Meet Fifi. She may look all soft, but she's a real activist, here to fight the many dirty misconceptions about her and the rest of her family.
Fifi will come to you smelling oh-so-sweet. You see, she's vegetarian, eating nothing but dried lavender flowers (although half of her is stuffed with polyfill scented with lavender essential oil). She won't mind it if you stick her in your closet to scent your clothes with; although she'd much rather prefer your bed, where she hopes her aroma will help you sleep better at night.
As she makes your home better-smelling, Fifi is pushing her agenda. She's aiming to raise awareness. Her message: It's Not True, Pigs Don't Stink!
Help Fifi spread the truth about pigkind. Welcome her into your home--for cheap! Fifi is part of The 5,10,15 Dollar Sale at my online shop. Check it out.
Other facts about Fifi: She's been taking up Provençal cooking lessons from Madame Barthelemy down the road, and these days never goes anywhere without her apron. However, if it gets too splattered with grease, the apron can be taken off. Fifi is 8.5 inches or 21.5 centimeters high, and from the tip of one arm to the other is 7.5 inches or 19 centimeters wide.
mercredi 12 décembre 2007
Have you ever asked yourself this question? Nah, I didn't think so. Still, if you're just a little bit curious, you may want to read a story I wrote for The Storque, the e-zine of Etsy. I've always loved local arts and crafts, so it was predictable that I become infatuated with the santons of the South. Read my story here.
lundi 3 décembre 2007
My Sleep Angels and a Sleep Pillow--available at my shop.
I awake already looking forward to that time very early the next morning (for I am one of them they call night owls) when I sink my head into a soft rectangle of cotton enrobed in cotton, let my lids drop down to shut off the rest of the world, and begin what is often the slow languorous promenade into my dusky refuge. It is a village populated quite often by very regular folk, but then they also make their regular appearances, my giggly vampires and my favorite chocolate trees, a few overweight robots and some nude parents, a couple of 27-year-old dead rock stars and a mouthful of singing teeth. Somewhere in there, inside a green apartment on the 56th floor of a breathing skyscraper, of course you will find a bullet-dodging, flying version of me.
Sleep. Why wake up to brush your teeth and wash last night's dishes when dreaming is often so much more interesting?