On Donating Tiny New Things for Tiny New People.

The first time I heard about Afghanistan, the Soviets were in control. After learning in school that the Afghan people had no contact with the outside world, I remember being upset that they wouldn’t have cameras and photographs. When the Russians left in 1991, I was happy and hopeful that things would be better, and that yes, they would get their cameras.

When the United States invaded Afghanistan years later I was angry and frustrated with our foreign policy, like so many people. In 2003, a friend in my knitting circle mentioned she was going to donate some hats to Afghans for Afghans and wondered if we would also like to donate something. I made things then, and have made several more things in the years that have followed.

Currently, Afghans for Afghans is in need of donations for children aged 2-8, with a collection date a few months from now. If you have some spare time and some spare yarn, consider whipping up some items for little wee ones. They may not need cameras, but they surely could use some warm handmade garments. There are more details here.

Speaking of little ones, I was so happy to hear that Mama to Mama collected 5,523 hats to send to cover 5,523 tiny heads in Haiti! So amazing and so inspiring! Lastly, a lovely email arrived in my inbox this week with a link to an organization that was new to me, Little Dresses for Africa! They are an organization collecting dresses made out of pillowcases for children in need. Who doesn’t have an extra pillowcase in their closet?! Now get sewing! Thanks so much, Carrie!

The beautiful image above came from Flickr user Papyrist. Wouldn’t you like to make some wee little vests and sweaters now?

Constructive Constructs.

It’s strange how certain images (and not others) imprint themselves on your brain. Lately, two images have been on my mind, two images that I discovered during a postmodern art course in either 1997 or 1998.

I guess you could say that without realizing it, these two images encapsulate two of the most important constructs to me: home and identity. Is home a person, a place, a feeling? Is there an X that marks the spot or does it move throughout time with you? Is identity fluid or static?

I’m not sure I really know the answer, except that I think both of them are real, and examples of the ways we try to reconcile the external with the internal.

Rachel Whiteread’s “House” and Ana Mendieta’s Silueta series are both creative works that exist for a moment, for a few photographs, but ultimately and in time (and respectively) are destroyed or returned to the earth.

I think the reason I’ve been conjuring them lately has as much to do with “home” and “identity,” as it has to do with our definition of “life” itself. Like the works above, we’re not here forever. Our lives are spent trying to create “home” and “identity” only to have them ultimately vanish. And it’s this delicacy and intricacy of trying to glean and grow and learn as much as we can from both of them, like life, that leaves them fragile and fresh and poignant.

It’s funny how images you read about in class over a decade ago still manage to pop up without warning. And it’s amazing how our denotations remain the same, and our connotations evolve, shift and expand over time. One forever staying constant and the other staying true, but in permanent evolution.

The Dream, 45 Years Deferred.

Before today, there was only one other MLK Day weekend that had stuck in my mind. We were on a family ski trip and on the ride north we stopped at McDonald’s. They had the radio on announcing that the United States had just invaded Kuwait. It was a bit surreal being in McDonald’s of all places, hearing George Bush instead of the ka-ching of the registers.

I was in 11th grade and confused how we were going skiing and going to have fun when our country was doing something really not fun. I guess you could say that was the first day I started to think about that continuum we all live on, that small space where we exist and thrive despite all of the horrors and evils and disappointments that life can bring. We thrive because we can see the other end, the end of possibilities and newness and happiness. In order to keep moving forward, we perch ourselves delicately between the good and the bad, aiming more towards hope than towards despair.

I’ll also remember this MLK Day and its long weekend, but for a better reason. Today at 12pm EST, CNN rebroadcast the entirety of Martin Luther King Jr’s “I Have a Dream” speech.

When the speech started, I had my laptop on in my lap thinking I would be able to tinker away at some things I needed to do, as not to waste a chance to multitask. About a minute into the speech, I closed my laptop and set it aside. Some things need your full attention, this is one of them.

And a few minutes in, I started crying and felt so very different than I did around this time 18 years ago. Instead of feeling estranged and wondering what the hell was going on in a McDonald’s in Virginia, I felt happy and hopeful. I know that tomorrow the wars aren’t going to stop and the economy isn’t going to right itself and that millions of people will still need food, water and shelter.

But today there’s a sliding towards the plus end of the scale away from the minus. Not because tomorrow we’re going to go to bed richer or kinder than the day before, but because tomorrow, for the first time in a long time, we’ll see our country move forward along with us.

It’s the Thrill Of the Fight.

Growing up in the 80s, there was a lot talk about Rocky Balboa. My dad still breaks into song sometimes and sings Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger.” (No, really. Still.) One year we went to Philadelphia to visit my aunt, and we ran up the Rocky Steps and did this:

I know you weren’t there to see this historic Greer family moment, but let me tell you, we were one excited family once we got to the top. It was the mid-80s and “Rocky” was the coolest dude ever, so it was awesome. Actually, if I was in Philadelphia right now, I’d probably run up the stairs and jump around with my hands in the air, too.

Anyway, a friend of mine once noted that she had this quote (from the original “Rocky” film) on her refrigerator:

Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t how hard you hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take, and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done. Now, if you know what you’re worth, then go out and get what you’re worth. But you gotta be willing to take the hit.

It’s been on my mind this evening, well, the “moving forward” part, not the “hit” part. Sometimes the easiest of things, like moving forward, seems like the most difficult to keep in mind. And now, as luck would have it, I’m singing “Eye of the Tiger,” too. Maybe I should take a victory run up my townhouse stairs before I go to sleep?


Thanks to all the super wonderful people that came out last night to the Barnes & Noble in Cary to hear me talk! Wow! You ladies were so awesome! I was so happy that there was someone on hand to talk about Project Linus, too! I already have Make-a-Blanket Day on my calendar for February 22 at Marbles Kids Museum!

And thanks, too, to the people who listened to my interview on The State of Things yesterday! (If you missed it, you can listen to me here. Right before I was interviewed, Laila El-Haddad was on talking about Gaza, which is definitely worth a listen.

Activism Is Not A 4-Letter Word. (Reminder)

Today’s post is a re-post of something I wrote in November 2005. If you’ve read Handmade Nation, you’ll see that I have an essay in the book with the same name. This original post was what led to the essay a few years later. I’m reposting it here because sometimes it’s good to be reminded of just where your heart lies.

Two things for today, this afternoon I’ll be on The State of Things from about 12.40 until 1EST, and tonight I’ll be talking about craftivism and the book at Barnes & Noble in Cary at 7pm.


Dictionary.com defines activism as “The use of direct, often confrontational action, such as a demonstration or strike, in opposition to or support of a cause.” This is the definition I have often been presented with the minute I mention either craftivism or activism. At the mention of these terms, some people rear up and want nothing more to do with the discussion. When such a negative definition is so commonly applied, it isn’t hard to see why feathers are ruffled by even a whisper of activism.

But my own definition of activism lies closer to this, “Activism, in a general sense, can be described as intentional action to bring about social or political change” from Wikipedia. It continues with “The word ‘activism’ is often used synonymously with protest or dissent, but activism can stem from any number of political orientations and take a wide range of forms, from writing letters to newspapers or politicians, simply shopping ethically, rallies and street marches, direct action, or even guerilla tactics. In the more confrontational cases, an activist may be called a freedom fighter by some, and a terrorist by others, depending on which side of the political fence is making the observation.”

Activism (or craftivism) is less about a call to arms and more about a call to act for change. Although there are negative ways one can bring about change, the majority of activists I know are working for the common good, attempting to bring about illumination instead of darkness. By negating a construct and stripping it of its positive intent, the more commonly used definition only breeds fear and unwillingness when in fact every time you make a conscious choice, you are being an activist. In choosing to buy one brand of yarn instead of another due to the way it was produced or by choosing to ride your bike instead of drive, you are being an activist.

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The past two weeks I have been living in rural England on a small-scale farm. I can’t think of a time when I have been more inspired or been taught more lessons or been shown so much hope in such a short span. I have been connecting and meeting individuals who continue to farm despite all the obstacles in their paths. After all the governmental and financial restraints have been agreed to, there seems to be little reason to continue an agrarian lifestyle.

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As we send all of our textile needs to further shores where people are paid less to work more, resources that the small-scale producers have relied on since the Industrial Revolution have vanished, leaving them trying to fill in the gaps. And as it becomes more and more difficult for small-scale farmers to survive, traditions and methods are lost in the name of technology and progress.

But there is a sense of activism in the air here as people strive to continue to produce wool and fleece as they once did when all the factories where up and running and could take in small quantities of fibre to be prepared. Out of love and determination, activism is alive in its most positive sense- as individuals try and band together to keep traditional methods afloat despite myriad setbacks. In watching their strength and learning from their dedication, I am reminded again and again of why I am not ashamed to call myself an activist.