Pearl the Squirrel

It's almost more like March than April—blustery, cold, and grey. But the daffodils are starting to peek through the leaf mold. Found thi...

So thrilled was I by my newly tidy sewing room that I was almost afraid to mess it up. Almost. While clearing off the bed I found some fabul...

I love Saturday mornings. They're full of such promise. The entire weekend spreads out before me and I imagine all that I'll accompl...

I've resisted joining Facebook, despite constant "encouragement" from my younger colleagues. In December, I made it my New Yea...

A visit to my aunt this weekend fell through and because Paul and I had planned to take Friday off, we decided to give ourselves a day away....

That's the title of a book being discussed on our local NPR station this week. It's a theory I've always subscribed to for child...

My doll has clothes, finally, although still no face. Many years ago I made another doll and for a number of reasons never attached the head...

Writing about Fiberarts and the memories of clothing reminded me of one of my all-time favorite writing opportunities. In 1995 I was in gra...

While perusing Fiberarts magazine yesterday, a piece about and by artist Jon Coffelt caught my eye. Coffelt makes small clothes out of c...

Pay no attention to the icy sidewalks, the mounds of dirty snow piled along the driveway, the forecast for solid precipitation: the Spring 2...