my new tiny house has made me remember just how inspiring tiny things can be.

its smallness has reminded me to pay attention.

I moved Sunday. My life is again full of boxes and wondering where everything is and applications and running around even more than usual.

I’m writing this from a coffeeshop near my house next to a conversation between two women, one who is jobless and getting a pep talk from the other. They’re trying to figure out how to live their lives and balance everything and how to dance that dance we all are doing trying to keep our heads above water.

And I’m trying not to eavesdrop but entranced by the remembrance that even though we constantly distance ourselves, we are all so very much the same.

There’s something sublime about taking photographs of everyday modernity. Taking stock in the things that we take for granted as we walk down the street. Streetlights are one of those things that I never really think about until they’re not there and I’m plunged into darkness on a street alone, no longer lit up by a faint yellow hue sparked with safety in mind.

I find that the cold and clinical things of life in 2006 take my imagination the most. I wonder how their stark and mechanical qualities that are supposed to make our life more pleasurable could possibly be made more user-friendly. As we plod along awash in grey steel hues and type away on cream-colored computers all framed by the backdrop of our homes or of nature, I can’t help but wonder how the two worlds couldn’t be made more analogous.

But then again, if they were made more compatible, how would my daily wanders differ if metal didn’t strike such a contrast against a handmade scarf or jumper? How would my days vary if streetlights were less cold hard metal and more kind?

Yesterday was the start of the Chinese New Year. In years past, I have made it to several Chinese New Year celebrations in London, wandering around crowded streets watching dragons parade down the street eating cabbages at the front doors of businesses for good luck. As opposed to other alcohol-soaked New Year’s traditions, this one always filled me with a sense of hope of new beginnings and prosperous times ahead.

This year is the Year of the Dog, which couldn’t strike me as more timely for a year in which the canine traits of loyalty and companionship and friendliness would hold us all in good stead.

As I look back to the past year, my thoughts return to color, and the ways in which is imbued the past 365 days with vibrance, joy and happiness:

The dusty red of a painted porch marked with footprints of North Carolina red clay

The green grass of my childhood backyard sheltered by trees planted when I was two

The blue sky post-daybreak as seen from an airplane I flew abroad once again

It is colors like these that held me over the past year, that energized me with their richness and soothed me with their clarity. Colors just like the ones that I’m sure were present at Chinese New Year celebrations held all over the world yesterday, celebrations full of the wonder of time passing instead of full of regrets. While I had a lovely New Year’s this December 31st, I can’t help but get excited about this new year that yesterday brought upon us, too.

And speaking of new beginnings, I am happy to announce two new websites:
*Stitchlinks: a new website dedicated to researching the therapeutic connection to needlecraft.
*Whipup.net: a new collaborative craft blog that will launch Feb 1st, which I am honored to be a part of!

And one new interview:
*I had the pleasure of speaking with the lovely and amazing Sister Diane last week for an interview on the Craftypod, I am so honored and am hoping that I don’t sound like too much of a rambler in conversation…

Once again, I am moving. This time to a tiny cottage that used to be an upholstery shop with a tiny garden out back. I couldn’t be more pleased. Even though it was built in 1978, the construction is much like the crofts I saw down by the water up in the Scottish Highlands.

Even though I tend to move frequently, I make sure that the things I adore and that give me strength move along with me.

The bird above was a present from someone I met in London who is kindness personified. It was a birthday present carefully wrapped in newspaper, and was the last thing to leave my summer sublet. Currently it is in my car accompanying me on road trips and reminding me that even the tiniest of things can bring great joy.

I was given these buttons on a recent trip to my grandmother’s as I pored through my great-grandmother’s sewing box. Just like I was surprised to learn that Scotch tape used to come in metal canisters, I was also surprised at the number of hat pins my great grandmother kept even though I never knew her to wear a hat.

Everytime I move, going through my possessions is like a treasure hunt through time as I backtrack through old situations with a new frame of mind. Everytime I move is a chance to remember tiny things, big things, forgotten things, a chance to relive them again and see them for the stories that have been shared, the people I have met and the lessons I have learned.

Everytime I move is like a small homecoming.