Almost ready for the show tomorrow, I do hope the rain holds out. I owe a big thank you to my eternally dependable seam ripper. The man, not the tool.

This is the story of linen pants. The story of their life as I know it. You see, they have come into my life recently, so I am at a loss as to the road they traveled before reaching me. I found these pants at the thrift store, the feel was great, the brand I trust, the pink ticket was 50% off that day. In so many ways they were right. In so many ways they were wrong.

First there was the elastic waist. Maybe when I'm 84, though I hope not, but at 34 there is no way for me to pull this off. I also can't stand the confinement of the elastic. I've tried a variety of ways, sometimes in skirts it works, never with pants. In part due to the second reason they are so wrong. These particular pants were also blessed by their designer with a high waist band. Now, I don't know a lot anything about fashion, but if I had one opinion it would be that the most brilliant fashion revolution in my lifetime would have to be when they lowered the waist on womens pants. I know it doesn't work for every body type, it does for mine. I'm not built like a boy, I have hips, I also have a small waist. Pants just fit better around my hips than my waist. When I tried on these linen, elastic waisted pants they wound up sitting somewhere around the middle of my rib cage. I don't know why, it's just where they had to be to stay put. Have you ever looked at your behind in the mirror when your pants are pulled up around your ribs? Yeah, not cute. You see, an elastic waisted skirt you can pull down a bit, let it sit on your hips. I won't even get in to what your fanny looks like when you pull down high waisted elastic pants to sit on the top of your hips. Let's just say the um, crotch, winds up hanging somewhere between mid-thigh and your knees giving the illusion of one very droopy derriere. Like I said, I'm not 84 but 34, I'm still going for cute as best I can. And as the years slip away quickly, I'm not taking any chances. Oh! And the third thing, tapered leg. I can't even speak about tapered legs.The three things that could be wrong for me, this pair had them all.

So, they weren't right for me as they were, this story of linen as pants needed to end. But the fabric is still so beautiful, strong and gorgeous, still holding so much life. A new story is about to be spun. What if this linen could spread it's wings, take on new life, many lives even? Would I be willing to let this story evolve, become something new? Why not, it's just a story after all. I snipped and measured, I gusseted and interfaced, I sewed steadily and hemmed patiently. And in the end, a new story appeared, three times. What was once entirely wrong, is now so very right.

Tonight I went to see a play at the summer youth theater of the town I grew up in. There was a line in one of the songs, "our lives become the stories that we weave." I've been thinking a lot about stories lately, so these words were sweet and reminded me of so much, including this project I had worked on all day. Who knows what lives these stories will weave from here. Two will be leaving, I've got a show on Saturday. One will be staying with me. A part of this story will always stay with me, entwined with thousands of other stories big and small, beautiful and painful, silly and wise, together weaving this life that I live.

This is my go to meal whenever I'm seeking balance and healing. I felt pretty lousy today and this was my remedy. Sauteed kale, onions and garlic, seasoned with sea salt, black pepper, tamari and toasted sesame oil, served over brown rice. Maybe it's all the blueberry dessert love that's been going on around here, who knows. A simple meal, restoring harmony as always, so dependable that way.

Do you have a favorite healing food or meal? Not comfort food, but food that replenishes you when you feel physically or emotionally depleted. Something that truly nourishes, I'd love it if you shared.

The fruits of recent thrifting excursions.  Nothing terribly exciting, though I do love the brown and orange in the center photo. I only photographed the most exciting of the lot, I know that's not saying much. As I loaded these photos I did get a few ideas that were definitely not coming to me as I was picking them up over the weekend, so I guess that's a good thing. You know how it is, you're all pumped with your allotted fabric stash cash in your pocket, ready to score big... but alas, you come home with lots of good, durable, practical lining fabric (boring), tiny snippets of great cottons for minimal use (a tease), and the obligatory "what was I thinking" purchase.

It's not even the pattern as much as the texture, a very thin, awful to touch polyester. Think 1974 housecoat. Would you understand my momentary lapse of reason if I told you it were only $1.00? And there are yards and yards of it. Some days the thrifting gods smile down on us, other days it's as though they are laughing, pointing even, and we are humbled. Okay, that might be a little dramatic.

We love the rain. After Adam and I were married, we honeymooned in Vermont and returned six months later. We were both sad to leave but knew there would be a day when we'd be back, we felt the timing wasn't right for us then. Twelve years later I realize the timing is never right and had I known then what I know now, I would have stayed, dug in deep, made it work. Who cares if Adam's construction job wages were one third of what they would've been down here, if my dream come true art gallery job in quintessential Woodstock Village paid slightly higher than minimum wage. We had each other, and we had rain that poured down at night creating incredible, soothing rhythms on our shabby tin roof each time there was a storm. That was the best roof we ever had.

As I write this, the sky has opened up and the rain pours down. As a kid I'd play in the rain until soaked to the bone, the air warm, the rain cool. Now I watch Emily do the same thing, once in a while I'll join her, but too often I opt out, happy instead to watch from the inside, or the front porch. What's that about? Damn it, it's been too long since I've been truly "soaked to the bone". The kind of soaked that when you come in you have to tug and tug to peel your clothes off. She's not home right now, but next time... I'm in.

For now, I'll put my feet up, have some tea, and listen. The house is quiet, it's me and the rain.

With dinner this evening...Bruschetta.

• 1 loaf french bread, cut into 36 slices
• 1 lb. plum tomatoes, chopped, seeds & pulp removed (2 1/2 cups)
• 4 oz. crumbled feta cheese
• 1/2 cup finely chopped red onion
• 3 Tbs. chopped fresh parsley
• 3 Tbs. chopped fresh basil
• 1/4 cup chopped kalamata olives
• balsamic vinegar
• olive oil
• sea salt & cracked pepper to taste

Preheat broiler. Place bread on baking sheet. Broil 2 min. each side, watch carefully, until lightly toasted. Brush 1 side of each toast with olive oil. Season with salt & pepper.

Meanwhile, mix tomatoes, about 1 tbs. olive oil, 2 tbs. balsamic, cheese, onions, parsley, basil, olives, salt & pepper.

Spoon about 2 Tbs. mix on each toast slice, pop back under the broiler for another 2 minutes. Serve.

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Emily has been taking watercolor classes this summer at the farm of one of my former students. Cheryl's approach to teaching art is to immerse children in nature first, to study, feel, and fully absorb it while traipsing all over her fifty five acre homestead. Then she shares painting techniques, which they apply in their uniquely individual and expressive ways. Melts this mama's heart.

What could be better than a summer morning spent painting a stone bridge and river, right beside them both? It really is magical for this little girl. And I had to share, how fitting is it that the farmer/art teacher carries her students supplies to the awaiting location with her trusty wheel barrow!

The bird house is in Cheryl's secret garden behind her studio, and the pony, well that's Miss Daisy. She is an older, very sweet lady, well into her thirties with sore muscles and tired bones, but with age comes wisdom and she has all the time in the world for some love and a good brushing from the girls after class.

In all of my years, I have never seen art classes like these. This group of girls will remember Cheryl's lessons far into the future. I know mine will, she fits in so beautifully here, this land of rivers, horses, frogs, and earth, everywhere you look, there is earth.

As for me? I spent the time entering the right space for the much anticipated retreat that lies ahead. And what better place to do so than by the river, in the shade, with the frogs...

See you all soon, be well.

Things are rolling along here, slow and steady. Our days have been full in all the ways that make a summer day gloriously full. I feel a little silly popping in here with alternating beach and sewing/embroidery posts. Both certainly are much loved activities for us this summer.

Most years I can't get enough of the forest and mountains, and while I do feel myself itching for some serious time on the trail, it's come to me a little late this year. Normally for us there would have been at least two hiking trips and many day hikes already completed at this point in the season. But for reasons unknown, I keep heading to the beach. And you know, I've been enjoying every single bit of it.

I have embraced this beach filled summer quite easily. I know when I do find myself heading in the opposite direction, toward my beloved Green Mountains, they'll be waiting for me, they always are. Until then, I do apologize for the lack of variety around here. But don't you think summer is a time when summer itself is usually enough? There really isn't much that I can add to these near perfect sun soaked days and cool nights.                                      

This was the first bag to sell at my show over the weekend.  The lady who bought is was very sweet, she practiced yoga, shared a couple of studios with me in her area should I feel like making a little road trip to take a class. Not a bad idea really, as one of them is in a post and beam barn, loaded with windows and flooded with sunlight. Sounds perfect.

There was no hesitation in her choice to claim this bag as her own. It was fun to watch her notice the booth from the main aisle, walk directly in, eyes fixed on this bag, picking it right up, this was made for her. No doubt. It reminded me of how I've been finding the words to embroider for these bags. The words arrive, and there is no second guessing. The meditation that follows as I watch letters appear across the linen allows me to cast aside the details of my day, and sit inside the moment. Incredible rhythm this needle and thread.

I hope to have a few of these in the shop in a few days, maybe next week. Hope you're all still moving along slowly and beautifully through summer.

Remember when you were a kid and believed if you wished really hard, with all your might kind of hard, it was likely to come true? I haven't had that feeling in years, until we stumbled upon this beach side village. I found myself wishing I was four inches tall, just for a day. I would have loved to meet the mom of these imaginative creators, but this village we found after it's makers had long gone. Although, I suppose it's likely those that made it could have been adults, look at me just assuming it was little one's. In a way, grown- ups making this is even more lovely.

Amphitheater.

Cottage.

Cutest camp fire ever!

Sit and chill for awhile on the park bench.

Two roads diverged in the wood, I chose the one less traveled. It has made all the difference. ~Robert Frost

Community pool.

Thanks for taking the tour!  Now, tell me, wouldn't you love to be four inches tall and step into this village?