Bunny Gone Wild

Mr. Starlet loves Halloween. Almost as much as corndogs. In the Starlet household, that’s saying something.

Naturally, Mr. Starlet was a little dismayed when I informed him that we would not be dressing in costume this year in deference to Punk’s sensibilities and yet undamaged psyche. No black cape. No face paint. No fangs. No scary utterances. No blood-stained battle ax. No plastic Uzi. No skull-topped staff.

And no, we will not dress Punk as a devil.

It was even with great trepidation that I agreed to take Punk to Party City in Gastonia, where gore and ghouls abound. But we did.

We had a plan. Mr. Starlet was going to distract her from the ‘Wall O’ Horrors’ while I retrieved Punk’s costume. He was not going to make a beeline for the makeshift “Chop Shop” and let Punk gum a roughly severed hand. But he did.

The fact that Punk was none the wiser only spurred him on--directly to the “Armory Gone Awry” where he introduced her to various torture devices and blood-stained instruments.

When I turned around to find Punk gleefully wielding a battle ax, I knew that Mr. Starlet’s paternity could never again be denied.

Is there genetic counseling available for this?

Eventually, I disarmed Punk through distraction—“confuse and conquer” as my grandmother would say—and wrangled on her costume.

She may have Mr. Starlet’s affinity for all things terrifying, but she still makes a pretty cute bunny. We only briefly considered pacifying her intrigue and Mr. Starlet’s gruesome obsession by making her an ax-wielding bunny. Only briefly.

After shuffling ourselves, two sizes of costumes, and one out-of-place battle ax out of the dressing room, we found a Punk-sized treat bucket in which to collect our—er, her—Halloween candy.

While I may still have my doubts about contributing much to Punk beyond one chromosome and a womb in which to gestate, I have a sneaking suspicion that this tiny barbarian in training may be mine after all.

Starlet women always hold out for the candy.

Dashed Dreams

Mr. Starlet and I have almost always found the "City of Pleasant Living" to live up to its name, save for some unique culinary preferences that have on at least one occasion forced us to prematurely flee a restaurant. (Trust me, it was necessary in a "Stand By Me" pie-eating contest kind of way.)

While we've developed quite an affinity for homemade sweet potato fries, hush puppies, cornbread, and Paula Deen, there are some local delicacies that you'll never see in the Starlet Kitchen. Food items containing the name of a major organ, the word "fat," or listsing its main ingredients as carbonated water, high fructose corn syrup, and citric acid are considered the eighth, ninth, and tenth deadly sins.

Similarly, I think "Smoked Salmon and Chives Cheesecake," sounds completely unpalatable. Still, I would have enjoyed seeing it prepared. I might have even braved sampling a slice if offered. And I would have if "teachmgood" hadn't also entered a contest giving away two tickets to this year's Taste of Home Cooking School.

Less than 25 people entered to win by leaving a comment on The Star's website.

My own comment was short, honest, and a bit neurotic. In other words, it was a perfect self-reflection.

Less than two hours later, "teachmgood," posted a lengthy, albeit humorous description of how her 10-year old daughter's cooking skills dwarf her own. Immediately I knew had no chance of winning the tickets.

And I didn't. And I didn't attend the Taste of Home Cooking School. Again.

While I sincerely hope "teachmgood" is not an English teacher, I do hope that she gained some practical tips that will elevate her skills to a level of which her daughter can be proud, as much as a pre-teen can be proud of her mom without risking mass social embarassment.

Which isn't much, as I shamefully recall.

Especially when reindeer antlers are involved.

On your high school campus.

So, "teachmgood" and daughter, cook on. I cannot pretend to be affronted by a decision I wholeheartedly agree with.

Put out, maybe. Dejected, certainly. But affronted? No. Not really.

OK, maybe a little. But it's not as if I'd wish you curdles in your cheesecake, bones in your salmon puree, or lumps in your crust. Or anything like that, you know.

But if it happened...

In Stitches (Still)

Sadly, Punk is still sick. So while I attempt to scrub off the dried snot on my chest, shoulders, and arms, here are more images of the stunning efforts of the Foothills Quilters Guild (FQG).

The show was much larger than it was in 2007, with quilts of all sizes, designs, and colors truly filling the entirety of the Cleveland County Arts Council. And while I wasn't the only one there with a camera, I was the only one there who used it---every five feet---much to the chagrin of all those I blocked, photographed, and elbowed. Eh, I was on a personal tour with Leah Day!

Speaking of which. I told you she was this year's ribbon stealer.

There were a lot of earthtones in this year's quilts. This one, in particular, caught my eye because unbeknownst to the artist, it captured my two favorite things in a quilt--earthtones and stars. Who wouldn't love to wrap up in this quilt with a cup of hot cocoa in hand?

And then there were show-offs, like the woman who pieced this teeny, tiny thing. The hexagonal pieces were smaller than a dime. I paused in front of this one for quite some time, trying desperately to figure out how piecing such a quilt was possible. While I still haven't figured it out, I've concluded that a lot of Valium was likely involved. And she probably has a new eyeglass prescription to go along with her first-place ribbon.

One of my favorite Shelby residents and professional quilters, Mary Henry, hand-appliqued this adorable wall-hanging. Not only were her colors perfectly selected, but they're eggs! I love eggs. They're so versatile. So healthy. So vital to a good meringue.


In addition to quilts submitted by FQG members, quilts from a traveling exhibit, "America the Beautiful," were also on display. Each quilt represented a unique interpretation of the theme. Some were extremely poignant. Some were just plain odd, such as the quilt featuring a chicken coddling a puppy. You can see it in the lower left. Yes, a chicken and a puppy.

When you stumble across such a piece, you can only wonder if perhaps the (gulp!) artist is genius on a level you can only hope to someday understand. Um, yeah.


Then there was this piece. Simple. Significant. Heart-wrenching.


The story below detailed the quilt's creation and several hundred recreations, inspired and sent to untold numbers of soldiers wounded in the Middle East.


But by far, the quilt that drew the most smiles was this depiction of "Shelby North Pole," featuring some familiar businesses.

Such as "The Beaded Flamingo," a cute little nook inside Alley Quilts, the "ooh"- and "aww"- inspiring studio of Mary Henry and Paula Barringer. Both are as cute as a button and incredibly talented.

It won Judge's Choice and my vote for Viewer's Choice. OK, I didn't take the time to vote. But if I had, this would have been it. (Sorry, Leah!)

But the quilt show would not be complete without vendors, whose goods delight the senses and hurt the wallet. My favorite is always Brenda Arrowood's School House Quilts. She has an overwhelming amount of books, mouth-watering fabrics, and every tool and notion ever invented. Ever.

Such talent. Such beauty. Such inspiration. Sigh.

In Stitches (Not Really)

When Monday saw me hiding behind a colleague’s large coif to avoid Shelby’s finest reporters instead of peacefully devouring a day-old sandwich while flipping through a well-worn Robin Maxwell novel in the darkened recess that is my office, I knew I had an hour coming to me.

I knew few better ways to spend it than at the Cleveland County Arts Council, viewing the Foothills Quilters Guild quilt show, “In Stitches,” Friday afternoon.



The hour was made even more perfect by spending it side-by-side with my dear friend, quilting guru, and this year’s ribbon stealer, Leah Day.


Leah is both brilliant and certifiably insane. She recently challenged herself to design a new quilting filler stitch every day for a year. A year. The blog she uses to chronicle her journey is attracting a lot of attention.

And as offers pour in for all-expenses-paid trips to teach workshops in Bermuda—in November!—I am reminded how jealous I am of Leah’s creative genius. And her cleaning lady. Yet, she is forgiving of my comparable idiocy, never bats an eye when I call her to troubleshoot a sewing machine ‘malfunction’ that is always user error, and generously flatters by giving me advanced copies of her myriad of quilting products.

She is a pioneer in her field not just because she is transforming the way quilters use their stitches but because she is young. So young in fact that at the North Carolina Symposium, where her stunning quilt, “The Duchess”, earned a first-place ribbon for machine quilting, she was told by an ignorant fellow quilter, “You must just be getting into quilting.”

Yes, Leah’s just getting into quilting like Ford is just getting into mass assembly.


Her show-stopping quilt (literally--it created quite a crowd at the entry), "Release Your Light," was inspired by a dream and speaks to the release of creativity.

As she is exceptionally humble and at times self-depricating, Leah will only casually reference the 300+ hours to handpaint this wholecloth masterpiece.

300. Hand paint. See, I told you. Leah is certifiably insane.

And there were times during the quilt's creation that Leah thought she was losing it as well. But, she still has both ears attached. Or at least she appears to. She is a remarkable handpiecer as well. Hmm.

The quilting, as always, is impeccable. The quilt a showcase of a myriad of intricate filler stitches. The back of the quilt just as breathtaking as the front.

Yet, Leah is just one of many exceptionally talented members of the Foothills Quilters Guild. And they all outdid themselves this year.

Later, I'll post some of my favorites from the show. But don't wait for me! The show continues this weekend and only happens every two years. Admission is only $3.00 at the door and a beautiful raffle quilt still awaits awarding.

Plus, I have it on good authority that Leah just might make another appearance today. Just look for the quiet, unassuming young woman who most pass by without knowing that a rising quilting star is in their midst...

Anything for Punk

Long ago, I discovered that motherhood is walking a fine line between two camps of thought: “Knowledge is power,” and “Ignorance is bliss.” For this very reason, a mother invented the 10-Second Rule and all enthusiastically subscribe to it.

While we know that a fallen pacifier is less clean than it was seconds earlier, we don’t know that it fell into a cesspool of salmonella exactly. And if it did, surely the ear-piercing screams of our now empty-mouthed child--or our own for that matter--have momentarily stunned said bacteria, delaying launch of its primordial offensive for at least 10 seconds.

Besides, we have a plethora of counter-offenses at our disposal. Some even involve alcohol. Ooh.

But then cold and flu season arrives and with it the reality that, “The less we know, the more we suspect.”

Our maternal senses become keenly attuned to the signs of viral invasion. A sneeze. A cough. Flushed cheeks. Love of liver mush. An unexplained nose twitch. We alter shopping routes to avoid aisles 8 through 12 because we hear someone sneeze in aisle 10. We cancel play dates because we learn a sister of a friend’s third cousin twice removed had a runny nose last week.

This is all to say that I got a flu shot last week.

Which I haven’t done since 1992 when I recall the needle was 3-feet long, ½” in diameter and hurt. Really, really hurt.

They still hurt, but I love Punk. And as a mother, you can’t put a price on being healthy.

Although Walgreen’s can--$24.99 to be exact.

As I waited, I calculated how much I’d saved by not getting a flu shot for the past 16 years. $399.84. Then I estimated how much I’d not saved by tempting the viral fates and quickly asked to be moved to the head of the line.

But I was the head of the line.

My 16 year rebellion came to an end at 4:45 p.m. that afternoon. If the pharmacist was slightly shocked when I pulled a camera out of my purse, she was absolutely beside herself when I asked for a sticker.

Yes, I love Punk, but I’m also a sucker for gimmicks. Especially heart-shaped stickers upon which Punk’s name is boldly emblazoned—OK, quickly scrawled by an annoyed pharmacist—announcing to all who saw it that it was for her that I got my flu shot.

Punk was most appreciative.

In return, she gave me a cold. And then thrush. At least we can say she knows how to share. Every night, we play “Rock, Paper, Scissors” for use of the humidifier.

Punk always wins by a smile.