May 31, 2005
memorial day.
The other night I caught a PBS documentary about WWII doctors. I almost threw up at first, but then was entranced by the calm manner in which these once young soldiers, now elderly gentlemen, retraced their own histories. A few times you could detect the interviewee getting a bit misty and shaken remembering the trauma, horror and uncertainty they experienced over half a century ago.
I was reminded of my grandfathers (as well as numerous other male relatives) own WWII stories that I grew up hearing, not really sure how to process them. As a child growing up in the early 80s where Pong was a super fast action game, I didn't have video games to remanufacture a battlefield. I can only imagine the disconnect that must occur to children today when they hear war stories... 'oh, that's just like Level 5 on....'
What did I do today? I went swimming at the lake. My only act of bravery was forcing myself to dive headfirst into water that still gave me goosebumps. I also drank a cream soda, but that was mainly due to thirst brought on by swimming and by the fact that it was tasty.
I also brought my knitting and discovered some rogue embroidery floss in my wallet along with a Peace Rally bus ticket from 2003.
I was reminded of this
(more information here )
as my thoughts drifted in and out during the day of veterans and peace and war and crafting and cream soda and bravery and the luxury that is the 3-day weekend.
Here it is, 12:26am, the day after Memorial Day. I didn't call my grandfathers, even though I meant to. Instead I read a bunch of magazines on a friend's lakeside dock, chatted and paddled around on a bright green raft.
I watched the 11 o'clock news with grim stories of war and hate and horror that was patched together with video shots of Memorial Day festivities from neighborings towns. I just wanted to call my grandfathers and say 'thank you.' As well as my cousin who got back from Djibouti last fall and my second cousin who is currently in Baghdad. But I didn't.
I didn't because I knew that it would eventually turn into some political debate regarding current politics that would disrupt the phone calls' original intentions. Because sometimes I'm rendered speechless by the way that "peace is patriotic" and "I support our troops" sound in the same sentence. It sounds awkward and clumsy, even though I believe both sentiments wholeheartedly.
I just hope that in 60 years time, someone does a documentary on the current war and that the elderly men and women who served our country in this current war can hold their heads up high- although whatever the outcome I know I will be holding their hands close.
May 27, 2005
friday dispatch v4.0
Ok so the temp thing is not working out at the moment, so I'm still jobless. Although I've been dreaming about life back in the cubicle, and gone on weird part-time interviews, I'm going to have to step up the job search next week. In the meantime, however, here are some links to keep you awake in your own special 2'x3' office space where you rule supreme:
*Quiet Resonance makes me happy.
*Go check out the goodness that is Lady Luck Rules OK- fashion goodies from London. In case you've been living in a cave, you'll know that accessories are everything, m'dear.
*Toothpaste for Dinner is funny. Sometimes his little comics make me laugh out loud.
*Everyone could know more about Susan Sontag, RIP, who kicked ass.
*Art-for-a-change will make you think. In a good way.
*Whenever I read Mason-Dixon Knitting I get warm fuzzies about the south (grits! iced tea!)...and the north (snow! more snow!).
*Teva Durham creates really cool knitted things.
*And Ana Voog crochets the most amazing hats i've ever seen.
*Radical Graphics is way cooler than clipart.
*This guy is documenting everything in his house. I can't decide if it's genius or just weird.
Listening to Happy Supply always secretly makes me want to move to Chicago.
May 25, 2005
it's always time for cartwheels.
Earlier this week, the following quote was brought to my attention:
"How would it look, do you think, if everyone, old and young, would sit down together to knit for a while? Laughter and merriment and riddles and questions and folktales and anecdotes from each person's life would blend together in the stitches. Then later, when you recalled these events that have gone through your own fingers stitch by stitch, they would speak their own quiet language: Do you remember? Do you remember?" -Hermanna Stengard
It's taken from the Introduction to Meg Swansen's A Gathering of Lace, originally found in a 1925 book on mittens.
Yesterday I had a part-time job interview. While the job was pretty non-descript and involved the office triumvirate of cubicle, phone and computer, I enjoyed the interview immensely nonetheless.
The most recent job on my CV actually says "knitting instructor/organizer," from when I was doing such last year. It's inclusion on that otherwise ridiculous document not only makes me happy, but goes to prove how needlecraft has entered the cultural conscience.
After the formalities (introductions, job summary, schedule) were skimmed over, the topic turned to textiles. I was talking with two women, one from the southern United States, the other from Spain.
The woman from the U.S. was around my age (late 20s, early 30s) and talked of how knitting is no longer becoming something your 'grandmother does' and how surprised she has been recently to see her friends knitting. While I could have gone at length in response to this attitude, I kept quiet.
Then the woman from Spain, who was in her 40s, and had been completely reticent up until this point, sprang to life. Suddenly her entire face lit up and her hands danced as she spoke of all the women knitting everywhere in her native country, how it was just something 'that everyone does' and she grinned broadly describing the delicate lace shawls she used to watch women knitting in the park.
And the fluorescently-lit office grew new radiance as the topic changed from 'insurance' and 'deductible' to needlecraft. It this knowledge that needlecraft lies deep within our beings that inspires me and keeps me curious. Because stories such as these are everywhere, lying in wait from our childhoods, discarded in a pile at the local thrift, held in itchy ancient hands too arthritic now to grasp needles.
It is the way that these stories continually cross economic, political, cultural and language barriers that warm my heart to no end. The hardest part is starting the dialogue, but once you discover its perpetuity it's just a matter of changing the conversation from the banal to the heartfelt.
Summer is the time for listening to The Reindeer Section.
May 23, 2005
summer volunteering PSA
As you may or may not know, Chapel Hill is a very dog friendly town. They go where people go, except for restaurants with no outdoor seating and grocery stores. It's nice.
Most of my friends have dogs, and somehow I end up at the dog park with them atleast once a week. Last Friday, however, I did feel like a dork when a woman with a golden retriever sauntered up to me and asked,' Which dog is yours?' All I could reply was, 'I'm a friend of that dog over there,' turning bright red and deferring to my friend whose dog we were watching romp around. The women got quiet after that, I guess because it seemed wierd to play Auntie Mame to my friend's 4-legged companions?
After realising that I wanted to try and get my PhD, and that if accepted it would most likely mean living in various locations for a number of years (doing research in various places), I've been looking into fostering dogs. Even if I am not granted a place on a course for 2005 (or 2006!), I move great distances with such frequency that for the time being, owning a dog is not the best option for me- or a dog.
I grew up with dogs and after I went away to college did some sporadic volunteering in various animal shelters in order to still be around puppy love. There are few things more heartwarming that spending a little extra time with a dog or a cat who is desperately craving attention. I still get warm fuzzies everytime I think of the time I entered a shelter enclosure in Boone full of month-old puppies, and giggle at the thought of their squirmy, unfettered joy of human contact. A few were trying to untie my shoes, one was peeing with excitement on my sock, several were trying to lick my face, and the remaining puppies just vying for TLC.
The other day I was hanging out with my friends Australian shepherd mix, Nestle
and was thinking about how it never ceases to amaze me just how much pets enrich our lives.
In recent local news, there was the Sanford puppy mill bust, which is simply abominable.
So I've decided to try my hand at fostering as a way to not only help socialise animals who need a little extra attention, but also as a way to keep animals in my life. There are some possibilities in the works now, but if they fail, then I will be signing up for shifts at the local shelter.
Happily, my move uncovered several charity blankets I made last winter for a local animal shelter and then promptly lost in the shuffle. This website will help you find a shelter who could use your knitting/crocheting/sewing prowess by creating warm blankets for lost and lonely dogs and cats. The site holds a wealth of information, including appropriate patterns and blanket sizes.
But if needlework isn't up your alley, this post is a little reminder that it's almost summer and the time to be outdoors taking in the sunshine. And what would be a better way to spend a few free weekend hours than volunteering at your local shelter? Because even if you can't currently own a pet, that doesn't mean you can't help one.
May 20, 2005
friday dispatch v3.0
Even though I woke up with the Blue Oyster Cult song, "Don't Fear the Reaper," in my head, I am going to continue on with thinking positive thoughts for today. Because after all, it's Friday now, isn't it?
Time for the 3rd of my 12-week installment of "how to waste time (and learn something, too) in your rather unfulfilling office job!"
*Go read The Endless Scarf by Blythe Toll.
*Get your craft on at M & J Trimming (or atleast just have fun daydreaming about what you would create if you had the cash!)
*Herd some virtual sheep here (No, really.)
*Once you've mastered the game above, learn more than you ever thought possible about sheep (and other livestock) in the largest livestock database. Ever. (I think my new favorite animal is the Racka.)
*If you're still feeling nerdy, here are more links than you ever thought possible about owls. (Owls are cool!)
*Read No Good For Me and then as a direct result, start dressing better.
*Go check out the ethical library at Downbound Yay!
*Not sure what to make for dinner tonight? Go have a look at Cooking By Numbers, cooking made easy!
*I heart No Media Kings.
*I met Pil and Galia Kollectiv in London, and am constantly inspired by their work.
It's raining in North Carolina today, therefore, I can't stop listening to Joy Zipper. BOC be damned!
May 18, 2005
what you get when stuff adds up.
So I'm all moved into my new summer digs.* I am happy to report that, yes, my next door neighbor is a drum teacher. Even though it's loud, tiny children trying to play drums sounds cute reverberating through the walls. I'm trying to repress the memory of not being chosen to play the drums in 5th grade, I was told I had no rhythm and was assigned to the cello.
I've probably never told you, but I was classically trained in voice (10+ years), piano (10 years), and -the everhip- handbells (5 years?). Despite being all music all the time from 5-18, the only time I ever really play anything is when I come across a piano...but only when no one's listening. I also sing a lot in the car, this has been in my repertoire a lot recently since I've been travelling so much...which brings back me to the recent move.
One good thing about this move is that it has forced me to limit my supplies for the summer months. Instead of having myriad craft projects to choose from, now I just have a small drawer. Instead of annoying me to no end, I'm pretty excited about the fact that this summer I will be forced to finish projects that more often than not just get rotated around and around as I float from project to project.
The once mighty craft supply area has been downsized to the tiniest it's ever been (I'm also trying to come to terms with acrylic...)
This summer I am aiming to deal with my own materialism and excess, facing my inner packrat and breaking that unnecessary bond I have with useless things. While I was moving yesterday I went through all of the things I was bringing to the new apartment and reassessed if I really needed it, if I really was going to use it.
The bizarre thing about downsizing is that now that I've stored all of my non-necessary crap, I've been looking for gifts for other people on my frequent thrift store trips. It's almost as if, in getting rid of all my own excess, now I just want to make all of my friends and loved ones laden as well.
Even though ebay has taken over the world, there's nothing quite so thrilling as coming across an amazing dress or clock or painting or necklace in the dizzying racks at your local thrift store. Throughout the past decade, my wardrobe has always been augmented by charity shop/yard sale/stoop finds. While it began in the height of grunge in the early 90s, now I can't imagine not incorporating second-hand clothes into my closet.
Although people often eschew thrift shop clothes as inferior, they often forget the most important aspects of secondhand clothes: that with a little effort you can find incredible handmade one-off pieces for next to nothing, and by supporting such shops not only are you more often than not giving back to the community but you are also recycling goods as well.
For a recent bridal shower gift, I combined a Home Ec textbook from 1951, Family Meals and Hospitality, that I found at the local Value Village bookshelf with some handknitted drawer sachets filled with lavender from an aromatherapy pillow that had long gone ignored:
This summer, I am a turtle, with all my belongings fitting in a small 4-door car. And I think I like it, becoming unfettered by boxes of unread papers and photographs of individuals whose names escape me. For the next 12 weeks, as long as my car air-conditioning works and all the windows are rolled up so I can singsingsing til my heart's content- I'll be good to go.
*Moving makes me grumpy. Luckily, I discovered scrawled on the side of one of my boxes by my friend Anna, Throw Rocks At Boys, written at a London post office while in a queue to mail boxes back to Chapel Hill in September. While I'm not an advocate for violence, this game was especially cathartic. Try it, you'll see.
Also making things better is listening to SNMNMNM. But then accordions never fail to make me feel better, especially when paired with adorable lyrics.
May 16, 2005
on the road again.
Some days I feel like a professional mover. I am moving, yet again. Long story short, I am moving somewhere for the summer. I may stay past August depending on what happens in the PhD department.
The best thing about moving is the ideas you have before moving: how you're going to decorate your new place, how you're going to stock your kitchen, how this time you're going to finally designate a space for "work."
The worst thing about moving: actually moving.
So I've decided to take it easy this go-round and load up the Honda with the necessities: clothes, yarn, books, music. Sometimes I feel like some sort of eccentric urban nomad, but then realise that that would be giving myself too much credit.
I also realise that everytime you move you can never move the most important thing: your support network of friends and family. If only I could pack them up, too, into assorted boxes my life would be complete.
Writing about the ethics and politics of craft has made me realise that this whole kooky aura around the idea of craftivism lies in decision-making. Why am I doing what I am doing? Could someone benefit more from this scarf/doll/afghan than me? Do I really need all these craft supplies, materials, excess?
Each time I move (which is often), I am reminded of why I keep what I keep. And how with the power of the internet, I can hold people dear to me closer than ever before.
Now that I'll finally have a "workspace" in my new digs, I have no need for it. These days my so-called "office" (for complete lack of a better word) is my laptop, headphones and a hot cup of coffee. But I am sure that it will be filled with reams of paper covered with scribbles of stories and queries, skeins of yarn peeping from behind cabinets, and book after book after book.
I have some new projects in the works as I'm trying to crossover from a blog that was created to promote an idea I believed in to something with a bigger scope. I feel like I need to take a step back and look at it all from a wider angle. Because while this whole 'craft thing' is tiny, I believe that embracing it has reminded many people of the power of uniquity.
By realising how easy it is to make our own wares, we have simultaneously come to realise that not only is this allowing us to reconnect with our creativity, but also our issues with abundance. In a world of too many choices, we have finally figured out that every decision we make holds power and helps to create change. The thought of people out there making conscious decisions about the way their money and time is spent enlivens me to no end.
I think I've gotten to be quite an expert with this moving thing. One day, one day soon perhaps, I'll have more than just a workspace to fill and more to work on than a laptop that's heavy. But until I find that place to alit my wings, I will continue to be making each choice carefully and with the best intentions.
May 13, 2005
friday dispatch v2.0
It's Friday! Rock on! Which means a little bit of crafty linked randomness for the cubicle-kept and bored...
.check out the work of Fundacion Solidaridad, truly inspiring handcraft from Chile.
.if you ever wanted to learn how to sculpt a Lionel Richie head from clay, this link is for you.
.make your desktop even more badass with Pixel Girl Presents. (Currently the Fury Cow is presiding over my laptop...)
.read about the evolution of hot pants here.
.check out Design is Kinky (Be sure to check out the theory section. To a dork like me, such geekery is hot...)
.read about why my (occasional?) adopted town of Carrboro is cooler than yours in this recent article on zines.
.become as obsessed as I have with Obsessive Consumption.
.learn how to revolutionize your belongings (and get rid of the crap) over at the wonderful DeMaterialiZe. (Who didn't love the Fugazi lyric "You are not what you own?" Ironically enough, in high school, I wrote that on my forest green Converse...)
.uncover more about the new documentary Jericho's Echo: Punk Rock in the Holy Land. (More here.
.see how felt is a force to be reckoned with thanks to Hut Up Berlin.
bizarrely, everyone's favorite fake Russian lesbians, T.A.T.U., has been helping me compile this list. they also helped me get through the last 2,000 words of my dissertation. i don't quite know what the allure is, either.
May 12, 2005
roots.
Back from the beach, where I had the pleasure of watching dolphins swim in the quiet Southern Georgia ocean waters and the displeasure of talking really loud to my grandfather (who my grandmother states is "deaf as a post"). It was wonderful to spend time with them (I'm of the frame of mind that grandparents are magical) and just talk.
My grandfather delights in telling stories of growing up in rural Georgia, starting out as a young lawyer in a segregated South and later on becoming a judge. As a child, I was always amazed as we would drive around their town and everyone would stop and wave at him like he was royalty. Later on, I would go and watch him hold court, completely weirded out by the fact that my grandfather (the kindest sweetest man) held the power to put people in jail. He still works some of the time, and I'm amazed at his ability to make fair and just judgements regarding any possible situation.
My grandmother and I have graduated from just talking about school or how I had my hair cut. And it is secretly one of the best gifts I have ever received from knitting. Yesterday we drove around town, took a walk down the pier, cooed over the variety of yarns available in the local stitching shop. You see, I don't knit because it's trendy or even because I'm fascinated with historical methods of needlecraft. I knit because I can finally talk to my grandmother. After our afternoon out, she sat next to me on the couch and showed me how to deftly wield a crochet hook, and it was so simple and beautiful that it almost brought tears to my eyes.
In the stitching shop, I was fascinated at her fascination with the way that knitting has gained popularity over the past few years. She kept eyeing the yarns and books and pointing interesting things out to me. Although I was ogling all the beautiful craft supplies around me, I kept getting distracted thinking about how very glad I am that something as simple as knitting as increased my vocabulary with my grandmother tenfold.
Often people say something to me along the lines of "I don't have the patience to knit/embroider/craft," "It's too hard," "I could never do that." To which I always reply, "Of course you can, it's easy." But what I keep forgetting is that sometimes there's a reason why we learn to certain lessons when.
Every morning I read a passage from Everday Mind: 366 Reflections on the Buddhist Path. The one that keeps popping in my head is from February 8 by Pema Chodron,
We try so hard to hang on to the teachings and "get it," but actually the truth sinks in like rain into very hard earth. The rain is very gentle, and we soften up slowly at our own speed. But when that happens, something has fundamentally changed in us. That hard earth has softened. It doesn't seem to happen by trying to get it or capture it. It happens by letting go; it happens by relaxing your mind, and it happens by the aspiration and the longing to want to communicate with yourself and others. Each of us finds our own way.
On my drive down to Georgia after writing the previous post, I was reminded of this. And how sometimes it's okay not to officially have a Plan B. As long as you remember to be aware of where you are, what you're doing and what's around you. Because sometimes the most amazing options uncover themselves. But only when you're ready.
May 10, 2005
Plan B never seems to work for me...
So I'm back at the grind next Monday. But Tuesday-Thursday I'm going to see my grandparents at the beach and hang out with their fellow retiree friends. There will be no canasta or golf, but bike riding and happy hour will be in full swing, I'm sure. As I'll soon be back in the cubicle, this may be my last time to drive down the coast to visit them for awhile. Plus, I try to never turn down an offer of visits from people who tell me lovely stories all day while also encouraging me to knit.
Lately when looking at job listings, wondering what the hell I'm going to do if the PhD programme I applied for (yesterday!) doesn't work out. Most of you will recognize this as "Plan B." I have no Plan B. I have never had a Plan B, which is most likely why I have a resume full of temporary jobs.
I think it's time to start brainstorming, however, possibly for both a Plan B as well as a Plan C. I actually thought about whether or not I should make a real list on paper or just ponder. Then this made me realize why I'm sometimes slow about things, normal people would just pull out pen and paper and not think about the most efficient way to make a list. Only people like me (the Plan B-less) would fritter away such extravagant time on such a ridiculously trivial matter.
The majority of my problem exists in time management. I have none. I think that difficult things will take no time at all and that simple things will take ages. If only I would think back to year after year to every Science Fair I ever participated in- when the sun would rise and I would furiously be stapling my title (one year it was "Which Fabric Burns the Fastest?" No lie.) onto the board, racing against time and inevitably piercing my finger in the process.
What destiny awaits the procrastinator?
I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure it probably won't be grand.
I"m not proud either, but happy that in the end, despite an occasional night of lost sleep, everything gets done. Before the school bus arrives or the deadline passes.
Which brings us back to Plan B, or lack thereof. You would think that seeing all the projects I have lined up craft and writing-wise, I would have no end to careers I could pursue- as lists are my most favorite things.
But there's something that's stopping me from making that foray into a possible future into an unknown, outside from the even greater (and more imminent) fear of starvation, the fact that there are too many choices. I could come with plan after plan after plan of what I could do. But that doesn't mean that any of them illustrate what I want to be doing.
Maybe that's where I'm erring.
And just need to shoot for something that doesn't make me want to fall asleep at my desk or run from the building daily screaming in frustration. While I'm plotting and planning something grander and more tailormade.
Even though I see many of my friends who run crafty businesses having difficulties with different aspects of their practice, they make me hopeful of the day that everyone who's working 'just to pay the bills' will step away from their cubicle and live the kind of life they choose, making the world a better place with their creativity and genius, instead of running the cogs of a giant corporate wheel.
Maybe it's just a pipe dream, but I'm strengthened everyday by your stories and your triumphs and your emails. Strengthened in the knowledge that maybe today, someone somewhere is quitting their 9 to 5 to make their dreams come true.
Thank you.
Many thanks to Belle & Sebastian for fuelling this moment of simultaneous mawkish introspection, revelation, annoyance and rejuvenation....
May 06, 2005
friday dispatch v1.0
I can't believe that it's already May. May of 2005. Which means I will turn 30 in 2 months. (11th July to be exact. Mark your calendars now!)
Despite this somewhat-of-a-watershed occasion, this summer also sees me returning to the temporary battlefield world of office administration. While my resume is rejoicing that I can once again put "temporary employee" in the left-hand column often reserved for "job title," I am not so full of glee.
So while I get my closet properly stocked with clothes I will only wear in the office, my voice ready and steady to say "Good morning/afternoon, this is Betsy, how may I direct your call?" 4323409 times per day, and a bevvy of lists mentally stored to be expunged on endless reams of pilfered Post-Its, I bring you the first in a summerlong installment of Friday posts.
With ethics and activism in mind (as well as good old-fashioned time wasting), these Friday posts will be written with my fellow office peons and cubicle dwellers predicament in consideration, you fellow compatriots in a war against lost memos and improperly delivered mail where we're armed with leftover food scraps from board member meetings and a rainbows choice of pen colors. And a reminder that you're not the only clockwatcher, daydeamer or person-who-wishes-they-were-anywhere-else.
And, of course, all links are worksafe!
Atleast this gig gave me a window.
*Realise how bad you are at HMTL with the artistic genius of Huong Ngo.
*Craft and snark make for perfect reading over at Threadbared.
*Learn more about why you procrastinate. Although you will most likely procrastinate on clicking this very link.
*Take comfort in the fact that you're not the only one in a pen, courtesy of Seattle's Barking Lounge
*No matter what you're doing, the The Yes Men are doing something cooler.
*You, too, can make a zine in 24 hours!
*Plan your dinner tonight thanks to these free veg*n cookbooks!
*Take further comfort in the fact that someone else likes Lionel Richie even more than I do. (Hmmm...Remember how I said my birthday was on the horizon?) ;)
*Read about the work of Maakin Lab in Shetland. Discover more about how knitting in Shetland contributes to its historical and cultural heritage.
*Learn more than you possibly ever knew existed about heavy metal at BNR metal. Rock!
Rah Rah Rah! Go and listen to The Chap!
May 04, 2005
the summer of allen.
I have a secret.
No matter how many crushes or loves I have, it will be an exceptionally hard sell to beat my love for Allen Ginsberg.
I have hidden my love for Allen, Gary (Snyder) and Jack (Kerouac) guiltily for years now. I think it had something to do with me fearing they were too pedestrian to adore. And the fact that they probably would think it bizarre that some random woman still gets teary when she reads "Howl" and in younger days dreamt of drinking tea with Japhy Ryder.
It all began when I attended a college arts programme run by hippies in the mountains in a dormitory basement. Instead of "English Literature 101" we had classes like, "The Genius of Kerouac." I took performance art classes and performed a piece in front of my peers that consisted of me writing words on my body that my roommate yelled at me from the audience. I wrote poems about the simultaneous disaffection and gloriousness of youth. You know, average university fodder.
After those two years of expansion, I went off to England and got muddled up for the better part of a decade, for no good reason really, c'est la vie. I am the kid at the parties now with the best stories of my life but with the least to show for it.
But this is not about my own pity party, it's about a revival.
The other night I caught a documentary on Allen Ginsberg and it was a welcome reunion. For those years when I first discovered the Beats, I was enamored by their crazy wild lives. And subsequently, went off on my own crazy wild adventures. Since resurfacing, I had forgotten all about my previous heroes until suddenly their images and voices were blasting through the television screen.
"Howl" still makes me teary, but in a different way at (almost) 30 than it did at 18. Even though the words hold the same syncopation, they resonate differently. In recordings, the voice of Allen still has the same tenor it did years ago, but now instead of frenzy I hear strength.
This summer I want to get reacquainted with these old dearly departed friends who meant so much to me so long ago and see what they have to teach me now.
And in remembering Allen, I also remember all my other dilettantish exploits of my younger years, craft or otherwise, and can't wait til they pop up again on the surface. Because I know that the me now will look at them through slightly different eyes than the me then.
hmm.... that ukulele in the corner sure looks dusty... oh, and sigur ros have been keeping me contemplative. rock on with pretty music!
May 03, 2005
because sometimes rules are made to be broken.
It is my opinion that one of the reasons why needlecraft has such a long history is due to its ability to be stopped and started frequently as well as its versatility. And one only has to go as far as to read Anne Macdonald's No Idle Hands: The Social History of American Knitting to find that I am not alone.
In the first instance, regarding mid-century knitters, from pp. 142-143:
"Being without work" remained so unthinkable that knitting was still encouraged to employ "minutes which would otherwise be wasted." Knitting was endorsed for housewives already exhausted from other chores: "A woman who has been at the washtub or at housework all day cannot easily sit down to plain needlework; her hands are 'out of tune'; she cannot, perhaps, even feel the needle, it is too small; but let her be able to knit readily (having been taught at school), and she will add many an inch, at spare moments, to her husband's or her children's stockings, which lies ready to be taken up at any time."
Trade the words "washtub" and "housework" for "computer" and "the office" and you have today's milieu. But, by finding something that can be abandoned and worked on at one's convenience, we have found a way to shrug off the drudgery and banality, if only for a row or line or sleeve. Time spent crafting often takes on a meditative quality for me as I start thinking in colors and patterns and stop thinking about memos and phonecalls. Unlike other pursuits, needlecraft allows you to be able to work for a few minutes on a project and then get back to another (often more tedious) task, feeling a bit more rejuvenated, accomplished and perhaps even, useful.
In the second instance, see p. 330:
"...as huffily as late nineteenth-century women had derided products of the new industrialization; another begged the young to assure that their garments bore their own personal, creative stamp in "this plastic, manufactured world..."
On a more personal note, I turn to "the jerk hat," as you can see me wearing below.
The joy of this particular garment is that after I made it and didn't want to waste my efforts on the proposed recipient, I could allow on a 3rd grade sense of creativity to nurse my wounds. Juvenile? Of course. But, it reminded me that at the end of the day, it's my knitting. And that I can do whatever I want to do with it. (In the end, it was properly restored sans snark, and now lives in Philadelphia.)
I think that people sometimes forget that.
Don't you, okay?
This entry was fueled as I kicked it old school with Teenbeat 50. I can't believe that Teenbeat is 20! Rad!