Monday, May 25, 2015

Getting ready to say goodbye…

Sometimes a house is a friend, not just a passing, useful, rain deterring
tool, but a connection you will have and keep dear forever.

Four or so years ago I found a best friend, or how I more often phrase itmy baby. This was a house that held my deepest dreams and my most practical desires. I remember explaining to the realtor on the phone "I want a house with a huge yard, the house can be small, I want something that needs to be fixed but has good bones. I'm not in a hurry, but if it is the right one I want to know about it." I wanted a house I could call a home. Her quick response was "I know of a house that just came on the market, it may be way too run down for you but go by and check it out." She gave me the address and I immediately dropped everything to go look.

I drove up the long driveway lined by a mowed lawn that was mostly weeds and Bermuda grass. All I could see from there was a dilapidated garage door and the peak of a roof that may or may not have been the house. I parked and walked around the garage to a covered patio (really a carport, but I refused to call it that) with an outdoor fire place, right beyond was giant yard that swept back until it ran into a grove of oak trees. I was in love. I stepped up onto a concrete patio that ran along the house and peeked in through a very filthy window. A massive brick fire place stood immense and dramatic in a large living-room with wide, old oak flooring. I called her then and there. "I love it! It's perfect. What to I do now, I definitely want it as long as the structure is sound." 

I can't portray how excited I was. Here was a rough gem, so rough that all my fantasies from childhood could finally be filled with this old house. As a kid one of my biggest dreams was to find an old abandoned Victorian house and slowly but surely bring it back to life. This wasn't a Victorian, it was better, it was unique in ways I couldn't expect.

It took about five weeks to get the house into my name. A harrowing five weeks I must add. There was many a moment I doubted my decision; the smell alone made me wary enough to ask to see several more homes before I was clear this was the right one.

I had a handful of friends and friends of friends come check it out with their contractor eyes turned on. All had the same thoughts:  It looks sound but you never can truly know til you buy it and start working, it would take loads of money which they knew I didn't have to put into it, and lastly, they loved the house too. It truly was special.

We moved in with only a toilet ready to go, we slept in the hall and had no kitchen for at least a month.  The first night I knew, I really knew, I was finally at home. I felt more settled and at ease in this musty, unkept set of walls then I had at the lovely suburban house I had been renting the year before. Cement driveways and well kept lawns made my skin crawl.

Thanks to the help of a team of guys and my parents loan of some cash, we made the bathroom and kitchen the way we wanted and lived with the rest of the house as it was. I remember my friend telling me, "Now what used to be the worst part is the best, and what was tolerable before is now the worst." She was so right.

I designed the good spaces just how I wanted them, so that although it cost more than if I had used Lowe's cheapest ceramic tile, it came out better than I ever could have hoped. I have learned, and this is only for myself someone else may prefer a different plan of attack, but I have learned to make what you can fix  as wonderful and tasteful as you can, and then the rest follows, maybe slowly, but at least you know where you are headed.

Sadly, my perfect house is not in my perfect town. After only a couple of years in the house, we realized we needed to move to a place that had the same impact on us that that house had had on me when I first met it. Southern California has never been a place that speaks to me, and it took two tries to get us up and out to where our heart truly lies-- the Pacific North West. But I miss my friend, my baby, the deep shutter of connection I felt as I lived under that roof.

It was an incredibly hard decision to part with this baby of mine. But I have worked hard to let go and am ready, getting ready, to say goodbye for good. Hopefully the new family that moves in will love that house with the same immense passion that I did.



Outside the house in the first few days of ownership (pictures from this post):
pictures of houses, images of houses
pictures of houses, pictures of old houses, images of old houses before and after
The incredible yard:
The patio fireplace:
An old chicken shed in the back, so rotten we had to tear it down:
Sleeping in the hall:
Old kitchen, far worse than the picture shows: 
Wall of the kitchen to the living-room that was removed:
 Bathroom in all its beauty. There was even a spot of blood on the floor. So gross:

The carpet that smelled so strong the whole house was saturated:
The redone kitchen from the living-room:
The amazing fire place:
Open bar to the kitchen that was used all day long and was the best way to hang out with friends and the kids while I cooked:
The brilliant stove we found on Craigslist . . . (Two ovens, a  dream I've had since I was a kid!!)
We eventually put in the back splash, I had poured the concrete counter tops myself and had botched a couple of places. We decided to have the person who had laid our tile come back and fix up my funky spots and put in the back splash properly. He did such a nice job. We used ceramic coasters as accent tiles to bring in more color.
Onto the bathroom, gutted and loved . . .
 The stone sink was a bit of a challenge. It came from just a few streets over, at a small shop where the husband and wife import them from China. The wife is Chinese and either her family makes them, or they help select them. Anyway, I had told the guy helping us with our bathroom that we were going to have a drop in sink. I didn't know the plumbing changed entirely depending on what kind of sink you use. So part way through the bathroom creation I showed up with this baby. The guy was horrified, but had to agree it was pretty amazing. Usually they are used for fountains, but hey, the walls were all slate, and it brought the feeling to the bathroom I was searching for. 
 He suggested a copper faucet. Plumbing fixtures are far from cheep, and once he realized 
we had no intention of trying to stay in the box, it felt like a burst of interest came in. He
 was ready to experiment. 

The patio where we spent most of our time:
We had all our parties and holiday meals out there. The ten foot table fit almost everyone:
And at night even if it was just us, a fire made the whole space incredibly cozy:

We'll have a few more tune-ups to do before we set sail and beckon a new family in. I will post those pictures in a few weeks time as they are ready.

For now, I will love this house just a little bit longer and work to have it finished.

To read more about this house and see more pictures check out these posts and these.

                                         All my best to everyone

                                                            ~ Marica

This post was inspired by Compass's"Starter Stories Project". They asked me to write about my first home, which, anyone who has followed my blog would know is a very irresistible subject for me. Thanks for reading. 

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Bits of these days…

May happened so fast, is it true we almost have made it through half this year already? It surely doesn't feel possible. May has brought many hot days. I feel like I should embrace them, but instead I still detest too much sun. 

Our little neighborhood here hosts an annul parade. Exactly one year ago Sunday, the pie-truck opened during the festivities of this yearly event.

This year we're far more experienced and no longer the newbies on the block. The pie-truck has had a good year. Winter was harsh, so harsh I often began to think we were nutty dimwits for opening the whole pie deal, but as weather warms and rain becomes an occasional treat, the pie patrons are returning. As well as the resurgence of orders for salad… 

Lazy afternoon naps are something I cherish as often as possible, especially since 
my schedule has returned to morning til night; it's all pie, all the live long day. 

Fittingly I must sing; in the tune of I've been working on the rail road:

I've been working in a pie truck
All the live long day

I've been working in a pie truck
Just to pass the time away ay-ay-ay

Can't your hear the timer blaring
Biscuits out to cool

Now the customers awaiting
There's still more dough to roll

Paiku won't you roll
Paiku won't you roll
Paiku won't you roll the dough ho-ho-ho

Paiku won't you roll
Paiku won't you roll
Paiku won't you roll the dough

Someone's in the kitchen at Paiku
Someone's in the kitchen I know oh-oh-oh
Someones in the kitchen at Paiku
Rollin' out the ol' pie dough

And singing

Fee-fi-roll out the dough
Fee-fi-filly-i-roll that dough-ho
Rollin' out the old pie dough

Other bits of non pie life:

                                                   I hope everyone had a tremendous Mother's Day!
                                                                          All my best and many cheers ~

Friday, May 8, 2015

Meet Tallula

Oh dear, I couldn't help myself—again—we got a new puppy. But at least this time it was premeditated. We had been rolling it around in our thoughts; would it be foolish, a good idea? Yes, we decided, it is both foolish and a good idea, but more of a good idea. So without further adieu, meet our newest member of the family, Tallula:

She is the sweetest, gentlest, most elegant, delicate husky mix. She already knows we are her family and follows close at our heels everywhere we go. She felt like a perfect addition as I snuggle her to sleep last night in my bed. I stayed half awake all night, holding my hand on her wiry little body; so much like when you have that new-born and you want to keep tabs at all times. I can't believe I forgot what little babies puppies really are, but I surely remember now after being up at 5:00am to take her out to pee, only to have her pee on the floor just a little bit later. 

We are so excited to have this sweet, skinny, bundle of fur and the kids are ecstatic!

                                                        Happy Weekend to Everyone!
                                                              Cheers ~

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Strawberries and Biscuits… a recipe…


Dear Country Mouse,

Today I realized strawberries taste like springtime. I was making salad at the pie-truck, our seasonal salad which is  made up of mixed baby greens, candied walnuts and bright, red sliced strawberries, when I couldn't help but pop a slice in my mouth. We did the same salad last year for as long as decent strawberries held out and then moved on to autumn and winter fruits. Later on when winter was gearing up for spring I cheated—impatient me—I couldn't wait and started our strawberry salad before the season was abundant. I should have waited. This morning as I sneaked that slice of strawberry, I tasted true, brilliant, vibrant flavor so different and so much more definable than it's cardboard counterpart that I had been wasting my time with. My tongue shouted SPRING. And, the best part, we aren't even onto my favorite variety yet. I like the little button-like strawberries, so almost pungent and deeply determined to carry through.  With a quick cut of the stem, the whole berry gets added to the salad. 

The Best Biscuit Recipe

The Best Biscuit Recipe

So Dear Country Mouse, we should have strawberry short cake soon. I have truly found a wonderful biscuit recipe, it has been honed over this years time, and after three hundred and fifty-five  days of making biscuits, I do want to share it with you.

Biscuit Recipe (copyrighted Paiku 2015)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit

In a food processor pulse, or if you don't have one simply combine: 
4 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
4 teaspoons baking powder

Slice then add and pulse until resembles crumbs (or if using your hands crumble with your fingers until it looks like a coarse crumb-like texture)

12 tablespoons cold butter

Add and pulse until combined:
1 + 1/2 cups sour cream

Add and pulse until combined:
1/2 cup water

Press into a one-inch thick rectangle and cut into twelve equal squares.
Place on a buttered cookie-sheet. Bake at 375 for ten minutes, rotate pan and bake ten more.

Hope you are well and write soon!!!

   City Mouse


Monday, April 27, 2015

Monday, monday…


Dear Country Mouse,

It was so nice to chat on the phone today, even if just for a few minutes. After we got off I spent my morning drawing:

Then we managed to hit the woods for a bit. (we are planning our future wilderness living)

The drawing I worked on is for our one-year anniversary of opening the pie truck. So exciting! We will be making T shirts to wear, and sell, what do you think? 

Hope you had a nice day off; free of too much other work : )

     Sending lots of love,
               City Mouse

    P.S. We are considering getting a puppy. Talk me out of it!


Sunday, April 26, 2015

Thoughts… creation… a doll maker… a circle back round…

Ooo, I just read a wonderful post, by a most wonderful doll maker. I love hearing from people who feel similarly about the process of making things. Too often and too easily we are "taught" how to do things. I make an immense effort to guide rather than teach artistic processes. I notice this most lately via the pie-truck. Teaching people how to cook is such a tender occupation. I don't mean they come for classes, I mean more that the folk so far who have helped out at the pie-truck are far from experienced or knowledgeable in the practice of cooking. 

Right from the beginning I was very sure I wanted, not to have them follow my recipe, for even I don't bother to do that most days, but to hone the understanding of what was happening as they put ingredients together. They do use the recipes, but more as bench markers and arrows pointing in the direction of a fabulous pie, or amazing soup. 

I notice the same thing as my kiddos grow with their drawing, or my daughter asks for help with her sewing. I am terrified of giving too much instruction, scared they will rely on rules rather than discovered notions. 

As a somewhat impatient person, I loath directions, recipes and instructions. Trial and error are my best friend. I have tried to discover why, and finally thirty-three years into this life I truly understand my determination to make several disasters before I finally find the correct path. It is because I feel like an explorer; I feel my own discovery is mine, and to top that, I understand why and how what I did worked. 

I wrote a similar post several years back, it made me smile because somehow we can never get away from ourselves. I have found bits in my teenage diaries that ring true like I am writing them for the first time today.

Thanks for reading my rant, I recommend you check out Fig & Me, she got me inspired even after my dawn to dusk day at the truck. 

                                                                                      ~ Marica

Saturday, April 25, 2015


A long talked with my dad tonight. I love talks with my dad—
we hit on a level of understanding I don’t collided with very often.

I feel a sense of bvroom, it’s lots like what Dr Seuss talks about when he says 
the littlest cat pulled out Voom, and it all went back where it should be.

I find that piece in myself when we talk. I find it when I am out it the wilderness too. It happens in moments when I don’t mean it, and I can find it deep at the bottom center when I look and seek it—most of the time. It is a calm bllllllmmmmm, a feeling of a plane pouring out in every direction forever and ever until it meets a dark circle and then bright yellow brown light holding it in. There is no word it is only a witness, a me witnessing the expanse of bvroom.

I talk with my good friend who is far away back home, as many mornings as I possible can. We are often our other piece that helps us through. We concur on our issues and remind each other of the strengths we both have and will grown on. I sometimes get caught in my whine, my tired meandering of “I don’t want to open the pie truck today, I just want to stay home, do dishes, sleep, curl up and crawl under the rug.” We fuss about little things and discuss our burdens of money and how to better handle our stresses. We commend each others efforts and remind each other we are humans, women in fact, and women-humans have lived for so long, always with depth and need to sort out thoughts and frustrations. Men too. I don’t leave out men. Though I often feel women demand more talking.

But under all those conversations we both know about the bvroom. 
Sometimes we have to be reminded, but then we remember it's there,
we feel it, it is always therethe bvroom. 

                                                         Hope you all have a wonderful weekend
                                                                       ~ Marica