misc.

Yet to be categorized.

Spinning?

| Betsy

Last week I took a spinning class. Excitedly, I told a few people about it, most of whom thought I was going to go ride bicycles in a little room with a screamy instructor. I paused for a moment when someone asked, ‘do you mean like telling stories?’

Because in a way, learning to spin fiber is a story. It’s a story that extends way beyond us, into our genes, tapping a part of us that may very well have been dormant beforehand.

In telling a story, we ‘spin’ tales with our mouths (or hands in the case of deafness), casting them as loud as our voice will carry. Making sure the plot weaves in and out, with various twists and turns in character development. Sometimes we don’t always know where a story that we are telling us is taken, we just run with it. Then the story takes on a life of its own, allowing the listeners to create a whole new world, eager to hear what’s going to happen and (if you’re good) not just waiting for the end.

The same thing happens when we spin yarn. Currently I’ve changed from a bottom-whirl spindle to a top-whirl spindle and have been reminded how mesmerizing it is to watch a bit of fluff turn into yarn. The joy in the knowledge that this yarn you are creating can be as long as you desire, in the colours and textures you choose. It can be whatever you want it to be.

And I can’t help but get a little giddy in this creation of something new and alive, whether it’s yarn to work with or a story to mull over. They each speak of new possibilities, directions and concepts, which may weave together over time or simply just float by.

Each time I work with fibre or tell tales, I wholeheartedly enjoy the way that something deep in my genetic makeup sparks. It’s a feeling of familiarity, of welcome, and of a happy reunion.

there’s nothing like puppy love…

| Betsy

Do you ever just want to buy something instead of make something?

Given the recent loss of my dog, this week’s craftivist project gives you a reason to whip out your wallet, not your needles.

Melissa from Lekkner is the brain behind Crafters for Critters which collects donations of crafty things made by various crafty people, sells them, and then donates the proceeds to benefit homeless Greyhound pups. This money collected from the purchases of this go-round of crafts will be donated to Michigan Greyhound Connection.

For those of you not familiar about why Greyhounds are in need of your help, I suggest visiting the Greyhound Protection League’s website for more information.

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The great thing about this particular project is that if you don’t see anything you like during this current round of crafts, in a few months, it will all be different! I couldn’t help being astounded and overjoyed at the length of the list of contributors, because looking the sheer number of people willing to contribute, who would dare to say that there isn’t a craft resurgence?

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In case you were curious, my M.A. dissertation is now online. Thank you for all of your emailed respones to my original questions! Oh, and I passed! There is nothing that excites me more than the possibilities of craft, and its lineage to the past and future.

yarn beats metal?

| Betsy

Lately I have been consumed by the conjunction of modernity and crafts, especially knitting. About how historically it was used to clothe and comfort, to protect against the elements. Now that we’ve moved comfortably (or kicking and screaming, depending) into the modern age, these items can be purchased. Whenever I wear handmade items around the city I feel like I am navigating the chaos somewhat strenghtened and soothed.

In some ways, craft seems like a perfect compliment to the urban. Providing a respite of comfort in a busy, metal, sometimes alien (and alienating) place.

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We wrap knitted items around loved ones to keep them warm. Lately I’ve been toying with the notion that if we wrap knitting around technology and the urban would we give them warmth and comfort?

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one more project for the list…

| Betsy

Although I get emails from people with encouraging words about what I’m writing about, it’s rare that I hear what people are doing for charity. If you’re in the process of making something or even just thinking about it, I’d love to know.

At the moment, I’m working on those blankets and hats that will be donated to Olivia’s Angels in Georgia. There are also some chemo caps in the works. Today I’ve added another project to the list, using my scrap yarns from various other endeavours, and making blankets for Snuggles.

People ask me how and why I choose the charities I send things to. It usually starts by something pulling at the heartstrings whether I mean for it to or not. The preemie things are because I was a preemie and my mother a scared mother who needed a little comfort when I was 2lb and so small. The chemocaps for my grandfather because he is fighting prostate cancer that has metastatized and my grandmother who survived breast cancer. (In fact, it’s a rather long list, this one.) The Snuggles blanket in memory of my dog, Annie, who has been a part of my family since the spring of 1991. She was put down last night.

I make and donate things because of the kindness and compassion that has been shown to me and to those I love, and because I want to add a little bit of light to the lives of others. With every stitch I sew or knit or crochet or whathaveyou I am fighting against coldness and for more warmth.

While such a tiny act may not make a difference to loads of people/animals at once, it does make a difference for one. Or two. Or three. Or however many donations you choose to make. That’s the power behind such a small, simple act.

In giving things made with kindness and hope and love to others, I not only embolden and replenish their spirits but my own as well.

enough.

| Betsy

Today’s officially the worst day of the year. Which got me thinking…

I have a lot of shoes. Especially black ones. Sometimes I look at the floor of my closet and am abhorred at the number of black shoes I own. Some are for work, some are for play, some are for parties and others are just plain lovely.

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I also own entirely too much yarn. It’s spilling out of baskets and peeking out of drawers all over my house, like little woodland creatures from a children’s storybook. A tiny bit of pink fluff here, a wisp of bright green there. Of course, I haven’t knitted anything for myself since a still unfinished sweater from 2003. I currently have a list as long as my size 19 needle of knitting projects I need to tackle, bits and bobs for family, friends and charities.

When I first moved into the house I decided to nail some fabric and yarn to the wall. I fear I enjoyed the process entirely too much, and that if I live here very long my house will become covered in 3D textile projects and I will finally turn into that crazy lady I always feared. That crazy lady with all the yarn and shoes, aimlessly wielding a hammer.

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With all this accumulation, however, comes conflict. How can I write about issues stemming from ethical living and have so much, well, crap? It doesn’t seem to gel, really, here I am writing about trying to live your life openly and ethically, writing it atop a mountain range of yarn. But I’ve come to think that maybe it’s this internal conflict that makes us human. It allows us to become fully cognizant as to why we are making the choices we are making.

And in becoming aware of our choices, it’s hard to not to feel like we are not enough, that we never do enough, care enough, give enough. Even though this is universal, especially as women, we never feel enough.

I am tired of not feeling good enough because I can’t fully identify as a vegetarian or vegan because fish keeps my serotonin levels up and I work with wool. (Although it is my hope to work one day with wool that is ethically produced.) I feel conflicted when I wear my leather belt that I abhor because it is leather, but adore because it was a gift from my father. I feel like a bad feminist as I try and cover my fledgling wrinkles with foundation. I feel like my convictions aren’t strong enough when I eat dairy at my grandmother’s house because I know how hard it is for her to cook for me seeing that I think she thinks that chicken is not meat. I feel like I’m not punk rock enough because I really like Lionel Richie. (The man is a genius, I tell you!)

I have all these shoes and all this yarn and yet I walk a lot in lieu of driving and make things for others instead of myself. But I still feel like I’m not enough because 100% of my choices aren’t ethical. I sometimes shop at Target, all the toilet paper I buy isn’t recycled, every now and then I’ve been known to squash really terrifying looking spiders when they refuse to be captured and escorted outside. Even though I do a lot by some standards, for my own it will never seem like it’s enough.

Being aware all the time hurts my brain, but not as much as not feeling enough. I feel like my spirit was trampled for years underneath this weight and that it’s freed itself only to get frustrated by seeing how much everyone is struggling, too. At the moment, this is particularly resonant because I see all these glorious things that people have made around me, and I wonder, “why didn’t I think of that?” and “why don’t I have time to make that?” And immediately, I find myself back in the same vicious cycle telling myself I’m not this or that or whatever.

Which is why this time of year turns me into a hermit. I stay indoors and drink tea, watch bad television and make things for people. I read and absorb and try to refuel myself for the new year after the excesses of the last one. Come February, I begin to crawl out from underneath my heap of yarn ready to fight the good fight, cup of coffee in hand, and a pair of black shoes on my feet.

So today, just a little bit of comfort on the Official Worst Day of the Year.

May you always feel enough.