A girl and her fox. Photo: Bretta’s brother, I think.
Sometimes, great PaperGirl content just drops into my lap.
Yesterday, during a terrific class here in beautiful Irvine, CA, a lady named Bretta had a great-looking carryall satchel. It was big and navy blue with little embroidered foxes all over it. I loved it so much because I love fabric with little animals printed on and you don’t see tiny foxes very often.
I asked Bretta about it and she told me, “My daughter gave it to me. I had a pet fox growing up, so people give me a lot of fox stuff.”
“You… Had a pet fox??” I said, delighted and confused. (Delighted and confused is a weird emotional mix but I had no choice.)
Bretta said that yes, her fox’s name was Flash. They got him at the pet store back in the day, and that her brother had a monkey. She showed me a picture — the picture you see above — and when I saw that fox on a leash, I just did not know what to do with myself. I mean, is that just the living end??
“I used to put Flash up over my shoulders, sort of like a fur collar and walk around with him like that.”
You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.
Bretta told me she only had her pet fox for about a year because Flash ran away. Foxes do like to run. And his name was Flash! I suppose it was bound to happen sometime.
But that was really cool, learning about a girl and her fox. So I thought I’d tell you.
This image was contained within a roll of film found lying on a street in Australia in 1938 and was subsequently donated to the Royal Australian Historical Society. Image: Wikipedia.
I have prominent dimples on both my cheeks. (My face cheeks! Don’t be cheeky.) Some people have one dimple on one cheek or maybe a dimple on (in?) their chin. Me, I have double dimples. I’m a Double-D or “DD.”
Mostly, I don’t think about my dimples. After all, I’ve had them all my life. When people point them out, it’s like, “Yeah, yeah. Dimples, dimples, dimples. What else is new?”** It’s the same with my two front teeth, which happen to be very rabbit-like. I don’t think about my rabbit teeth too much, either, unless someone like Claus calls me “Bunny” and teases me (in a friendly way) about them, which he used to do and still does, when we email.
Which we do. A little.
But in Lincoln this week, I thought a lot about my dimples because I saw my friend Carolyn, who has the best dimples ever. Ever! Whenever I see Carolyn — an accomplished quilt expert and curator and all-around extraordinary woman — it all makes sense. Carolyn’s a DD just like me, and when she smiles (or even speaks at all, honestly) I realize that dimples may indeed have special power. At the very least, I have to admit they’re pretty cute.
So at dinner on Friday night, I confab-ed with Carolyn and another DD, the luminous and brilliant Heather. It was the first time in my life I had ever actually discussed my own dimplage and the dimplage of other women. What we discussed was fascinating and we were drawing conclusions that frankly helped me understand my entire life!
As illuminating as that discussion was, however, the three of us are smart enough to know that a sample size of three is not sufficient to form official Theories about DD’s, so I told the gals I’d conduct some extremely scientific research on the topic and see if any of our hypotheticals could be substantiated by actual data.
And now, from the Drumming Dimplerettes, a drumroll, please!
If you are a DD (male or female), please click this link to take this 10-question survey. It’s really going to be fun for you and I cannot WAIT to read your responses!!
If you are NOT a dimple-cheeked person or if you are a single-dimpled person, sit tight. Your time will come shortly, I assure you. Your data is every bit as important as the DD data and I am writing your very own survey right now, sitting at this airport in the southwest corner of the United States, waiting for a delayed flight to Orange County. Of course, if you want to check out the DD survey questions, great; you’ll enjoy reading the questions and will get some insight into the conversation I had with my fellow DDs. But please: Unless you are an actual DD, don’t answer the quiz. I know you want to. But this is science!
I can’t wait to put on my spectacles and make a spreadsheet.
**Actually, that’s not true: I love it when people say they like my dimples. It is my hypothesis that most DDs do!
Patchwork hanging (detail.) Uzbekistan, 20th century. Photo: Me, at the International Quilt Study Center & Museum, Lincoln, NE.
TELEGRAM FROM INTERNATIONAL QUILT STUDY CENTER & MUSEUM, LINCOLN, NEBRASKA, 8:46AM:
At board meeting. STOP. Quilt heaven. STOP. Lunch w/hero Jonathan Holstein. STOP. Total dreamboat. STOP. Strategic planning and acquisition viewing. STOP. Good coffee. STOP. Never leaving. STOP. Seriously though.DON’T STOP. STOP. I don’t want to leave. STOP. Okay fine. STOP. Gig on Monday in Irvine CA. STOP. Not possible to stay. STOP. Okay I need to take a shower and get to second day of meeting. STOP. This telegram is costing 9,000 dollars. STOP.
Welcome to my hotel room photo shoot. That’s the pouch Kelly made me and yes, I am wearing pink pajamas. Photo: Marty Fans.
Greetings from Lincoln, Nebraska, where it feels like Christmas Eve.
This is because the annual two-day board meeting for the International Quilt Study Center & Museum (IQSCM) begins tomorrow morning. Since I’m a board member, I get to go. That’s how board meetings work, I have learned and yes I do feel fancy but mostly I just feel geeky and happy. Jonathan Holstein is here. The only person I’d be more excited about meeting and working with would be Barbara Brackman. After that, probably Madonna.
The only drawback to being here is that I couldn’t stay in St. Louis, which is where I was yesterday. I had to leave Common Threads, a very cool, annual BabyLock event, which — of course! — landed the same weekend as my board meeting. Common Threads is an invitational meetup/think tank kind of a thing for quilters and sewists who work with BabyLock out there in the industry. There were around 55 people at the weekend retreat, some of whom I had never met, some of whom I consider good friends, e.g., Jenny Doan, Vanessa Vargas Wilson, Amy Ellis, and many other terrific, talented women.
Like Kelly Bowser.
Before I tell you why Kelly deserves special distinction, know that Kelly did not ask me to write this, nor am I benefitting in any way from singing her praises and talking about how much I love the thing she designed and how I have used it every single day for four years.
So, Kelly and I met at the first-ever Common Threads four years ago. I liked her immediately: She was funny and smart and warm. Kelly’s atalented designer, a so-good-it’s-annoying sewist, quiltmaker, blogger, and pattern writer, and she’s a mom, wife, and she has a law degree. We got to know each other and became industry pals.
That night, when I dug into the swag bag in my hotel room, I discovered the coolest little handmade cloth pouch! It was kinda puffy and had a zipper and everything. The tag said: “Kelby Sews”, which is Kelly’s brand. I learned that Kelly had designed and made everyone in the group that year (40 people??) their very own pouch, which she calls the “30-Minute Pouch”. (I understand you can download the pattern for free on Craftsy, so check that out.)
I just loved my little pouch. I began using it immediately. It is the perfect size for my lipstick, compact, eyedrops, tiny mascara, and aspirin thingy. That pouch has been in my possesion for four years. It has traveled tens of thousands of miles with me. It’s been in fabulous purses, let me tell you. It went to New York. It went to Washington. It came back to Chicago. It went to Berlin. It’s gone on so many dates. It’s been with me on family vacation. It was at my sister’s wedding.
I’m telling you: Kelly’s 30-Minute Pouch is seriously part of my life. In material objects, anyway.
There’s a lot to love about Common Threads. But my favorite part? Finding Kelly Bowser and rummaging around in my purse to get my lil’ pouch so that I can hold it up and go, “Kelly! Kelly, look!” Last night, a bunch of us girls had a great conversation about the power of the handmade object. You never know where the things you make will end up. It’s wonderful. Not everything that comes in a gift bag stays so long, you know?
And it pays to take care of something: Kelly was delighted to see I’m still devoted to my pouch, but she made me write down my address so she could send me a new one. I’ll allow it. But I’m not tossing the original. She made it for me!
On the bus the other day, I was thinking about the funniest things I have ever heard. I wasn’t thinking “What are the funniest stories I’ve ever heard?” and I wasn’t thinking about the funniest jokes I’ve ever heard, either. You might be thinking, “What else is there?” but I can explain.
You see, I remembered something out of nowhere that I hadn’t thought about in years — and I recalled that, at the time I came across it, I had never heard anything so hilarious in my entire life. I was eight, so don’t get too excited.
It was a little handwritten sign in a bathroom in Door County. The sign read:
“If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie.”
I was helpless with laughter. I had never known anything more genius and silly and funny and gross in all my life. It was a real gem for eight-year-old Mary, let me tell you. Clearly, it stayed with me.
So after thinking about that for awhile and, yes, chuckling a little (mostly about me at eight, giggling until I could hardly breathe, not so much about the pee thing), I wondered about other things like that. What were the other funniest things I have ever heard?
The second thing that came to mind happened when I was in high school, so again: No need to brace yourself for nuanced, sophisticated comedy, here. I was working as a waitress at the local Pizza Hut.
…and that’s it. That’s the funniest thing: Me, in high school, slingin’ pies at the local Pizza Hut.
I’m kidding! Although there is some comedic value to that sentence. It has something to do with the word “Hut.”
But seriously: The Pizza Hut’s manager’s name was Steve. That poor guy. He had a bunch of ne’er-do-well high school kids to corral all day and his “office” was a computer shoved into corner near the walk-in. He could’ve been a jerk — but he was so nice! He was understanding and cool but never inappropriately cool. Like, Steve wouldn’t buy us beer or let us take pizzas home for free. Steve was great. He was also a real cornball. That means he told corny jokes and was fond of puns.
One day, I got to work and Steve had clearly gotten a haircut. I said, “Hey, Steve! You got your haircut!”
And Steve snapped his fingers and pointed to me and said, “No, Mary: I got ’em all cut.”
I blinked. I cocked my head. And then I got it. And I loved it. I thought it was genius. Ha! Got ’em all cut! Because you don’t get a hair cut! You get ’em all cut! Oh, man. What a knee-slapper.
The other other thing I came up with was that my friend Nellie told me in college that she and her sisters, when they were kids, used to roll down this hill in the backyard. One day, her sister pooped her pants as she was rolling down the hill and after that, they called it “Poopy Hill.”
Yes, I am aware that two of the three of the funniest things I am claiming to have ever heard have to do with the bathroom. I sincerely hope that if I keep thinking about more wildly hilarious things, this will not be the case.
