About Blog Title...

As a child, it was one of my greatest delights to visit my grandparents in the spring when the whip-poor-wills began to call. Grandma and Grandpa lived in a remote valley of the Ozark Mountains where there were trees a plenty, and, seemingly, a whip-poor-will, or two, in each one.
My grandmother insisted that a whip-poor-will's call was not "whip-poor-will," but instead, "chip-butter-white-oak." I would listen really hard trying to hear it exactly as she said it was, but all I could hear was "whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will,..." But, I never let on to her.
I remember my grandpa watching and listening, with an amused look on his face, to one of these listening sessions. Shortly after that he began to call me, just for fun, "Chip Butter." It is a name I am proud to wear for I still love to hear that long, lonesome call on a warm summer's eve. And, sometimes, when I listen really, really hard, it seems I can hear quite clearly, "chip-butter-white-oak, chip-butter-white-oak..."


Friday, February 27, 2015

The Dolls...



There is no way sixty-four dolls can be allowed to run undisciplined, from room to room, throughout the house.   And, yes, I just counted.  There are sixty-four dolls, including the Skookum Indian dolls and their papooses, in my doll families.  That many dolls displayed throughout the house could certainly be a distraction to a general sense of organization and design.  Thus, the dolls are carefully confined to just two areas - Chip Butter's cozy sewing den, and two cabinets in another area of the house.  It is in the sewing area that the dolls are free to move about as they please, and it seems that they often do just that...











Monday, February 16, 2015

Nothing Stays the Same...




Pecking and scratching in sleet and snow...a bit of wintery weather, afterall...







The sewing room make-over/ clean-out  continues...Last week's little brown chair has now been replaced with a comfortable wing chair (both of which had been stored for use by the "kids." They will never notice).   Covered in a beautifully woven wild-duck-design fabric, this chair suits me to a tee.  Why didn't I bring it in the first place?


The sewing machine corner




More from Molly Peacock's The Paper Garden...Pictured here is Mrs. Delany's rosa gallica, the subject of the flower mosaick which she completed at age eighty in 1780. The main flower of this work is composed of seventy-one pieces, each a separate single color.  From among her 985 flower mosaicks, rosa gallica is one of Mrs. D's most famous images, and appears on almost anything that can be adorned with a rose, postcards, note cards, placemats, coasters...

One excerpt from Molly Peacock that made its way into my notes had to do with perfectionism and proficiency.  She wrote, "Great technique means that you have to abandon perfectionism.  Perfectionism either stops you cold or slows you down too much.  Yet, paradoxically, it's proficiency that allows a person to make any art at all; you must have technical skill to accomplish anything, but you also must have passion, which, in an odd way, is technique forgotten."

Something to think about, for I surely do fuss with wanting to make things perfect...even the sewing room!




Sunday, February 8, 2015

He is back...


So this love affair, his and mine, is to continue after all.  Perhaps I will be needing that new lens...

Fishing on a warm sunny day...

Playing hard to get... (He's good at that!)

Documentation... (Loved seeing the five together!)


Come on in...An old cabinet and chair for the sewing room.



The Willa Cather novel is finished, and, just as expected, death did, indeed, come for the Archbishop.  This wonderfully written novel left me with many brilliant and vivid images of New Mexico, some of which I scribbled into one of the little notebooks.

I could almost smell the sage-brush as I read and reread this passage...

"...he sometimes closed his eyes and thought of the high song the wind was singing in the straight, striped trees up in the Navajo forests...His first consciousness was a sense of the light dry wind blowing in through the windows, with the fragrance of hot sun and sage-brush and sweet clover; a wind that made one's body feel light and one's heart cry "to-day, to-day,..."

Now these folks really knew a thing or two about interior design.  I think I could feel right at home here.

"...The casa grande was long and low, with glass windows and bright blue doors a portal running its full length, supported by blue posts.  Under this portal the adobe wall was hung with bridles, saddles, great boots and spurs, guns and saddle blankets, strings of red peppers, fox skins, and the skins of two great rattlesnakes."

"The thick clay walls had been finished on the inside by the deft palms of Indian women, and had that irregular and intimate quality of things made entirely by the human hand.  There was a reassuring solidity and depth about those walls, rounded at door-sills and window-sills, rounded in wide wings about the corner fire-place.  The interior had been newly white-washed, and the flicker of the fire threw a rosy glow over the wavy surfaces, never quite evenly flat, never a dead white, for the ruddy colour of the clay underneath gave a warm tone to the lime wash.  The ceiling was made of heavy cedar beams, over-laid by aspen saplings, all of one size, lying close together like the ribs in corduroy and clad in their ruddy inner skins.  The earth floor was covered with thick Indian blankets; two blankets, very old, and beautiful in design and color, were hung on the walls like tapestries..."