Clothworks Textiles has just come out with their new catalog and it includes my Love Letters collection of fabrics. The people at Clothworks are really wonderful to work with and their fabrics are soft and lush… I can hardly wait to make a quilt for the guest room from these romantic prints! I couldn’t resist sharing the catalog pages. Go to www.clothworkstextiles.com/designer_bio.asp?ID=27 to see more.

If you want to find the fabric or are a store wanting to carry it, you can look on their website or phone 800-874-0541. I promise you’ll love the quality.

Spotted on a boat, one remarkably bright & articulate girl who was drawing in a journal I designed for Michael’s… a new friend!

After hiking Deer Mountain, we were on our way back to town when we encountered this bear cub trying to get into a garbage can. We couldn’t see Mama nearby, and thank goodness we never did. The baby bear gave up on the garbage can and ambled off…

Hiking in the rain forest I found one wonder after another, and marveled at miracles large and small. Even looking at the photos I can almost smell the moss, the scent of moist fern and cedar…

The curves and curls will find their way into my work, the petals and stems, the beaks and bills and paws and flippers as well…

Is there a place more pristine, more inspiring than Alaska’s forests and waterways?

I’ve been resting, working on a wildflower collection and spending time in quiet contemplation here in the wilds of Alaska.

Up close with dainty ferns and flowers, observing ravens, puffins, and otters. Hiking in rain forests and being splashed by humpback whales breaching in the Kenai Fjords.

It’s what I call feeding my eyes and my mind. One of the essentials for an artist is the rest and inspiration that comes out later in one’s work, sometimes in ways seemingly unrelated. Without this time I’d go dry, bone dry. This is one of the wellsprings for creativity for me.

Trusty camera tucked into one pocket and sketchbook and pencil in the other, I tried to capture some of what I saw. Here’s a sampling, in the hopes that it inspires your own creative muse. In the next few days I hope to share more…

What’s the dividing line between flowers and weeds?

Friends have gifted me, with only the kindest of intentions, with starts of Chinese lantern, mint, and morning glories, along with a host of more welcome garden guests from columbine to alpine strawberries, heirloom snowdrops and climbing pink roses and even a gorgeous pink peony that’s the exact color of strawberry ice cream. Some of my most treasured flowers came this way, freely given and admired more with every passing year.

I adore my friends but if you asked, I’d nominate Chinese lantern and mint for the Weed Hall of Fame, along with the morning glory that turned out to be field bindweed instead. If you don’t know what field bindweed is you can thank your lucky stars. It may well be listed in the Guiness Book of World Records as the most tenacious of all the weeds known to mankind.

Then again the wild roses that deckle the edges of the riverbank just down the road, which pop back even when mowed flat to the ground, are so lovely you can’t help but admire them. Hardly a weed! They rank right up there with Melba’s grandpa’s heirloom roses, the ones that bloom profusely, staunchly refuse disease and have a scent worthy of the finest French perfume.

Think of foxgloves, Queen Anne’s Lace, rhododendron… Not exactly something you’d want to exterminate but they all grow wild along the roadsides. Native lilacs. Dogwood. Our country roads teem with these effortless glories.

Running past fields of buttercup spangled meadows, I muse over the difference between weeds and flowers, and decide to spend this year’s vacation in Alaska creating a new wildflower collection. So I’m snapping reference photos like mad, weeds and flowers alike. If it’s pretty, I’m open to it. Maybe not in our own garden but definitely for borders and patterns emerging from my scissors and pots of ink this summer.

Summer is the perfect season for snipping flowers and wildflowers… or weeds masquerading as flowers. I’m a pushover for anything that blooms.

If there’s anything nicer than a rainy afternoon with friends in the studio, I don’t know what it could be. So when Connie, Sarah and Linda showed up Monday at noon with salad, French chocolate bars and big baskets full of craft supplies I opened the door grinning like a fool.

We slurped tortellini soup and raced out to the studio for an afternoon of paper play, making glass necklaces and other little works of art. Linda had invented a new product for Clearsnap and you can imagine my surprise when she shared it with us… I was drooling over that sparkle in New York’s Pearl Paint store a few weeks ago! Look for her Sparkle Fibers in a store near you or visit www.clearsnap.com I am so proud of my ingenious friend.

Sarah enjoyed the vintage cutters and crimpers clamped to an old ironing board behind the front door… and we have promised one another to get together again soon for another rollicking afternoon of laughter among the scissors and glue… a grownup play date!

Did you have that snuggly kind of grandma that left you with memories of a soft lap and encouraging words of wisdom? I did.

I remember her telling me, as I was trying to learn to read, the old Aesop’s proverb: Slow and steady wins the prize.

Today when I am trying to complete another book, at the same time attempting to cross a hundred things off my to-do list, her words come back to encourage me again.
Just take one  little step, she almost whispers in my ear. Just do one tiny bit for now, then another, then yet another.

You don’t have to attack the whole task at once.

Slow and steady wins the prize.

Does your mountain look too big to handle? One step at a time we can do it. Together.  Slowly but surely the leaves unfurl. Slowly but surely.

Digging the garden a shovel at a time. Moving along inch by inch. Writing a book word upon word.

Grandma’s advice was seldom fancy but always reliable.

Take your needle, my child, and work at your pattern- it will come out a rose by and by. Life is like that… one stitch at a time, taken patiently. Oliver Wendell Holmes

I stepped into the Javits Convention Center in New York and looked at the floor sign announcing the big trade show about to open.

“SURTEX, selling and licensing art & design,” in bold red letters.

Oh. My. Goodness. How on earth did I end up here? I wondered. Just as I do every year, I could hardly believe it. Here I was, in the company of the best designers in the nation, showing my art to manufacturers from every corner of the globe. Once again I am in the land of “can real life be this great?” I have been so blessed, I feel like kissing that sign on the floor. An ordinary person like me, thriving in this setting. Living my dreams. How wonderful.

So there I was, back in New York again. How can you not love New York? It’s the city of amazement. Anything can happen. And probably will.

I took the photo above from the Rainbow Room at the top of Rockefeller Plaza during the National Stationery Show opening night party, where the food and the chatter were as stellar as the view. To the accompaniment of clinking wine glasses and a live jazz band, we marveled at the Chrysler Building and the Hudson River, admired (and greedily consumed, it must be admitted!) the glorious foods- prime ribs of beef, fresh beet salad, tiramisu and chocolate mousse torte and lemon tarts… and then danced and visited with old friends and generally enjoyed ourselves to the nines. Hurrah. I love New York.

My licensing partners from all over the globe sat down for meetings to evaluate how we can work together even better. Manufacturers of tableware, wallpaper, party goods, stationery, craft items, clothing… the list goes on. Can you see the inner glow? When your business is creativity, the meetings are brainstorming sessions for the most amazing projects you can dream up together. No wonder we look happy!

After the work was done, booths closed down, and luggage all packed away, I spent a morning wandering through Central Park, then rattled down the subway to Union Square and Soho and Chinatown before heading back to the airport.

Now it’s back to the studio to implement the plans that were made in the Big Apple. Watch for new product in the market place soon… I’ll post on the website the closer these new ideas come to appearing in a store near you. I am back in the studio, scissors in hand and inks and papers waiting… Life is so sweet and I am so thankful for the wonderful week in New York.

Russell loves the soft sound my pointed pen makes when I’m doing an upstroke and the way I always have an ink stain at a certain place on my middle right finger right after I’ve been in the ink pots again.

Calligraphy. It’s been in my blood a very long time.

Finally, sixteen years after my love affair with the pen began, I’m going public with it. This weekend Surtex, the big New York design show, opens, and along with my signature silhouettes I’ll be bringing a few word pictures along.

Words matter. Don’t you believe that? Words have power to wound or to heal, to beat us up or encourage, to make you weep or laugh or sing. Words matter.

Because I love words so much I’ve married them with pictures. Never had the courage to pull them out of the drawers until now. Shall I tell you a secret? It’s a little scary to show a whole new look like this! I’ll quake in my boots just a wee bit, but show them anyway, fingers crossed, and heart full of hope as usual.

Wish me luck! And tell me what you think of my new image collection. Send me an email and tell me how I could do them better or if they’re okay as is.

And now back to my pot of ink and that nice scratchy ink sound, and the snip snip snip of the scissors!

It’s a soggy spring afternoon. The air is full of birdsong and the perfume of the woods.

I am with Brian, our son who knows all about the woods and we are doing my favorite thing: hiking in the forest right near our home, Brian pointing out nests and lairs, elderberries unfolding, owl pellets under the trees. All my favorite things.

He knows this is my idea of the ultimate luxury, and has invited me for a brisk hike.

Wild dogtooth violets, forget me not, trillium, and Oregon grapes  bloom in secret corners. Ferns  are unfurling and the misty drips moisten clumps of moss and downed trees. Little holes dot the mountainside, home to shy forest creatures. There is much to see, and Brian knows the clues that speak like a code to him, revealing marvels I would never find alone. A feather here, a mushroom there. My patient guide points them out quietly. We watch for deer, for mice, for all the secrets of the forest. He knows where the bees have a hive, where the deer lie in the evening.

But too soon the hike ends; duty calls.

And now I am  home sipping from a steaming cup, immensely satisfied.

Last night I worked until 2am, then rose at 6 to begin again. I was so tired, but the hike has given me a jolt of refreshment and rest and I am ready to work.

New York is just a week away! Can it be true? There are so many jobs to complete before then, so much to organize and accomplish. But nothing more important or valuable in the long run than this hour of simply being. Being in the woods with Brian. Priceless.

“Where do you get your ideas?”
It’s the most-asked question when people look at my work. I almost never give an honest answer.

The honest answer would be, “Are you SERIOUS??? How do you NOT have ideas?”

We’re so surrounded by ideas! The whole world is simply teeming with them.

Today is a case in point. Look at these adorable ducklings! I spotted them while on my daily jog. They were playing behind a wire fence, an adorable vintage wire fence just like mine, with curved loops across the top and just the right amount of rust. But I digress. Again as usual. See what I mean? That fence is another idea- what a great border that would be!

These little darlings were playing follow the leader in the watery spring sunshine. After one look I was in love, I knew I’d have to snip ducklings for at least part of the evening! How could I not?

Also spotted on the walk were yellow dogwood against a barn and a beautiful yellow magnolia just beginning to blossom. Then there are the apple blossoms, cherry trees in bloom, and the tufts of grass blowing in the wind. A grumpy but charming toad who lives under the step. A farm house, abandoned, but with a cheery lace curtain still hanging in the window, like a hopeful sign that someone will soon come in, love it back to life and cool a freshly baked pie on that windowsill.

Ideas are sprouting faster than the weeds, and I can promise you that in our fertile valley right now, that’s fast. Life provides more ideas than I could use if I lived to a hundred. We are truly surrounded by miracles, each one an idea. Or two. Or three.

Spring’s always a juicy fix for color addicts like me. If you’re a visual junkie, too, you know what I mean. Just when winter’s grays and browns seem never-ending, suddenly spring bursts on the scene and suddenly you’re awash in inspiration again.

Have you noticed I’m always gushing about the glories of nature, often discovered on my afternoon exercise runs? Today was no exception. Down the country road again, around the corner, huffing and puffing past the tulip fields… A gaggle of cyclists on a bike tour of the valley’s tulips and daffodils waved as they passed, and horses nodded at me from the other side of the fence.

Altogether a friendly afternoon outdoors. And then I noticed the plum trees and all else vanished for me. Just blue sky and blossoms and a whole new palette I’m dying to try out. Can’t resist sharing it with you. It’s springtime at its best. I’d almost decided my red tulips with their showy shades of crimson, hints of yellow and black offered the best colors of the season, now I’m completely smitten with these blues and greens and creamy creamy whites. Wouldn’t they make a gorgeous color palette for a greeting card? I’m going to try it tomorrow.

Creamy whites, set off by vibrant touches of azure and peridot and hints (just barely there) of rosy pink… irresistibly brisk and bracing, fresh as the breeze blowing the petals in the breeze.

Afternoon light is the most splendid, almost liquid gold sometimes. Magic.

I often see miracles. This afternoon I jogged down the road; it was one of those hours when the very air seemed gilded.

Fields with mama horses and their foals. Sprouting seedlings in Steve’s fields. He has announced there will be no farm stand this afternoon but the neighbors walk past and eye his neat rows, hopeful Steve may have had a change of heart. The trees are leafing out in that amazing shade seen only at this season.

It’s springtime. And the golden air is ripe with hope.

I jog back to the studio, breathless. No wonder I never run out of ideas, living in a place where miracles like this happen on ordinary afternoons. Ordinary, ha. There is no such thing anywhere in the world, is there, really?

It’s Saturday morning and I am on a self imposed Writing Retreat. I’m determined to forge ahead with this book, to make great progress and get the thing DONE! The problem is I am longing for a treat. Not a retreat.

There’s a new car in the driveway and a sliver of blue sky just outside the studio window, and both are calling to me.

Sometimes even if you adore your job, work is just that: work! I am on a buckle-down-and-make-big-progress retreat from the world, but what I want is windows wide open, wind in my hair. I want to go tootling down the road with my sweetheart beside me and the great wide world unrolling before me.
I am promising myself that on the day the book comes out I have permission to get into that shiny green car and glide down the road singing at the top of my lungs. For now it’s retreat into the book which, by the way, is turning out shockingly well! Goodbye, now, Dear Diary, I am back to writing for today.

Jenn and I walked this morning past mockingbirds and sparrows, great blue herons and red-winged blackbirds. We chatted our way from one end of the wild bird preserve to the other while Ruthie dozed in her stroller and munched goldfish crackers. Springtime in the Northwest glazed us with watery sunshine. What a great escape!

I must have driven past this little country church countless times without seeing it, but noticed it for the first time today, right next to Jenn’s classic clapboard-fenced home and garden. It’s the quintessential steepled church, whose bell rings at exactly nine a.m. It sits  like an aged but elegant lady in the middle of a dandelion lawn ringed with blooming fruit trees.

I’m sure there are sights far grander than this, but nothing satisfies me more than conversation with a kind heart,  the common glories of birds on the wild marshes, and the homey goodness of a church whose lawn is chock full of robins and dandelions.

Violets dot the garden; everything’s budding. This year I’ve got little banks of violets edging the flower beds, blooming in profusion.

I can’t resist kneeling in the muddy grass, nose buried in the greenery so I can sniff the faint scent of perfume on the breeze. And there I am, suddenly pricked with sorrow like a thorn; tears mingle with the raindrops that dot my cheeks.

How my mother would have loved these violets! She, who made sure I had secret pockets in my summer dresses and little violets and roses stitched under the hems to remind me of her love. My mother was a tomboy and a lady; she could wiggle her toes in the mud and stomp in puddles, then troop indoors for cocoa and a symphony trailing every child in the neighborhood.

If she were here, my mother would have been bottom-to-the-sky right beside me, loving the glories of early spring.  She taught me to relish the ordinary delights of every day, never to take anything for granted. I owe her so much.

“Count your blessings.” I almost hear a faint whisper of her voice in my ear. “You have so many.”
Violets. A priceless heritage. Clouds, sisters, health. Marshmallows. Words. Hot baths. Sense of smell.
I bend back for one last sniff, then turn to the studio to finish up three canvases for my next book, which will be published before the violets emerge next spring, another blessing to add to a long list of joys.

Another run along the paths through the forest this afternoon… I’d dropped packages at FedEx and as usual heard the woods at the edge of our county airport calling to me. These paths never disappoint.

Today it was great blue herons soaring past, trees in bloom, and the birch catkins dripping down overhead. What a peaceful interlude in the busy day.

Stopping to examine the tiny tips of budding branches, I was shocked when a helicopter suddenly interrupted the birdsong with its loud thunk-thunk-thunk. Lowering slowly, its door slid open and out popped a couple who scrambled across the tarmac and entered a Lear jet parked at the edge of the runway.

Penny & I ran on along the path as the Lear jet rolled with a roar and lifted off into the sky. After a few moments of hovering, off went the helicopter as well, leaving the wetlands and woods at peace  again.

I am so glad not to be jetting across the sky, to be just my ordinary self, running along my usual path in old jeans and sweatshirt, gathering inspiration for future art.

I bent again to examine a leaf, thankful to be earthbound and enjoying the little pleasures that find their way into my work.

Springtime, full of common miracles like the green of emerging leaves and the song of shy birds at the edge of the woods. Thank goodness the modern intrusions pass by and leave us again to marvel at the joys of spring.

If it’s true that man’s best friend is his dog, then I have a confession to make: my best friend is a comedian.

Every day there’s one person guaranteed to have me in stitches at least once a day: Penny. She’s never a downer, always smiling (yes, that goofy grin is as present as her big brown eyes) and she thinks everyone is a friend. Even the pit bulls who attacked her were welcomed. Penny is not the brightest in my circle of friends but like every true friend she has qualities I want to emulate: a trusting heart, a sense of humor, and above all, an effervescent and unstoppable enthusiasm for life.

Take the issue of telling us “I want in!” when she’s been out in the garden. Our other dogs have always scratched at the door, the doggy equivalent of a polite knock. Russell has been determined to teach this new puppy to follow their lead, to no avail.
Penny has her own ideas.

Penny adores jumping. Giant leaps skyward for no reason are her forte. She doesn’t jump on people, she goes straight for the stratosphere. Every time she sees Russell at the back door she leaps, and should she forget, Russell takes a little hop to remind her and she’s going up and down like a rubber band.

Penny’s a lot like me: she resists the ordinary. Why scratch at the door when you can jump and jump and jump instead?

So now when Penny would like to signal “let me in! let me in!” she goes to the door and leaps repeatedly until someone comes to let her in.

The neighbors can look over and see her bobbing up and down like a puppy on springs, a living pogo stick, tongue sticking out and grinning like a fool. She’s a perfect running buddy, she’ll never tell your secrets, she is the consummate jokester, leaping at the back door until you notice the thump thump thump and come to let her in.

My best friend is a comedian.

Isn’t this an adorable phone? Mine is a flashy little hot pink cell, which folds neatly into pocket or purse and rings with a zippy twang.

When I came across this stylish vintage model it reminded me again of my love for all things related to the telephone.

Even the vocabulary is charming.

Give me a ring, dial me up, let’s chat! All so warm and friendly. Doesn’t it just make you want to reach for your own telephone and give your best friend a jingle???

Spring arrived about four o’clock. I’d dropped a package at Fed Ex and stopped at the edge of the little woods that borders our small community airport. Penny and I love our jogs there; we have relished the sharp tang of winter, splashing along the paths with sleet in our faces and laughing (yes, puppies can laugh!)

But today when I opened the door, I could tell she smelled it, too. Spring.

What a welcome scent it was, all flowers and warming earth. We could hardly wait to smell it. Penny’s idea of happy smells is different than mine. She was impatient when I buried my face in the flowering plums; I yanked the leash when she stopped at something horribly disgusting. Thank goodness she didn’t roll in it!

And then we rounded a corner that held a treasure to delight us both: flowering skunk cabbage. Startlingly yellow and boldly graphic, I thought. Shockingly stinky, enough to make a dog’s tail wag.

We took the luxury of an extra loop through the middle of the trails, met kindred spirits out to explore, and I snapped 84 luscious photos to refer to when I’m cutting valentines this week.

Before we zipped home I stopped to inhale a long breath of fresh spring air, savoring the sweet perfume of the welcome new season. Springtime is the scent of hope. Can you smell it, too?

When the first blossoms appear, I feel a certain mysterious joy welling up. It’s the longing to smell that wonderful earth-warming-up perfume of our little valley coming to life again after a chilly gray winter.

I wander about for a few days with a silly grin pasted on my face, and I find myself cutting out random buds and flowers and hunting for the heirloom patch of bleeding heart I transplanted in the wheelbarrow a few years ago, so huge it overflowed in the wheelbarrow, spilling out luxuriously. I divided it mercilessly, then held my breath in the hopes it would thrive and be happy. (It did!)

There are still no signs of life in the bleeding hearts, but the crocus are up and the snowdrops have been out for almost two weeks now. Rhubarb and blackberries are just beginning to unfurl. I need to hack away at the overgrowth that didn’t get pruned last fall, but today it’s okay to simply enjoy.

I am supposed to be concentrating on autumn images, but since I am almost drunk on the scent of springtime in the breeze, I think I can be forgiven for sneaking in a few charming little violets and daffodils cut in pastel hues.

Today I smelled the perfume of springtime and saw the promise of the garden waking up again. It’s all good.

The potted wild Dutchman’s breeches by the studio door are just beginning to unfurl alongside the climbing roses that will drench us with apricot petals in June. This must be the best season of all, with the birds singing and tantalizing hints of another year in the garden just ahead. I can’t wait to get dirt under my fingernails!