, Tips | 0

HOLIDAY ZONE! Photo: Marcus Quigmire; Wikipedia.

These are the days inside THE HOLIDAY ZONE.

Oh, we’ve been doing shopping. We roughly know what’s happening when: brother and sister-in-law arrive around 2pm Thursday, everyone is meeting at Lou Malnati’s at 6pm on Saturday, the cake needs to be picked up before the store closes on Christmas Eve, etc. But now it’s real. The kin have come. The chicken needs a’trussin’. You forgot the extra bottle of red wine; also you forgot the breadcrumbs. The children are freaking out (not about the breadcrumbs; you don’t know what they’re freaking out about but they are loud.) Your brother is doing that thing. And you still need stocking treats. The HOLIDAY ZONE is hard enough, but what’s really insulting is that now you must admit you are that rather frazzled person hustling up State Street with a furrowed brow. Lame.

People enter THE HOLIDAY ZONE at different times; you may have begun earlier in the week, you may be starting on Christmas Day and going into the days following. Whatever your particular schedule, if you’re not 100% sure you’ve entered THE HOLIDAY ZONE, here are clues:

1. You look at your email and most of it is last-minute sale offers from stores/companies you thought you filtered into your spam folder and there are barely any emails related to work or commitments with clubs/affiliations/personal trainers. This version of your email box is a feeling of relief mixed with a bizarre, vague disappointment. It’s nice to get emails that show you’re relevant.

2. Stomachaches. Frosting-related.

3. You leave a room and sigh. Then someone calls your name. You sigh again and go back to the room you just came from. And what were you going in there for? You cannot remember. It’ll come to you when you try to take the potatoes out of the oven and you realize you were trying to find the oven mitts. (They’re in the bathroom.)

4. You switch to a liquor drink instead of wine and later, you realize why you don’t do that. #spinning

5. You pull that dusty copy of Being and Time off the shelf and decide you will read it in the bathroom for awhile. The potholders are in there, anyway.

There are more signs. But if any of those symptoms resonate, you’re probably in THE HOLIDAY ZONE and you should find shelter. The good thing about THE HOLIDAY ZONE is that we’re all in it. Get along with each other: THE HOLIDAY ZONE is way easier with a pal. And heed some of the best advice I have ever gotten, ever: “Just when you’re going fast, trying to speed up, trying to hurry — that’s when you need to slow down.”

17 Dec 2015

My Quilts Are HOME!!!!!

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 0

That's my puppet, Nathan, who is high-fiving life, sitting on the six quilts that have come home. Photo: Me — That’s my puppet, Nathan, who is high-fiving life, sitting on the six quilts that have come home. Photo: Me

I got back from Florida yesterday. The entire flight and the entire cab ride, I thought about the box that UPS said was at my building. Until I touched the quilts that were diverted, lost-ish, and otherwise frightened out there in the Big Bad World, I could not rest. I was picking at my cuticles, which means I was truly in crisis. It’s a bad/weird habit that calms me down when I’m freaking out.

When I got home, I beelined to the receiving room. The state of the box was terrifying; corners were chewed, quilts showed through on three sides. But my quilts were there. Safe. And I am happy. Sending quilts will forever now be scarier than it was before, but what can you do? Well, a few things: I can reinforce the box. Sprinkle holy water all over it. Insure it. Raindance around it, maybe. Hire a Chicago bike messenger, maybe; those guys are fleet of foot and deadly when crossed.

Get your cheeseboard out because I’m about to serve up some cheese: this is what I wanted for Christmas, Santa. I appreciate it.

15 Dec 2015

I Literally Moved Your Cheese, Lindsay

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Food, Story | 0

Dear Lindsay:

You don’t know me. I’m in the area for work. I leave early tomorrow morning but before I leave Florida, I need to talk to you.

Lindsay, I stole your deli items.

My host took me by the Publix near the place I’m teaching to grab something to eat. There wasn’t much time. When we got there, I made a beeline for the Deli & Bakery section of the store.

There were tureens of soup. I got a portion of the turkey-kale-sweet potato, which I recommend to you the next time you’re in the Publix that I know for a fact is your grocery store of choice.

Just below that long deli counter, there on the right side, there were great piles of pre-cut meats and cheeses. I like a bit o’ thin-sliced chicken breast. I like a lil’ thin-sliced Swiss cheese. So I grabbed a bag of each. With the soup and then some kind of chocolate afterward, well. A perfect lunch, and it had all come together quickly. (I had chocolate in my purse already.)

Lindsay, that was your chicken and cheese. I had no idea what I had done until I got back to my hotel room and tore into my grocery bag. In the world today, apparently you can order portions of deli meats and cheeses online, go to the store, and have no wait to collect your meat or cheese. You thought ahead. You planned. You made deli selections and what did I do? I took them. I took your chicken and your cheese and I am horrified.

Because you were mad. When you got to the Publix later and dug around in that bin for your order, dug around like a badger in heat, Lindsay, because that’s what I would’ve been, a badger in heat, looking for cheese, well, you probably got real mad that your order wasn’t in there. I don’t blame you one bit. But it wasn’t anyone’s fault but mine. I didn’t know your name was on the label. I’ve never seen anything like that and I sincerely apologize.

I do need to tell you, with all seriousness, that that was the best deli meat I haver had in my life.

With Warm Regards,
Mary Fons

Editor’s Note: It’s the “Tuscan Smokehouse Chicken Breast,” for those who have a Publix nearby. Delicious.

13 Dec 2015

Mark & Netta.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Family, Paean, Work | 1

Netta, me, and Mark, Christmas 2015. Photo: Netta, me, and Mark.

Nine lives ago, I got an email from a nice guy named Mark. Mark read my blog. (This was around 2006.*) We didn’t know each other; he just stumbled upon PaperGirl and liked it, so he told me. I said, “Thanks!” and so began a many years-long friendship with Mark and, by extension, his awesome wife Netta. Mark and Netta live in Florida and have three adult kids.

Over nine years, I’d say I’ve gotten fifteen? twenty? emails from Mark and I’ve sent about as many. We’re not prolific pen pals. But we’re pals. Real pals. It’s just the way it is. Mark and Netta send me a cookie-fudge-nut tray every Christmas. Mark hired me to write a poem for his daughter years back and one for Netta this summer. I’m sending them a bundle of Small Wonders fabric as soon as I get home and stay home for five seconds. They sent a $100 gift card when I moved to D.C; I told Mark I bought a flower vase, a can opener, and dishtowels, all things I needed. I’ve sent a number of gushing thank-you cards to these people. The relationship I have with them is like a neat star that appears in the sky every few months. Never met ’em.

I met ’em last night.

Mark and Netta live in Florida, remember? Well, I announced I’d be in Maitland and who do you think sent me an email saying they weren’t too far from me and could we meet for dinner? My pen pal!

Saturday night, I met my friends at a cute Italian restaurant in Maitland. Mark got a bowl of fettuccine alfredo big enough to have a zip code; Netta and I realized we were both the middle daughter of three. I ordered the snapper special; Mark spoke about the qualities of a successful marriage. Our waiter was over-attendant; I cried about different stuff. I told them about my dad; they asked the right questions. I listened to their stories about love and family, how they’ve done it and how they might do it differently, or the same, if they had the chance to do it again. It wasn’t “like we were old friends.” We are old friends.

Mark, Netta, thank you. Again. For everything! Are you kidding me?? You send me fudge-nut trays and you let me blow my nose on a napkin within thirty minutes of meeting each other face-to-face! The counsel, the kindness… It’s good to know good people.

Here’s to the next nine years, you two. Merry Christmas.

*That’s right: the ol’ PG is almost nine years old, if you count a couple years in there when I had to go dark. There’s a bit about that here.

11 Dec 2015

Selections From the PaperGirl Songbook: Courtyard Marriott

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Work | 0

A Courtyard Marriott in Germany. Mine doesn't look like that, but it really is a nice hotel, honestly. Photo: Wikipedia — A Courtyard Marriott in Germany. Mine doesn’t look like that, but it really is a nice hotel, honestly. Photo: Wikipedia

Courtyard Marriott, you’re so sweet;
I’m lyin’ in my bed with slippers on ma’ feet!
In the mornin’ I’ll make coffee in your little coffeepot —
And I’ll stay forever, okay, well maybe not!

Courtyard Marriott, you’re so fine;
In the place downstairs, you even sell wine!
I’m not the type’a girl to get drunk late at night —
But I’m gettin’ super grumpy, so maybe I just might!

Ohhhhhhh —

Courtyard Marriott, won’tcha tell me please,
Why is it when I stay here I always gotta freeze —
‘Cause the last time I stayed here it was the same thiiiiiiiiiiing —
Your air conditioner wasn’t working right and I tried to turn it off or turn up the temperature and it didn’t work then and it’s not working now and I’m so cold that I’m using an extra blanket and I know what you’re saying, “Why don’t you just move rooms?” but it’s late and I’m tired and my stuff is in the drawers and in the closet and you should see the bathroom sink covered with all my toiletries and I just can’t dooooooooooo iiiiiiiiiit!

:: deep breath, big finish ::

See ya in the morning, my Courtyard Marriott!

:: jazz hands ::

10 Dec 2015

Guess I’ll Go Eat Toads.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 0

That is a snake eating a toad. It is a real picture of a snake EATING A TOAD. Toad had a worse day than I did, I'll give you that. Photo: Wikipedia — This is a real picture of a SNAKE EATING A TOAD. This toad had a worse day than I did, I’ll give you that. Also, I’m sorry I just made you see this. Photo: Wikipedia

Some people have real problems. That’s a fact. I know it.

But today is not my day. I dropped my coffee twice. My sister and her husband had to cancel our dinner plans next week and I was so stoked to see them. I had a terrible row with Claus last night (which I had to wake up to today, so it counts.) Generally, I am disappointed with myself and some of my life choices, which is far too complex to go into here, but trust me: I’m a big dummy.

And then there was the little matter of getting to the ticketing counter here at Midway and discovering I left my ID at home. Oh, no! Oh, yes! I went to dinner last night and carried a small purse that only has room for the essentials: ID, debit card, some cash, and my best red lipstick, of course. Well, I forgot to put my ID back in my regular wallet. Not good. When I realized this, I burst into tears at the curbside check-in. I actually put my head down on the counter and wailed.

“Hey, hey,” the curbside check-in guy said. “Calm down, calm down. You can fly without it.” My head snapped up. “Really?” I said. Really, he said. Indeed, with a bunch of other things (credit cards, insurance card, student ID) and a serious pat-down, I was allowed in. Oh, but that’s not the end of it: I remembered that I have to rent a car when I land in Florida tonight. It’s crazy, but a car rental company wants you to possess a driver’s license. Who ever heard of such a thing!

I went to the Southwest ticket counter, burst into tears. I actually put my head down on their counter and wailed a second time. Then, a ray of dirty, gray light: there was a 6:15pm flight to Orlando posted. If I could get on that flight, I could take the train back into the city, get proof of ownership of myself, get back on the train, and try it again. If there ever was a more despondent woman on the Orange Line el, I’ve never seen her.

I’ll be in Florida for six days. I’m always grateful to be able to visit BabyLock dealers and quilt guilds to talk about this thing I love so much. But six days is long. All the quilt teachers out there will say, “Preach, sister!” when I say that while it is lame to forget your ID at home, when you teach on the road (especially for six days) there are so many, many, many things to remember — and you can’t really mess up because you have no backup. All of us have a story or two about sheer panic on realizing X, Y, or Z teaching tool is sitting on the dining room table, 2,000 miles away. Sometimes you’re the seam ripper; sometimes you’re the seam.

There’s a Southwest gate agent who has been whistling a jaunty tune while I wrote this. At least that’s nice.

9 Dec 2015

I Need To Talk About the Magic Eraser.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 0

The marketers for Mr. Clean have taken to giving him a Christ-like halo. Super weird. Photo: Me

I need to talk about the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.

What is it.

What is this thing.

As I go through my home and detail after having tenants, I have found a modest number of smudges on the lower half of several walls. No big deal. I frequently practice my half-pipe skateboard tricks inside my condo and have made a few scuffs, myself.

It’s so cool that most of the time, you can clean anything more naturally and just as well — or better — soap and water and elbow grease. White vinegar and baking soda, too. But I can’t wash these matte-finish walls with soap and water. Not only am I threatening the paint, that method kinda just spreads the mark around.

What is the Magic Eraser.

Someone said, “Oh, just get a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. It’ll take the scuffs right out.” Eh, okay, I thought, and when I was in Target the other day, I went for it.

What is the Magic Eraser.

It worked. The scuffs — several pretty serious, by the way — are gone. No trace. Zero evidence. I erased dirt. I erased time. I erased evidence, which freaks me out. How might criminals use Mr. Clean’s Magic Eraser? I think this thing could obliterate DNA evidence. Of course it could, because it’s got magic in it.

Sure, I could go to the website or do a google search and learn what the Magic Eraser is made of. But I decided against that. I don’t want to know. I never want to know. I want to believe that the product actually has a sprinkle of real magic! So don’t tell me.

By the way, Marianne Fons has confessed to me on several occasions that she always had a crush on Mr. Clean. “The earring,” she says, “The earring’s kinda sexy. And he’s so buff. I don’t know.”

7 Dec 2015

A Hair-owing Tale From Phoenix.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 7

I laughed yesterday at my gig in Phoenix; those guild quilters and I were having too much fun. Photo: Dona, from Palo Verde Patchers. (Also: I was so horrified at my appearance — read below — that I didn’t get a picture this morning. I regret many things today.)

Gather ’round as I tell ye a legendarily funny tale. I am shaking with laughter as I write this from the airport. That’s some hype, but I think I can deliver.

I got here to the Phoenix airport at 5:15am for a 6:45am flight. In order to be able to roll out of bed this morning and just brush my teeth and go, I showered last night and went to bed. Ladies, you know that when you sleep on a damp head, you get some interesting hair in the morning because it gets all smooshed around through the night and dries like that.

This morning, I kind of liked my hair. I thought it looked kinda deshible. Sorta sexy, all mussed up like that. I rubbed a little pomade into the ends to combat frizz and I got into my airport shuttle. Got to the airport. Went through security. People were sort of looking at me and I thought, “Hm. I guess I look good this morning with my wool coat and deshible hair and patent leather pumps.” Gave me a little swagger. I get to my gate and plop down with my journal; this is de rigueur for me, as long as we’re dropping the only French words I know. I got out my ink pen and stuck it in my mouth so I could reach into my bag for my journal. I did not know that my pen was slowly exploding.

Then I realized I needed more coffee. So I get back up a few minutes later, walk ten gates to the coffee place. People are really looking at me and I think, “Geez, maybe they think I’m someone important!”

On the way back to my seat, I pop into the bathroom. And everything becomes clear.

My hair was not deshible. I looked absolutely insane. It was amazing, how insane I looked. It was tangled. It was sticking up almost sideways on the left side. A piece on the right was flipped to the left. I looked like a woman with no home.

In addition to this, half of my mouth was black and the blackness extended past the corner of my mouth about an inch. It appeared that I was suffering from a horrible, contagious lip disease; perhaps leprosy. I looked so scary that I startled myself. As I furiously scrubbed the side of my mouth with soap, I began to laugh so hard I tears were rolling down my face because I have never been such a hot, hot, steaming hot mess than I was just now. And because I was now laughing and crying into the mirror, people began to literally back away from me at the sink.

And as I write this now — the ink is gone and I pulled my hair back into a ponytail — I am laughing so hard (but trying not to because there are so many people around me) that I’m literally shaking with laughter silently in my seat and crying actual tears because this image of myself was so incredible. I have had to walk away a few feet from my computer to go behind a post and let the laughter out.

Phoenix? I love you, baby. See you around.

5 Dec 2015

The Good News + The Very, Very Bad News.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Quilting, Work | 2

Look at that pretty background! Look at the girl trying to smile through great pain. Photo: Friend at Fabric World

The good news is that Fabric World is selling through Small Wonders yardage at a right clip. The store is enormous and the World Piece line is right up at the front of the shop. There was a lot of Small Wonders yardage cut at Fabric World today, let me tell you, and I’m so glad. The fabric is getting a lot of love and I’m grateful for that — thank you! (Visit my Instagram page over the next few days as I add more photos of the fabric used in class, on display, etc.)

The bad news is that a box of my most precious quilts are lost in a sea of brown UPS boxes in Arizona. They never got here. I am a wreck.

I shipped on Monday, three-day guaranteed delivery. But the quilts did not arrive on Thursday night. They didn’t arrive at any hour on Friday, either. I shipped to a secure location with a front desk, staffed with people who could sign for the precious cargo. Nothing. So I made frantic calls. Did frantic tracking on my computer. There were hot tears and there was (still is) much lip chewing.

A “truck failure” in Nebraska occurred, apparently. UPS said they would deliver my heart, soul, teaching materials, and life’s work (!) by Monday. But I will not be here on Monday. I will be in Chicago. And my quilts, which are more or less lost now, will be lost for longer, with more miles between us. I’ll get them back. There are scannable things involved. But… My Churn Dash. My Dutch Summer quilt. Whisper. The cloth doll that my friend Kathy made me out of the Netherlands line. It’s very difficult to type this right now, actually. I need to stop or I might start choke-crying and flapping my hands again.

My mother had a box of quilts lost, once. I called her earlier for pointers.

30 Nov 2015

The Pre-Washing Finale: Tips + Insight

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 2

All fabric in this picture has been washed, dried, and more or less folded. All fabric Small Wonders.

Forgive me for the drag on these posts; the Thanksgiving weekend kept me slow. I actually drank gravy from the pitcher. That is a true fact. It was.

So we know why I’m switching, as of now, from Team Non-Pre-Wash to Team Pre-Wash. Now, let’s take a look at how this is all going down. I feel that itemizing is the way to proceed.

1. I may be especially set-up to pre-wash my entire fabric stash for two reasons: a) I don’t have so much fabric this will take me nine years; b) I live in a mid-rise building with a laundry room. As to the first thing: I have met women who have put additions on their houses to hold their stash and sewing machines. I recently met a woman in Providence who rents a storage locker just for her fabric. Don’t get me wrong: I have a healthy haul of fabric. But I looked at my cupboard and my baskets and knew while it would be a colossal job, it was not out of the question.

The laundry room thing is pretty important to note. Four floors above me there is a laundry room for the building’s residents. There are six top-load washing machines and two front-loaders. There is a wall of dryers. I essentially have a small laundromat in my house and this is unusual. I’ve been doing huge loads of fabric because I can. With only one washer, one dryer, I don’t think I could do this. Bulk pre-washing is probably the only way to go, especially if you have a fabric store in your garage.

2. Clip the equivalent of a dog ear off each corner of the cut of fabric. This kept me out of Thread Hell. Nothing frayed like crazy when I washed/dried. As my German boyfriend would say, “Incledible!”

3. Wash darks with darks, lights with lights — and reds with reds. Several reds did bleed, as evidenced by the stray piece of light gray that got into a red batch. It is now a pale pink (not unpleasant!)

4. In all my research about how to go about this, nowhere did anyone say to get a can of static spray. Get some. That big, fluffy mass of freshly-dried fabric creates enough electricity to light the Christkindlmarkt at Daley Plaza. Spray ’em down, then pull them apart and more or less fold.

5. Another surprise: I didn’t anticipate how much fabric will fit into a washing machine. Don’t get greedy, but keep smooshing down the fabric in the machine until you know you shouldn’t keep filling. These aren’t gym clothes or blue jeans we’re washing: it’s light cotton. Same thing goes for the dryer: this stuff dries fast.

6. I don’t have a single jelly roll in my stash, which I know may seem strange. But I’m not so much a jelly roll gal; I’m a scrap quilter, so, aside from Small Wonders*, I rarely buy all the fabrics in a single collection. So someone out there needs to tell me how that all works; the only Thread Hell I really experienced was when I had a long strip in the batch. Because jelly roll strips are pinked, perhaps that cancels out fraying?

7. I am so not pressing this fabric once it’s washed and more or less folded. That’s always a complaint from the non-pre-washers: “But you have to iron it all to get the wrinkles out!” I ask you, comrades: have you ever taken fabric from your stash and not ironed out the creases before cutting? I say unto thee you have not. So what’s the praaaablem? Besides, when you press pre-washed fabric, there’s such a wonderful fragrance.

8. To that point: I have chosen not to use fabric softener. It just seemed unwise, putting some substance on the fabric which I am washing in order to get rid of substances. Besides, piece after piece of fabric-softened fabric through my machine could muck it up inside? Maybe? Eh, why risk it.

9. It is never done. It will be. But it is not done, yet. One load at a time.

10. It is as rewarding, cleansing, meditative, and (yes) fun as I wanted it to be. I have no regrets.

23 Nov 2015

Opening The Door, Part II: Me Of Little Faith.

by Mary | posted in: Chicago, Day In The Life | 1

My tenants didn't look like these chuckleheads, but they were apparently as squeaky-clean. Three's Company publicity photo courtesy Wikipedia. — My tenants didn’t look like these chuckleheads, but they were apparently as squeaky-clean. Three’s Company publicity photo courtesy Wikipedia.

I’m ashamed of myself.

There were nights when I actually lost sleep obsessing about people living in my house while I was not in it.. These people were good people. Students. Film professionals. A professor. But still. Dishes break. Folks have (hopefully good) parties. Bad emails come in and you punch a wall. Would my cream-colored carpet be wrecked? Would my couch be all jacked up? Would the baseboards be really, really gross? I didn’t think anyone would damage anything on purpose or be wantonly reckless; I just had a lot of anxiety about it.

Well, guess what I found when I opened the door? Stewardship! Care! Consideration! I’m ashamed of myself that I had so little faith in people. I’m a jerk. Really, I am a jerk.

Every person who had a key to this place treated it with respect. Or, if one of them didn’t, the rest of the gang made it right. There were no bloodstains. There weren’t even wine stains. My planed wood dining table has nary a scratch. Are you kidding me?? I will absolutely scratch this table at some point in the next year — but none of my tenants did.

Okay: the mirrored dresser in my bedroom is cracked across the top. But that’s what a table runner is for! Anyone could’ve cracked that thing, including me. I did have a professional carpet and mattress cleaning company come in before I got home, which I think was smart. And yeah, the baseboards are really gross. And I was faced with confusing feelings in the kitchen: the entire top shelf of my open cupboards went totally untouched. No one used the vases, the china, or the unusual dishes up there (e.g., ramekins, fancy mise en place bowls, etc.). On one hand, it was like I never left. On the other hand, everything has a stubborn film of dusty grease because that shelf is high up over the stove. Ew.

I’m still deep-cleaning the whole place because I like deep-cleaning and mentally, I must do this. But tenants, if you’re reading this, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my wicked, faithless heart for being the civilized, thoughtful people that you always were but who I lamed-out on in my head. You’re welcome back anytime. I’ll open a bottle of wine and you can watch me trip on my shoelace and spill an entire glass on the floor.

16 Nov 2015

Gone Movin’.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 0

Come on, Pendennis. One more, buddy. Just one more. — One more, buddy. Just one more. Photo: Pendennis selfie, because he has magic powers and doesn’t have to hold the phone.

I am putting all the objects in this apartment into boxes. I am doing this one object at a time, one more time.

Claus is flying to DC today to help me load out and drive to Chicago.. By the time he gets here, I’ll have 93% of the work ready, the boxes ready, all labeled where it goes and marked if fragile. Wednesday night, barring disasters, I sleep in my home for the first time in 1.5 years.

I’m not sure in the next few days that I’ll have time with the ol’ PG. If I do have time, you’ll be the first to know. I’m fighting a cold, I’m kind of in a daze that I’ve only got one more day in Washington. But when I think about being back home in Chicago, back in my real headquarters, it’s — well, all I can think of is warm cinnamon rolls with cream cheese frosting. Not eating one. Being one. I can’t explain it. But it’s delicious.

See you on the flip.

14 Nov 2015

Small Wonders Fabric is Shipping!

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Small Wonders, Work | 1

Me and the Springs Creative team at Market last month. We're hot! — Me and the Springs Creative team at Market last month. We’re hot! (Brian is third from left.)

Many of the exceptionally good-looking women here at the Denver event asked when they could get their hands on Small Wonders fabric. They had wild eyes! I knew it would be soon, but I thought I’d better email Brian at Springs because he knows everything. Here’s what he said:

“For consumers, tell them to encourage their local shops to buy or you can tell them they can call the distributors like EE Schenck and Checker and they should be able to tell them a local store in their area that plans to carry it. We really just started shipping this week so it will probably be another week or so before it starts showing up in shops.”

Fabric that debuts at Market typically ships six months after shop owners and retailers place their orders. Sometimes it ships faster. But it never, ever ships the next month. Not unless it’s Mary Fons Small Wonders for Springs Creative, that is. Yes, the fine, Korean-hand, World Piece fabric will be in your local and online shops in about a week. A week! I don’t know how Springs does it, so don’t ask. Brian does leave trails of magic unicorn dust when he walks around the Springs offices… Interesting.

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