"Imagine yourself on a winter afternoon with a pot of tea, a book, a reading light, and two or three huge pillows to lean back against. Now make yourself comfortable. Not in some way which you can show to other people, and say how much you like it. I mean so that you really like it, for yourself. You put the tea where you can reach it: but in a place where you can't possibly knock it over. You pull the light down, to shine on the book, but not too brightly, and so that you can't see the naked bulb. You put the cushions behind you, and place them, carefully, one by one, just where you want them, to support your back, your neck, your arm: so that you are supported just comfortably, just as you want to sip your tea, and read, and dream." (Christopher Alexander, The Timeless Way of Building (New York: Oxford Univeristy Press, 1979), pp. 32-33)

I've been reading about the idea of Comfort and Home recently in Home - A Short History of an Idea by Witold Rybcynski, a book my brother-in-law gave to me at Christmas. He quotes Christopher Alexander, the architect who wrote A Pattern Language as well as The Timeless Way. These books talk about patterns of ease and comfort and useability and beauty, not only in how homes are built but in how entire cities could be built. He presents various problems, then the solutions in a way that brings ease and beauty into people's everyday lives. For example, one of the problems is that in a household shared by a couple there may not be much opportunity for solitude or privacy for each individual. He addresses this by talking of ways of bringing private spaces into a home for each individual - perhaps just a corner, or an alcove, or even a room where a person can feed their own soul through their own pursuits before returning to common areas in the house. It's such a beautiful and dignified way to talk about architecture, but also, about people living in and using everyday spaces. Sarah Susanka, an architect who talks about "building better, not bigger", based her Not So Big Movement on Alexander's work.

I'm thinking of ways to make my own space more comfortable - a space where I feel I easily belong and feel connected to. We moved into our 1958 bungalow two years ago and we haven't done much to the place yet. My husband built a closet near our side door (which we tend to use more than the front door since it comes off the driveway), and we've pulled up some grungy 1970s carpet that was in the basement - that's about it. There are things we have in mind - some are large (entirely taking down a giant non-functioning chimney structure that takes up half the living room) and some are smaller (a patio door to the back garden) with everything in between. I'm hoping we can make changes slowly and purposefully, all the while being guided by patterns of comfort and beauty.

The picture above (I'm sorry! I can't remember where it's from!) really jumps out to me as an example of comfort. It might not to everyone, but to me I just sigh with contentment looking at it. Not because it's visually simple, or fairly monochromatic. But because the wood and linen and wool just scream "comfort" and "warmth" and "rest" to me. It's not necessarily in that particular chair, or that particular colour, but it certainly is in the touchability of the picture - I can imagine the soft pillow, the nubbiness of the embroidery, the scratchy warmth of the wool, the smoothness and strength of the wood. All textures, all homey.

"Fine, I'll bring the F&G!"

This is the bag I made my mother for Christmas. It probably needs a little explaining. I am a little embarassed to say I just finished it last weekend, but it just meant we got to have another Christmas in January!

My mother plays the bells in church. You're probably thinking of those huge bells towers now, with the rope hanging down the entire length of the spire with monks clinging on for dear life at the end as they are swung higher and lower while the bells ring, brown burlap cassocks flying, sandals flopping about.... No. Not those kind of bells. Hand bells. These kind. You'll notice that the players usually play only two bells, representing different notes. When my mother first started playing them a few years ago, I asked her which notes she played.

Mother:"I play G! And I also play F."

Me: "Oh, that's nice. Wait, what?!

Mother: "F. And G."

Me: "Really? F and G? You really play f'n gee?"

Mother: "Yes, what's so.... oh hahahahah, oh dear, yes, I guess I play f'n gee"

Now every time my mother says she's playing bells at church, I ask her about her f'n gee, and it continues to crack me up. Every. Single. Time.

So when I was thinking of things to make for Christmas, I was trying to think of something witty and bell-related for her. I decided on making her a bag - mostly to carry her bells in, but it could also be used for anything, like books or her knitting. I put heavier interfacing inside to make sure it stood up well and had a shape of its own, even when it is empty.

I asked around to a few friends for help on the saying I was going to put on the bag. I got lots of witty responses, but the best one was a bit complicated to do as it involved drawing bells. I'm new to blockprinting, and was doing the printing when I was out of town and wasn't prepared to start carving out bells in a lino block just for this project. So I stuck to letters without a picture.

The bag is made of linen - natural and burgundy, and lined in baby blue on the inside. I added the grommets pretty easily (after buying a bunch of grommets and then coming home to find that I already owned several packs of them for some reason). The handles are 1/4" cording covered in a linen sleeve, with knots in the end so they don't come through the grommets.

I think the final saying is pretty funny - it sounds like she's fed up and irritated enough to swear, like there was an argument that happened where the ringers couldn't decide who would bring what (kind of like an unorganized potluck lunch at work). It sounds like she's swearing, but it's also tame enough that she feels ok bringing the bag into church. I hope her church friends think it's funny and they start swearing at each other over biscuits and coffee after the next service.

* Lovely wool wall hanging in the first picture from the talented woodroots on Etsy

Commitment. Some people have a difficult time with that word. Well, maybe not so much the word, but the action. You hear about men unwilling to commit to their long-term girlfriend, or an employee not being committed to their job. I never thought I had an issue with the word - I've had long-term relationships, I've had long-term jobs. However, it turns out that I do have issues with this word. Especially when it is related to my own creative abilities.

I've dreamt of being a shop girl ever since I forced my brother to continually play the role of the Customer in our playroom shop when I was 8 and he was 5 or 6. I made him buy Nancy Drew book after Nancy Drew book; pencils and erasers; toys; and once, he made a really big purchase in the shape of my grandfather's typewriter. For that last one, he needed $500 Monopoly dollars! Whoa big spender! He may not have enjoyed it, but I revelled in counting out the change, displaying the items he was going to buy, and setting up where I kept the receipts on the counter. Thank god calculators were Really Giant in the 70s - ours looked just like a sales till.

I learned to sew around the same time that I was turning my brother into a shopper. I never made him buy anything I made - the thought of selling my wares came later when I was finishing my degree and was making bags and tablecloths instead of writing essays due the next day. University was one of the most productive and creative times of my life.

The next creative period was in the late 90s. I was gardening up a storm, making fantastic meals, and had my sewing machine out every day. Yes, I was in school again, this time doing my Master's degree. My husband and I got married soon after, Manusmade was born, and I started making and selling wedding invitations and paper products - photo albums, wedding guest books, and lanterns. I was working fulltime, but was also fully committed to creating, each and every day.

At that time, I toyed with the idea of taking Manusmade fulltime. But then I took another fulltime job - this time with lots of benefits and pension and overtime. My creativity shifted after this. Instead of making things for our home, or even to sell, my husband and I were focusing on fixing up our homes (we're on our third). We painted and knocked down walls and learned to tile and change baseboards. I loved doing this, and I love that I now have those skills, but I felt like something was missing. I wasn't making anything. I was missing the music of my sewing machine. So I pulled it out again, and beamed from ear to ear while I reconnected with my old friend.

I thought I was back in the groove. But then, months and months went by as there were several things that Got In The Way. Various personal issues, real estate issues, work issues. Finally, last year, things calmed down. This is when I started reconnecting with myself - I went to London with my sister and felt the first feelings in a long time of being real and present. I took the vacation of a lifetime with my husband and relaxed and laughed my head off. I worked with Michelle and started thinking of creative potentials. I had fiery thoughts after reading Danielle's words. I was inspired by Lauren and Emira. I started dreaming of being a shop girl again.

But my thoughts weren't becoming actions. I was travelling every two weeks for my day job. I was tired. I was scared. I was busy. Oh yeah, did I mention I was scared? If I open a shop, people will actually see what I make.

Wait. Isn't that what you've always wanted?

Maybe. Sort of.

Yes?

I'm done. I'm finished. I'm tired. I'm tired of waiting. Tired of being scared. Tired of figuring out the best time, the best site, the best process, the best design. I'm ready to commit to just doing it. Nike truly has something going there. It's not about waiting for the right time or the right product. It's about doing what you love, and being part of a community of people who do what they love too. Last year may have been about putting out feelers and getting started. This year is all about commitment - laying strong foundations, putting words to action, truly getting out of my head and into my hands.

London Print and Paris Print by Cosas Minimas

I'm at home today waiting for the oven repair man. Our gas oven died on New Year's Eve after dying a slow death over the previous month or two. The control panel was letting us use fewer and fewer buttons until it couldn't do anymore for us, and completely shut down. We phoned the 1-800 number on the oven, and it's still under warranty until May (we bought the house with it two years ago). Lucky us, since we'll need a whole new control panel, and I can imagine they're pretty expensive. By the way, we succeeded in making a lovely dinner both on the stovetop (mostly the veg) and in the BBQ (the pork florentine and the tarte tatin). Who needs an oven anyway??

Taking a break from work, I caught up on my Design*Sponge news and saw a link to the Paris print above. I'm still gaga over all things French and Parisian after my trip in September. Well, to be honest, I guess I've been gaga since I was about 18! I was so happy to see a London print as well which is also one of my top cities to love. Blanca Gomez runs Cosas Minimas (small things) out of Spain and sells whimsical prints through her Etsy shop. I may just have to get these prints for my craft room for ongoing inspiration!