family

Finding Ground.

| Betsy

I’m grounded by history.

I’ve been reminded of this many times over the past few weeks as I discover Washington, DC. Passing signs to my father’s old high school, waving to my great-grandmother in Arlington Cemetery (she has a great view of the Pentagon, where her husband worked), hearing stories about my grandfather’s grandparents farm (now a park), hearing about how my grandfather would walk their pony to Tyson’s Corner to be reshod as there was a blacksmith there.

Lately the photo above has been a touchstone. When I was a kid, my grandmother used to tell me about how we were related to the sculptor Daniel Chester French. This photo reminds me of big dreams and creativity and a smidge of hope that it will all look as magical as conceived once fully constructed. I still haven’t found the building that housed the bakery my grandfather’s grandmother owned, but my grandmother has a map.

There’s something about knowing all of this that allows me to sink into the city more, wondering about how our genes and journeys will mix as I wander around eying old buildings and time-tested construction. After moving so often and taking so many trips far and wide, it’s nice to find a spot of ground that feels firm and real and solid under my feet. In thinking about the hopes and dreams and fears and loves and first crushes in my family’s lives as they strolled along these streets to the market, to work, to the doctor, to school, a sense of magic surrounds me. It may seem silly or impossible or mawkish to some, but after feeling so temporary and transient, here, for a moment, this sense of being grounded comforts me deep and true and completely.

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And for some crafty and otherwise creative links:
*Textile Encyclopedia*How to hem jeans in 3 easy steps
*The Newly Redesigned Mr. Xstitch! (Great job, Jamie!)
*Guide to Reading Japanese Crochet & Knitting Patterns
*Find where your clothes come from with the Baacode
*The Art of Manliness (Ok, not so crafty as interesting)
*Copenhagen Cyclic Chic (see how to bike in high heels)
*National Museum of African Art archives
*Make softies? How about making a few for Softies for Mirabel
*Awista Ayub’s However Tall the Mountain (what happens when young Afghan girls learn about soccer… and more)

Over the Mountain and Through the Woods…

| Betsy

…To grandmother’s house we go.

The other weekend I joined several of my cousins at our grandparent’s house in the North Carolina mountains near the border of Tennessee. One afternoon, when it was quiet, I took out my camera and took photographs of a few of my favorite things. I had a second to really pay attention to my great grandmother’s organ that was in her living room in Florida (complete with songbook!), some Matchbox cars from 1955 that were my uncle’s and a crocheted quilt made by someone in my family years ago.

Taking some extra quiet time to wander through their house like it was a museum was wonderful. My grandparents traveled all over the world, there were artifacts from my grandfather’s Army tours over his 30-year career, and bits covering every decade of the last century. I used to go to their house in South Carolina and do the same thing, walk around and look at all the delightful things they were attracted to at one point in time. It reminded me that that’s part of why I love older things, because they all have a journey and story to them, all different, all magical, all lovely.

Hurry Up and Wait.

| Betsy

Being in a hospital is kind of like being in a really really depressing casino. You’re left in this timeless space where night and day mean little. Somewhere in my wake-up at 3.30am sleepiness the other morning, I decided to take photos of two of the three waiting rooms we spent time in.

I keep on writing little bits and pieces over the past week and then losing track of my thoughts. All I can think about is healthy thoughts and make sure no machines are beeping weird and staying awake while keeping them company, even when I’m not here at the hospital. A true one-track mind.

Just keep busy. Keep moving. Keep pushing forward. Go, go, go, make sure everyone’s eaten, slept, taken care of themselves. It boils life down to just the essentials, and makes the rawness and fragility of life clearer than you ever thought imaginable. And, of course, a few months from now we’ll get complacent until something else happens, then life will go under a microscope again where every thing’s cherished and sacred, as it should normally be.

Soon we shift from pinpointed to easygoing and become predictable. Is it possible, however, to have that point illuminated and in the forefront at all times? Or would the sheer weight of the quickness and realness of it all make us crumble? If we truly cherished our loved ones and life long-term and not just in these moments of chaotic and palpable clarity, who could we be?

I’m betting that at first it would seem daunting to truly and honestly as Emile Zola wrote, “live out loud,” would seem out-of-control and visceral in the stark reality of our lives, that they’re passing, moving, marching on. But I also think that if we dare ourselves to hold firm and stick with it, it would eventually show us the strength we thought we didn’t have, love so deep it seems boundless and the wide open joy we deserve. It would make us who we would truly like to be, but never quite fully seem to embrace and unveil to the world. It would help us remember that due to the passage of time and intricacies of life, we owe it to our loved ones to show them the best, the brightest and the boldest we can be.

The lamp painting was the first pass on a piece that will be in The Scrap Exchange’s show, Domestic Spaces: Art and Artifacts for the Home, which will be up March 20 through April 11.

Have found some lovely new links lately discovering all sorts of people who are merging creativity and politics! For starters:

Art Threat
Eyeteeth
Just Seeds
Groundswell Collective
Irregular Rhythm Asylum
Tel Aviv Graffiti and Street Art
And check out this link to some amazing craftivist works, link thanks to Toronto Craft Alert!

*And on the subject of waiting, Fugazi’s “Waiting Room” won’t stop playing in my head. Thankfully, it’s one of my favorite songs.

And in Knitting for Good book news, there was a lovely post on Whipup about it yesterday, which you can read here!

And if you’re curious about what’s in the book, look no further than The Unique Sheep blog as Laura has posts about the first five chapters! Chapter 1! Chapter 2! Chapter 3! Chapter 4! Chapter 5! Wow!! Thanks so much Laura!!

Parable.

| Betsy

So this post isn’t so craft-related. It’s people related. Since I see craft as one of the ways to connect with people and like exploring the ways people connect, it fit together in my head. (If you disagree, there are some lovely older posts about craft here. Go forth and explore!) Lately I’ve had some extra time on my hands as I’ve been doing a lot of driving alone in the car. It’s led me to rethink the paths I’ve taken in my life. It’s amazing how family emergencies can lead to these sorts of thoughts.

Somewhere in the middle of the Georgia swamps, I thought about growing up and not understanding why my body would revolt and freeze up sometimes. And it was weird, and I had no idea what was happening. Then later came depression, which is a bit like having a wet wool blanket over you at all times. It’s cumbersome, thick and somewhat stinky, but despite your best efforts, it’s still there. The worst part of it was how I related to people. There’s nothing strange about why I became a sociologist and a writer, as all those years I felt like an observer to everyone else’s life. I was in the room, at the table, in the kiss, holding hands, on the soccer field, I was everywhere. But at the same time, I often wasn’t there at all.

When you feel apart from everyone and watch your loved ones grow old together and your friends get married and children are born, all the happy joys of life, it’s as if you’re a stenographer not someone close. When it happens for over a decade you begin to wonder what the silver lining is. There was a pulse you were missing, a wall you had up, a barrier holding firm.

So you move and you travel and you search and search and search for a way through. You want to feel the touch, get the joke and move forward, too. And you worry about other people’s problems so you don’t have to feel your own. You get to see some really cool things and have lots of adventures! Even more importantly, you begin to forget that there’s a distance. Then you cool down a bit and stay in one place for a few years and begin to remember the distance and all the annoyance it’s caused.

Then one day, as you’re rushing down the highway trying to get to someone you care about, and navigating labyrinth hospital halls, and trying to find the right room among all the doors surrounding you, you realize. It’s not in the faces of the nurses or the other patients in the room. It’s on the face of the one you came to see, smiling to see you. And suddenly, you realize the wall isn’t there and you’re in the moment instead of just taking notes. And the moment, even though it’s in a hospital and scary in its reality, has a pulse and a beat…and not just the ones emanating from the machines and monitors either.

As you might have already guessed, the wall that used to be there was already long gone, you just needed to trust in the future enough to take a step forward instead of standing still. It wasn’t magic or luck or good timing, it was making the choice to put one foot squarely in front of the other and not being afraid to look ahead. Holding hands and hugging close never felt so good.

And for the compassion, patience and empathy all of this has brought me? Well, the learning curve wasn’t much fun and it could have lasted a much shorter time, but I don’t wish it happened any other way. It’s what makes the little things more special, the days more exciting and the world multi-colored instead of like blancmange. Sometimes people wonder why and how I light up at the littlest of things, but now that they’re here and I’m here with them, these small details and extras are nothing but tiny joys. So, the long way round, I found the silver lining, and it’s pretty freakin’ sweet.

Ho-Ho-Holly Days.

| Betsy

Every year it happens. Although I keep trying to replace them with my favorite holiday song, Feliz Navidad, because it’s a bit kickier, two songs get stuck in my head for the entire holiday season.

Today I’m getting ready to head to my parents for the week to meet my brother’s new puppy, wish for snow even though we’re in the South, sleep in my childhood room that still looks kind of like 11th grade, drive relatives around town even though Charlotte has grown so much I keep getting lost, and to generally spend a few days surrounded by family to celebrate Christmas.

While craft and book stuff are still well in my thoughts, for a few days I’ll be offline and enjoying talking and knitting by the fire instead of checking my inbox or answering email. It’s a nice reboot at the end of the year where I embrace the tactile and face-to-face contact and try to get in as many hugs as possible.

So I leave you for a few days with best wishes for the holidays and the two songs that no holiday has been complete without since I was in junior high.


1. Run DMC’s “Christmas in Hollis” from A Very Special Christmas

We burned up the highway in the family station wagon for years listening to this album, and this song always was put on repeat atleast once. The part we all like the best and would belt out is: “It’s Christmas time in Hollis Queens, Mom’s cooking chicken and collard greens…” After all, we are Southern.




2. “I Have a Little Dreidel”, (the Dreidel song)

When I was in 6th grade, the mother of a Jewish classmate came in to talk to us about Hannukah. She gave us little plastic dreidels. We spun them. She also taught us this song, of which I only know the chorus, but still find myself singing each winter. It’s pretty darn kicky, too, especially this jazzy version I found.