awayuq

I'm sorry I'm sorry!

Thanks to everybody who has written over the past several months. I apologize for disappearing and the long silence. Just so you know, I haven't really been writing to anyone, even my Mom (wouldn't you say, Mom?). So if you didn't get a response from me, you are in very good company and again, I apologize. The good news is, I've passed qualifying exams in my program so I am now officially... officially... well, I passed. It's a hurdle which is now behind me. But enough of that, I know the most urgent thing on your collective minds is: The Apron!

It is a pattern from the Paisley Pincushion and is called "Scalloped Apron". There is no number listed on my envelope. I got mine from Newark Dressmaker Supply. You can also get it online at Keepsake Quilting. No doubt it is available in other places but those are the two I know off the top of my head. So go to it, have fun with aprons!

I have not been entirely unproductive, though the last few months have been a struggle in many ways. Some things I've been working on:

hand-embroidered small clothes


the white sweater--finally finished!

with a decorative side seam

some embroidery completed a looooong time ago...september maybe? (Kit by Kristin Nicholas--I highly recommend!)

And more recently, a tatted edging

which up close looks like this

There's more--lots of swatches, a green shawl, various stuffed things... Looking back on it I guess I haven't let the creative side of my life stop completely, for which I am very grateful. I will be back...

back from beyond

I am so glad to be home. Things aren't quite organized--camera batteries are dead, there is no food in the refrigerator, piles of books needing to be read and clothes needing to be washed are multiplying hour by hour--but I am glad that I am out of the airline system and have no trips planned for the near future.

If I had a gazillion dollars, I would devote myself to creating a different long-distance public transportation system in this country. Bring back the railway, I say. Bike trails to everywhere. Canals. Any alternative to planes.

Anyway, about the Projects. The blue lace shawl is one of those ill-fated items that insists on never being quite done. First, as you may remember, there was the issue with missing instructions in the middle of the Peruvian desert. Well, I got it home, and found the instructions, and took it on the next trip, and worked on it from time to time. I love attaching edging, but you know how it is--there's a point at which you knit and knit and knit and can't believe you still have so much edge left. It languished. Finally, the last two days of my visit to Mom's house, I decided that I really needed to finish it, and began to knit furiously, mostly after dinner while watching Raiders of the Lost Ark. (We watched it twice. I felt I had to see it again because I'm supposed to be becoming an archaeologist. It was very useful. Resolution for the next year: learn to use a whip.) I knit and knit and knit and about the time I got halfway through the third side, I began to get a nervous feeling about the size of the remaining ball of yarn. I turned the third corner and was on the home stretch and was about evenly divided as to whether I'd have enough yarn to finish or not. Finally, I ran out in the middle of the final side. *sigh*. This project just does not want to be finished. Possible to get more yarn? Unlikely. Probably I'll finish it with something in a plain color and it will be a reminder to me to avoid hubris in the matter of yarn estimation. No pictures of this sad shawl example yet, as I mailed it back from the midwest. (or my Mom did--thanks Mom).

Returning to the first subject--am I the only one who hates to fly? I abhor it. I do it, and I've learned to deal with it, but I hate it. I mean I hate the actual flying part, the being in the sky, as well as taking off and coming down, and I hate all the rigamarole around it like undressing and having to remember what can't be carried on and standing in line and weather delays and the media hype that doesn't improve anyone's peace of mind. The day I left was the day people were arrested in England with alleged plans to blow up flights over the Atlantic. (yep, that was a treat, traveling on that day.) I came back the day a flight crashed in Kentucky (I flew out of Ohio. A little too close to home.) Really, does it ever seem to you that flying is just tempting fate? The more often you fly, the more likely you are to be in one of those situations that nightmares are made of. And did I mention that both my bags got lost on the last flight? Things seem to get worse and worse. This year I truly feel that if I never had to fly again, I could be ok with that. In fact, I'm thinking with a world fuel crisis looming it might be time to learn how to keep horses. Yet another reason to learn how to wield that whip.

my world cup experience

At a decent hour this morning I got on a bus in Lima and for a change, it was a direct service which means that now, early afternoon, I am in Ica where I will stay for the next 10 days or so doing work at a museum. There was some kind of conference at this hotel over the weekend, and all the rooms were full. There weren't any ready for check in when we arrived. So I'm sitting on a large patio watching people eat late lunch from an impressive buffet. There is sun here! It's enough to make me wish I'd brought a short sleeved shirt. But the really funny thing, which makes me smile as I wait, is that just behind me the hotel set up a curtained room with a huge tv screen so that guests can watch the World Cup. We're now 2/3 through the first half. Most of the time, the sounds are of lunch table conversation, children screaming in the pool (yes there's a pool, and a water slide, I'm going to try it see if I don't!) and the rattle of silverware. However, every so often, there comes a huge ROAR from the secret curtained room and all the waiters that don't actually have their hands full go running towards the door to peek in. It's hilarious. One moment they are obseqious and staid, then comes a roar and they become little boys dressed up in navy slacks and ties craning their necks to see what happened.

Not much fiber stuff happening so far. I knit half a sock on the plane and have started a lace shawl for the third time. I think I finally chose the right size needles.

And by the way, this patio, the pool, the buffet--all highly unusual for my Peruvian travels. I think we're getting some kind of discounted rate. In any event, this is a rare experience and I intend to enjoy it as much as possible. Good thing I brought my bathing suit.

bounty of books

It's getting to that time of year when there comes a need to choose books to travel with. Travel books should not be too big or heavy, but they can't be fluff on the interior or they are used up too quickly. I'm a fast reader and it takes quite a lot of printed words to get me through a month away. I'm not adverse to reading classics on a trip, but they have to be interesting enough that they are relaxing and help distract me from other stresses. Over the past few years I've come to feel a great fondness for give away books: those that are good enough to read, but not so important that they have to come home with me. I love reading a book on a journey, finishing it, and then leaving it for some other lonely English-speaking traveler to find. However, my miserly self demands that pristine books that cost over a certain amount shouldn't be treated in this way.

Imagine my delight, then, when walking into the office this morning I passed not one but three cardboard boxes on the floor in the hallway, all filled with old books free for the taking. Lots of them were not traveling books by any means (who wants to be burdened with a lot of theological philospohy on a trip!) but I found some fiction including Garrison Keillor and Charles Dickens. Free books can be discarded with no regrets whatsoever. There's more: this afternoon I passed a bookstore with racks of $1 books set up on the sidewalk and found another two or three, including one by Daphne DuMaurier which I've already read but long enough ago that it doesn't matter. DuMaurier should make perfect trip reading. Does anyone else remember when you could routinely get used paperbacks for $2-$3? And now used ones are $7 and up!

What I really want is to stay home and do crafty things all summer. But if I must travel, it's good to know I'll have plenty of discardable words to take with me.

studio saturday morning

works in progress

filing system for works in the queue.

another deep breath.

You know how sometimes everything is ok, and then you hear something or get some news and all of a sudden you feel as if you were in an elevator and someone jerked the cable? I’m having one of those moments.

There’s really no excuse for it. When I became a student I knew things would be financially precarious. The project I work for just got some news about the most recent grant we applied for. We got funding, but at a greatly reduced rate. They suggest a summer “salary” for me--that would be JuneJulyAugusthalfofSeptember -- that about matches my monthly expenses. I’m trying not to panic. After all, it is a good thing to get funded at all, and it’s not like there are no coffee shops in my neighborhood; worst comes to worst, I’ll dredge up the 15-year old experience making mochas and plead. There’s no reason to panic, yet. Things will work out.

I guess what’s getting to me is that lack of financial security brings up so many issues for me. It reminds me in a gut-wrenching way that I am the only thing between me and poverty. It’s just me--no husband, no generous boyfriend, no rich aunt or uncle. It’s true that I have relatives who have helped me a great deal in crises and I’m very grateful for their assistance. But they can’t support me continually and I pray I never have to ask it of them. Ever since I started working at 15 I’ve been terrified of ending up a bag lady. One of those women with a shopping cart who has no home, no heat, just the sidewalks and the trash she picks up. Or, maybe worse, one of the invisible elderly we pack away into terrible “homes” that smell of urine and tinned green beans. I’m more than a decade older than other people in my program, and I feel so out of step. What I want to be doing right now is creating a safe, domestic haven for a partner and children. Not happening. I thought by this time in my life I’d be thinking about college savings for my children, not me. It also reminds me what a gamble grad school is. I’m in a field where jobs are notoriously scarce. Of course I value intellectual endeavor. Of course I value scholarship, and academic freedom, and ok go ahead, accuse me of being an intellectual snob: I like being around smart people. But a sudden potential gap in the income spectrum makes me wonder: is it worth losing retirement funding for this? Is grad school reducing my statistically already negligible chances of finding a long-term partner? Is it worth having no savings, no financial cushion, and potentially no skills that are marketable in a non-academic world? I have to keep reminding myself that I can find a way to market myself; I’ve done it before, I did it right out of undergrad when I had significantly fewer skills than I have now. I’m going to do my best not to decline into an impoverished, lonely old age. But it is scary. And all of the uncertainty reminds me forcibly that I really don’t like where I am living. For what’s available, I have a good situation, I realize that; but I hate living in the city. And excuse me, a place with more than 19,000 people per square mile is a city, I don’t care what New Yorkers say. Yes, you read that right; my non-city city is the fifth densest populated in the US as of the last census. My mortgage is quite high. Sometimes I think about selling my condo, but the fact is that rents aren’t much cheaper, and I initially bought so that at least I’d be putting a pittance towards equity. Not to panic, but a close neighbor with a comparable place has had it on the market for a year now, and it hasn’t sold yet. Which doesn’t make me any more confident about being able to realize that equity should I need to.

So... a perfect time to go back to the Om sweater. It now looks like a sweater, no? I’m down to the body part. Now I’m just worried about running out of yarn. I’ve already used three skeins of 10. I’m trying to judge how far I can go... I think one skein might be enough for each sleeve. Which would leave me four for the rest of the body and one for a collar. That should be enough, but I think I’ll start on a sleeve next to see how far I get. I may have to alter the plans; I wanted a shawl collar. I could live with 3/4 sleeves, if it comes down to it. I could add bordering stripes of a different color if it turns out to be really scanty, but I hope I won’t have to.

I liked the sleeve increases and wanted to echo them in the side and underarm “seams”. To keep the stitch count even I have to border them with a pair of decreases. It’s simple, but harmonious. I like it; it keeps this sweater basic but still interesting enough to endure knitting.

And finally--thanks everyone for your kind comments on the doll couture. I’ll let her know :)

something to watch

My Mom has a blog!

croneway

Mom is a knitter and a weaver of Navaho Rugs. She is trained in massage therapy, zero balancing, and other mind-body techniques I don't know the proper names for (I should remedy that). She is a practicing bhuddist and makes a mean frozen chocolate mousse. My Mom travels with her awesome partner of many years, and loves the annual sailing trip in the Carribean. She loves opera, good books, and anything yummy to eat. She is definitely an extrovert and has a flair for the dramatic--she has spent many hours in and around theatrical productions of all sorts.

And she is a polio survivor.

I've been encouraging my mom to get a blog for a while now, because she has a great gift for communication, and she works so hard to live with the results of her childhood disease. We don't hear much about polio these days, because it is supposedly eradicated. Adults who survived childhood polio face a myriad of trials as they age. Often they experience impaired mobility and lots of pain. I know there are others out there who can benefit from my mother's knowledge and experience. I am very proud of her for setting sail into the blogging world.

So please, if you have a chance, watch her site and leave a friendly comment if you see something that appeals to you. And if you know of other polio survivors, please pass the word to them.

I love you Mom!

take your needles to class

Over thanksgiving, I hope to finish the border on the "Summer from Kansas" shawl. Over the past month or so I've been taking it to lectures and I was surprised last week to find that I was nearly done with the body. And now I am really done with the body, and on to the edging, which just goes to show you that a few moments are never wasted even if they are between scribbling notes on statistical techniques and the Maya collapse. Given the long weekend, maybe I'll even have pictures! Amazing how much more quickly things grow on #6 needles, compared to size 0.

I really miss my blog. The irony is that I have a lot to say-- you know, new characters, funny stories, new ideas, and so on. Most of it is not textile related and when I opened this space I told myself this would be truly focussed on textiles, since my interests there are wide-ranging enough to be entirely confusing anyway. I'm tempted to write at length about grad school in another space. a) it would help me get it off my chest b) it might be helpful to other older students struggling with this adjustment. But a lot of the incidents and characters are recognizeable and one of the points about writing is that I don't want to censor too much. How do you deal with such things? Do you, as a blogger, have concerns that people you describe will be recognized and that this might reflect badly on you? Do you have private, password-protected blogs for particular friends? How do you deal with the line between cyber-anonymity and possible real-life acquaintance?

what happened?

Several things. Most notably, I took my Dad to Europe. He has his 70th birthday this summer, and I'm going to be gone on the actual date, so this was a Father's Day/Happy Birthday gift from me to him.
Here we are at our last dinner together in Paris. Dad is by nature a rather unemotive person, but I am pretty sure he had a good time. He had never been out of North America before, so this was a very special occasion. We spent time in Paris and in Prague (our name is Czech and we had long talked about visiting the Czech Republic). Other travelers might have seen twice as many things as we did in the same amount of time, but we were happy just being together and exploring new places.

After he flew home, I stayed in Europe. My boss arrived and we did some museum work for a couple weeks, in Holland and in Sweden. I'd like to mention that the Museum of Worldculture in Göteborg, Sweden, has a fantastic collection of Peruvian textiles. Also a sophisticated storage system, with large aluminum frames and screens so that all the textiles can lie flat. We were only able to see a few examples, but it was enough to make me want to go back! There was a long long braided belt with a fancy interlacing color pattern; lots of embroidery, and an incredible mantle made entirely out of cross-knit looping.

Because of all this travel, planning for it beforehand, finishing up a semester of Spanish class and miscellaneous other things, creative production has been pretty much at a standstill. I did make two dresses for the trip, out of crazy polyester prints. It's really true, polyester dries quickly and doesn't wrinkle! However, sewing it is like trying to tie a knot in an eel, and wearing it is something I'd only do for short periods of time, or when utility overrides comfort, as when traveling. An additional reason for the lack of postings is that a long-submerged obsession is once again prominent in my life. I'll show you a small example:

This is Elsi in Prague, wearing a new handstitched dress. I've been exercising my pattern drafting and handsewing skills on small clothes for small characters. I'd forgotten how much I love it. On the trip I did sewing instead of knitting in the evenings and found it relaxing and rewarding. Many feelings are at work in me about this-- one of the primary ones is "you should be ashamed of yourself, playing with dolls at your age!" To which I say... Well, you know, it's actually a lot harder than it appears to draft patterns for tiny bodies and make clothes that hang right and aren't too bulky and all that. Besides which, there is a long tradition of adult women costuming dolls for various reasons: as momentos of special occasions, to replicate precious outfits for nostalgia's sake, or as models to distribute fashion examples to others. I am very picky about my dolls, and their clothes must meet high standards, so in fact this "play" is quite a challenge. And I get to practice pattern drafting in manageable sizes.

That's the nutshell version of the recent past. Looking ahead, I'll be home for a couple weeks, and then gone for probably two months. This time I'll be in a remote village without e-mail access, without even postal mail, so blogging will be highly irregular and regrettably infrequent. However, I appeal to all my friends to be patient, because come fall I'm going to have a lot to say!

it's a fish shoal

Whenever it gets quiet on this blog, it is not because nothing is happening, but because lots is happening. This spring I don't have much textile progress to report. The lengthy silences correspond to periods of investigation, internal debate, uncertainty, and intense negotiating. With the end result that last week I signed on a (solid) line, sent my form in, and:

I will be starting graduate school this September.

What! Yes, I kept it very quiet, I didn't even tell my mother I applied. It was such a long shot that if it didn't come through I wanted the whole thing to dissolve with a minimum of fuss. As it turned out, I got in (one of 4 out of 50!) and I'm sure all the deities are chuckling. I will be starting a PhD program in archaeology at that big H school in Cambridge, MA. As a child, I once thought for about three months that it would be cool to be an archaeologist, and then I forgot all about it. Archaeology never occurred to me again until I met some archaeologists, and even then I had no desire to be one of them. I have no background in archaeology, have never even taken a course in it. It just happens to be the department where the person I want to work with teaches, so I guess that makes me an archaeologist.

Many people have given me exuberant congratulations, but I confess I'm still stunned and overwhelmed. Not the most positive kind of overwhelmed, not the oh-I-just-won-a-prize kind, but the overwhelmed that comes with making major life changes. Can I afford to keep paying my mortgage? (no) Will I be able to work while I'm in school? (thank goodness, yes, that was the negotiating part) Is this really what I want to do? (still unclear) How do I really feel about never having a summer again in the forseeable future, since I'll be spending June July and August south of the Equator? (not so great) How am I going to face being in classes with people ten years younger than me? What am I going to do with a PhD in archaeology anyway??

On the positive side, I'm hoping to be able to do a lot of textile research, and keep looking at the collections in the museum where I've been working. I am enthusiastic about my topic (khipu) so I hope I'll be able to grind my way through the pottery shards and bone fragments and get to the good stuff without too much turmoil. I'll be able to stay involved with the project I've been working on for the past three years, which is great, since you never know if the grant money for a full-time salary will come through.

All this figuring and negotiating and deciding is why textile pursuits have been hushed for a while. Now that the decision is made, I hope to get my head up again and start playing with yarn.