awayuq

reappearance

Some of you have been so kind as to wonder where I have been. The answer is: right here, enduring the buffets of life. And, in recent days, transforming chaos

into (relative) order:

My closet is still too small, but at least it's better. Now that all the current home organization projects are done, it's time to move on to actually doing things in the new space. First some socks which were finished a while ago and have been complaining because they didn't get their moment of fame.
They are very nice socks, very warm, perfect for the the kind of day we had today, snow falling for hours and hours. That's my grandmother's rug, by the way. My mother wants you to know. Big Blue Orenburg is getting a little more attention lately. My current listening favorites are old radio mysteries from the 1940's. Could this be linked to my recent discovery of Brenda Starr? In any event, here's an image of Big Blue; you can just make out the center squares which are beginning to close up.

It's still very relaxing, orenburg is not very difficult lace; but as usual, I'm dreaming of all the luscious things I could start if only this one were finished. I'm longing to try the circular daffodil pattern from "Modern Lace Knitting" in--you guessed it-- yellow.

Before that though, I need to give a weaving demonstration for a class tomorrow. Since I haven't done it in a while, I decided I'd better make a small warp and see if I still remember how it's done.

Phew. That wasn't so hard. Thank goodness I can still do the basics.

Finally, there is a sort of indirect result of the great studio clean up. In going through all the boxes of stuff I found this girl, along with some half-finished clothes that I'd started oh so long ago. You would not believe how small I can handstitch when I have a mind to. Perhaps I should say could, since I haven't tried to replicate these tiny rolled hems in a long time. Anyway, in my lust for tidying up, I decided one evening to just finish the darned dress for goodness sakes! I found some lace tucked away in a drawer which made it more fun. Now she's fully clothed again, hand-worked buttonholes and all.

By the way, when I went looking for a brown-haired sister for this girl, I found that these dolls are not produced any more, and the ones in existence appear to be getting quite valuable. Guess I'll hang onto her for a while....

friday gripes.

Ok. I’m a positive person, really. But right now I am about ready to scream. The next “however”, “thereby”, “as well as”, or contorted dependent clause that comes into my view is going to get pounced on, shaken, and wrung to within a frail millimeter of its life. Yes I am a gentle peace-loving soul! But bad writing is rubbing me the wrong way today.

Here’s the story. My boss and I are co-authoring an article. I’m very happy to be co-author, good for my list of publications, etc etc. And I did discover the stuff, so I don’t think it’s outrageous. He wrote the first version, and I made all the figures. I proofread it of course, but I didn’t quibble because I know what his writing style is like and, well, I didn’t want to get into it.

However. In the fullness of time came the discussion of where this thing should be published. “Oh no!” I hear one day from the inner sanctum. “We can’t submit it to xyz journal because they won’t consider anything over 10,000 words.” There followed a panic-stricken (on his part) and conciliatory (on my part) discussion about options. Finally I ventured to suggest that “you know, if it really should go in that journal, I’d be happy to try cutting it down. With all due respect, your style is verbose (yes I actually said that!) and I bet we could get it under 10,000 words.”

There it rested, on my promise. The original was almost 15,000 words. In a day or so I got it down to 9,779, preserving import and intelligibility. Great! He didn’t like parts of it, “too abrubt”, but given the constraints of the journal, everything seemed set. And I was much happier with the style.

I digress here to explain how I made that tremendous cut in the prose. It was not by eliminating entire sections. It was not by restructuring the argument. It was not by substituting words of 18 syllables for 8 words of one syllable. No. The process was in fact simple:

1. Remove parenthetical clauses which do not add to the argument.
2. Remove phrases surrounded by dashes, as they interrupt the flow and can be incorporated in other ways.
3. Remove lists of synonyms and use one good word.
4. Remove sentences that repeat each other; combine into one sentence.
5. Remove meaningless phrases such as: inasmuchas, as well as, thereby, on the one hand, on the other hand, thus, see below, at this point, in respect to, however, therefore, regarding, it is important to note that, in fact, that is, indeed, we suggest that, e.g., etc.

Trick 5 accounted for half of the cuts, the rest was achieved through condensing what was left using tricks 1-4.

Yesterday my boss got a call from a friend and the article now has a home in a book soon to be published. Hooray! Good news. The book, however, has no word limit on submissions. Guess what? Yep. That’s right. He took the pared-down (dare I suggest much clearer, more concise, and easier to read?) version and *started adding everything back in*. Then, this afternoon, he lays it on my desk and says ok, put in these changes.

I had to take a break and go for a walk. I don’t know why I get so upset by contorted prose. I should just let it be. However, whenever someone in fact edits my changes—and, as a result, makes “corrections” that are exactly what I was trying to avoid—I get, as well as irritated, profoundly frustrated, grumpy, and, indeed, angry. (see above). That is, were I to suggest alterations or adjustments to an article (e.g., the one described above), thereby improving the clarity of the argument, or narrative, I become on the one hand grieved, and on the other hand outraged, to find all of my changes with respect to intelligibility nullified, or obviated, by a careless scattering of irrelevant fluff.

Ergo, as my father would say, schmergo. Had to vent somewhere. What I need is one of those old fashioned carpet-beaters, and a carpet to beat.

miscellaneous updates

I think I prefer invisible zippers to the other kind. No matter how I try, I don't get good results with a regular zipper. The opening always seems sloppy. I was struggling with this yesterday, inserting zippers into pants and a skirt of heavy corduroy. I'd like to think that the weight of the fabric was part of the problem, but even so, I've got to figure out a way to make it easier and neater or else it's invisibles for me, all the time.

The second leaf sock has just had its heel turned and is beginning gusset decreases.

Be warned, when you do wash yards of wool fabric in the machine, that even if you take it out carefully you will later discover little drifts of wool fiber all over the room. They dissasociate themselves mysteriously and wander into the corners. This will always happen to be the day after you've mopped the house.

And finally-- I can hardly contain myself! My boss just bought us plane tickets. For Lima. For January. Two and a half weeks. The project is incredible and important and exciting. But aside from the work, do you realize what this means? Instead of suffering through a "summer" of gurua fog and clammy cold and greyness, there will be sun and warmth! I'll be inside working all day, but still. I'll get to wear summer clothes. Short sleeves! Skirts! Sandals! There are even beaches. Imagine, a trip to Peru during which I won't be freeze-dried and lack enough warm socks and always be adding another wool sweater to the bundle which is me. I can hardly conceive of it.

already crazy

I ventured out of work this afternoon to pick up a prescription and after that errand was completed, I thought I might step into a bookstore as well. When I got into the store, I could hardly move for all the toddlers underfoot. Beware of large parents with umbrellas who move suddenly in pursuit of their offspring. Ok, it was a children's bookstore, so what can I expect? I wandered over to Crate & Barrel thinking I'd check out some kitchen wares in a leisurely way, maybe find a nice pie pan for tomorrow. I don't truly need another pie pan. But you know...

Nothing leisurely about it. More vocal children, about knee height; lots of baby carriers, lots of people, long lines at every register. Is this the unofficial prelude to the official biggest shopping day of the year? Grocery stores, yes; wouldn't go near one today. But bookstores? Oh well.

For me, this Friday is Buy Nothing Day. A day on which I celebrate not having to purchase anything at all, and give thanks for having everything I need and more. From now until the beginning of the year, I shop as infrequently as possible and spend as little as possible. I like to eat well on certain special days, but I don't need more *stuff* and neither does anyone I know. I'd rather be creating something than spending money.

This is not to imply that I'm a grinch. I don't walk around with a sour face grumbling at the consumer merriment. I just choose not to partake. What I do like to do is bake. Tomorrow I'm making bread rolls from my Granmother's recipe and two pies to bring to the family that invited me for Thanksgiving. (I'm a little nervous about the cherry pie, since I make it so rarely...) Later this weekend I intend to revive a personal tradition that has been lost for several years: making fruitcakes.

Wait! Before you say "eeeeeeeewwww, fruitcake! yuck!" let me describe my kind of fruitcake:

no yucky candied fake fruit, meaning
no unrealistic neon colors
no preservatives.
not dry
not too sweet.

instead,

a blend of real dried fruit (organic when possible: raisins figs dates apricots cranberries prunes)
lots of hazelnuts and walnuts
molasses and honey
moist and dark
infused with good rum.

I procured the rum last night and I'm sure there'll be some left to make my mother's rum ball cookie recipe, a fondly remembered childhood treat. With the fruitcake endeavor, a studio full of projects, and books overflowing the shelves, I project a satisfying long weekend. And I'm grateful.

after despair...

It’s useless to try to hide the fact that I’m disappointed. The last couple of days will have a long-reaching effect for the United States and possibly for the world; and at present I’m dubious of positive outcomes. However:

I am very, very grateful to everyone who voted. Thank you. Record turnouts, a better picture of voting America than we’ve had in my lifetime. No matter who we voted for, it befits us to remember that this race was close. That may be cause for hope or for frustration, but at the very least it should help us remember that different viewpoints exist and that we need to take them seriously. Even if we’re on the winning side.

I am tremendously grateful to all the volunteers everywhere who spent months campaigning passionately.

I am enormously proud of my father in Ohio, who worked tirelessly from March through yesterday helping his chosen candidates, from country commissioner to the presidential nominees. He walked streets, attended parades, handed out information, volunteered at the polls. Tuesday night he sat with his local candidates and volunteers and not one of the people they were hoping for won. That’s a hard night.

My brother has proven to be a real support and blessing. We live on opposite coasts and rarely see each other. Yesterday he sent me wonderful words of encouragement and hope for our generation.

I’m grateful to everyone who voices their views reasonably and is willing to engage in debate. Let’s keep it going.

I’m remembering my elementary school teacher, one of the most amazing women in the world, who instilled in me a life-long love of reading and learning, along with an appreciation for people of all religions and skin tones. She gave me the roots which allow me to open my mind without fear. May there be millions more like her. Thanks to good teachers everywhere, the kind that instill curiosity rather than doctrine. Thanks to those who teach how to evaluate, rather than just accept.

Friends from other countries are precious to me, for their opinions and perspectives from the wider world. The USA *is* a part of a wider world, and it’s useful for us to listen to what the rest of the world thinks of us. We might be surprised how little it coincides with our view of ourselves.

Thank you to the courageous people who speak out about their sexuality. To the brave people who report racial injustice, sexual discrimination, and religious intolerance. Thanks to the citizens who are passionate about a cause, and work hard to find information that doesn’t make it to the mainstream in order to keep the rest of us aware.

The human race has been blessed with a number of spiritual leaders through history. Many teach that love is more important than fear; that forgiveness is a better paradigm for life than violence. I am grateful for their example.

Humans have done many terrible things and survived. Today I choose to remember some of the better things: the Parthenon. Poetry. Champagne. Scrabble. Old barns. Symphonies. ArtDeco skyscrapers. Impressionist paintings. Velvet. Literature, from Homer to Harry Potter. Plumbing. Jazz, dancing, and apple pie. Honest belly-wrenching laughter.

And some things that aren’t a part of humanity at all: the sound of raindrops. Majestic mountains and tiny tidepools. Oaks, orchids and thunderstorms.

As the song says, “They can’t take that away from me”. May that line always hold true.

PLEASE VOTE.

impending

Today I’m wearing ruffles, and loving them. Unfortunately my camera batteries died just as I was in the process of attempting a photographic record. In between packing lunch, getting dressed, and remembering the letters that need to be mailed, I didn’t attempt to rectify that situation. It will all be put right on Thursday at the latest, since Mom is coming to visit, and we must have photo capability for that. My mother’s yarn acquisition skills are finely honed. Let me amend that—her acquisition skills comprise far more than mere yarn. I expect there will be some serious purchasing going on. She is also bringing my grandmother’s wool rug, which she’s been trying to send me for about a decade now. I am a bare-wood-floors person, but my resistance finally wore down. And who knows, it might even go well in the living room. I have turquoise and melon walls, and the rug as far as I remember uses shades of those colors.

Luckily Mom’s friend of 15 years or so is coming too, a wonderful man who is funny and smart and artistic. I figure he must be at least part saint, to be able to live in close proximity to her for so long and not lose his mind and still be able to smile. Well, maybe he has lost his mind. But he’s still a lot of fun. So, if we can stay off of dangerous topics (would you believe what your brother said to me? You are just like your father… why aren’t you married yet?) it could be a decent weekend. At least I’ll get to go out of the city! And I have great hopes of being able to get some knitting done. I think I need a change of scene and some rest, because I’ve had several nights recently when I find myself on my bed at 8:30 with barely enough energy to get up and brush my teeth and crawl back under the covers. Perhaps that’s just an avoidance strategy. Because try as I might, I can’t get around the fact that an impending maternal visit sets me on edge. No-one can ever be sure precisely what this woman will do… will everything be lovely and entertaining? Or will there be undercurrents of accusation ending in a maelstrom of self-righteous martyrdom?

The best I can do is make sure to have knitting, spinning, journal, and a good pair of hiking boots close to hand. That way, should anything erupt, I have escape strategies. Deep breath. Everything’s going to be just fine…

interlude

Where does refreshment come from? For me, from sleeping in a place like this from which you can feel the night air and see the moon huge and glowing. In the morning the stars appear between tree branches and you can lie there in the soft breeze watching them grow fainter. The house is the house I grew up in, but the porch is new, built by a long-time friend. After experiencing it, none of us can quite believe we waited so long for this luxury! New requirement for my someday dream house: screened in porch. At least one.

The only disadvantage of sleeping out on the porch is that you get woken up by creatures like these. The white one is particularly raucous. I've never heard such a loud rooster! And he looks funny too, with an ugly naked head and neck but fluffy feather pantaloons growing over his legs and feet. Quite a character. The hens do lay, though. These are prettier and oh SO soft! I don't know what kind they are or where they came from, but they are the softest rabbits I've ever touched. One for each of the two local grandchildren. Wouldn't it be great to have grandparents with rabbits and chickens, if you were say 6 years old, and in that state of eager curiosity about the world...

After visiting the animals, you can rest in a place like this a truly lovely retreat, here shown in early fall exuberance. It's quite peaceful, in fact there's a pool that makes a soothing sound, when it hasn't been rearranged by raccoons during the night. Two fish live there: a white one and an orange one. They have survived several Ohio winters, and no-one knows quite how they do it. My Dad and I also saw a frog in there one afternoon. A big green one.

Since I was on vacation, I had time to notice things like this

and I learned that my Dad's favorites are these
Dad also told me that my Grandfather kept a Victory Garden, and always loved growing things. I didn't know that, and I wonder if that's where I get some of my insatiable desire to put seeds in the ground.

A few years ago our village (less than 5,000 people) made a Women's Park alongside the biketrail. The biketrail was built where the railroad tracks used to be and yes, I am old enough to remember the train coming through town. The whistle could be heard in my first grade classroom and sometimes on warm afternoons we'd be playing outside and wave to the caboose. It's a wonderful experience to wander through this little park, reading the paving stones. The beauty of living in a small town is that many of the names are recognizeable. And, this being a very unique and wonderful village, you might find a tile with the name of a nationally famous author next to one for a grandmother unknown outside the county.

I indulged in quite a bit of shopping, wow it was fun! Lots of colorful new clothes. The advantage of it being the end of summer is that they were all on sale; the disadvantage is that I might have to wait until next year to wear them. But at least I'll have something to look forward to. I also visited this tree
which was planted when I was... well, not yet 10 anyway. For a long long time it seemed to be a short tree, just about my size, and now all of a sudden! Being among all the flowers and fields and woods made me realize once again how much I love the countryside. It's easy to idealize a rural life, and I try hard not to do that; I know there are lots of problems with small town existence. I lived it for quite a while. Even so, I do find myself longing for more space and the smells of a place where healthy live things grow.

Not pictured, the most romantic canoe trip possible in Southwestern Ohio... late evening on a tiny lake fringed with trees. The sun a throbbing orange ball going down on one side, and a brilliant almost-full harvest moon coming up on the other. We stayed out paddling softly until it was fully dark.

long last

I'm home. In my traveling of exhaustion over the last few days, I've been working on the Big Blue Orenburg in various hotel rooms. At one point I thought I might make it to the middle, but I'm not quite there yet. It strikes me that I should think about the pacing a bit, because it's a one-year project and I'm not yet at the midpoint.

Remarkably, I came home without buying a single textile. ??? How can that be? I suppose I just got tired of the relentless marketing of old and supposedly old ponchos and mantas. There is wonderful new stuff being created. The textiles from CTTC are lovely, but I already have a dozen or so. I didn't even buy any alpaca yarn. This is a shift.

But rather than worry about what this extreme non-acquisitiveness means, I'm going to enjoy being back in my own studio, with piles of fabric and fiber and yarn which are all new, because I forgot I had them! I don't know what I am going to do first... I'd love to have a new summer dress before it gets too cold, and I haven't done any spinning in months. Options!

postcards

Just a little picture to remind me of where I've been.

Got my June shawl-of-the-quarter kit today. A lovely fine grey yarn. It should be soothing to work with.