cry me a river.

then build me a bridge and get the fuck over it.

sorry for the harsh language, i really do apologize if i've peeled anyone's eyes back and i'm happy to offer eye drops or more soothing language in the rest of this post.

see, for a long time, i didn't know the completion of that phrase. i knew all about the sarcastic tones of "cry me a river" but didn't know the constructive side of that phrase.
i knew all about the world's smallest violin playing the world's saddest song but didn't even realize bridge buildign was part of the expectation. so i sit, with hammer in hand, thinking about blueprints.

two things sat me right back, today. and here they are in no particular order.
first of all, we have hannah. hannah is a normal, healthy and probably bratty and sweet, outgoing and shy, ten year old girl who's been diagnosed with breast cancer. she's probably part of the average american family, penny pinching yet generous, openminded but traditional, grateful and angry, with two parents and two kids. one of whom may very well be the youngest girl in the u.s. to be so awfully diagnosed.

i read this and said to myself, get over yourself. there are worse things in the world than writer's block. there are worse things in the world than a shelf full of unhooked yarn and worse things than empty notebooks. there's worse than this empty headed vacant feeling. but she's better than me too, because she's already over herself. she's moving on past it already. she's dealing with the talk of invaded lymph nodes and being feted at girls' softball closing ceremonies as the recipient of charity. in a world that causes us and helps us to treat each other shitty (oh sorry. i'm a trucker/sailor/mechanic/cook in the mouthparts and let's just leave it at that), she's a rallying point- a reason for little girls not to be mean to one another, but to have someone to help. a cause about which to give a damn. she's a symbol, a statistical unlikelihood and someone's little girl. and even more than that, she's someone's own self. thank you hannah for restoring my sense of perspective.

and in the not quite so dire, but inspiring, i made a trade at an art show at the beginning of the month. after quite some time of frustration, with felted beaded bangle bracelets only slightly appreciated, not valued for their work, materials or worth, a woman was at my table admiring them. her eyes were looking at them the way my eyes do, and when she asked me how the beads got on there, i told her that they went on one by one in an old beadweaving technique. her eyes went wide, and she was the first person i'd told that to whom it seemed to make any impact whatsoever. she then told me she was also there to sell things and that she'd be back after she'd done some business. time passed, and bored (not to mention a tiny bit frustrated), i walked over to her things, where she had a dress, a little orange/coral/clay colored one that was simultaneously really cute and also inordinately sehx-ay. i looked at the tag and was glad to see that she valued her work and time (it was well made and made of a good material) but sad to realize that no way was i going to sell enough at this fair to come even on buying it. plus, although it was good material, it was cotton knit, kind of like a thick jersey, and i'd tried on a dress of the cut a year or two ago, when i was in much more serious shape than i am in now and was disappointed. (it was not made of such good material, and it was a quarter of the price she was asking...in a store, which means that *included* markup and transport costs. which makes me very sad for the people sewing those dresses). i loved it was unsure, but she said "you should try it."
we traded, and my first (and only at this point) front page etsy items went to a home. a happy home, with at least one little girl who looked at her mama's new bracelets with envy. and me? i got a dress that gave me legs, where i've got stumps *and* shows off my waist. without looking trampy. i think it was kismet. anyway, check out karina's etsy shop, and prepare to fall in love with her cute things for behbehs and grownfolks alike. and thank you karina, though you'll probably not read this, for showing me (without telling me) that family and creativity are hardly mutually exclusive, and that putting any of the blame on them for not trucking right across that bridge i built over that river i cried is not fair at all.

burn. out.

i am completely sure this will not come as much of a surprise, given my failure to recently post, but i think i am in the complete, acute, falling in and out throes of burn out.
like the four syllable pronunciation that alicia keys gives "fallin".

i have not gotten back too much on what i've put into the fiber work recently. well. hm. i mean on a grander theme, it's not necessarily a dirty dollars thing. i'm saying i went into it all doe-eyed, and caught a case of deer in the headlights maybe.

i've had no desire to take pictures and edit them endlessly. i've gone into yarn shops and bought supplies, but they languish, languidly, right there on my shelf. gorgeous stuff. silk/cotton. bamboos. crazy great stuff, and they sit. moon pies and cow eyes, and everything pretty much a big fat zero.

which is not to say i haven't been making things. but art shows/fairs/craft things continue to be uphill, as opposed to any other way. from all available evidence, that's kind of how it is. and i will certainly be the first to admit i haven't any sort of successful seeming setup, or over-investment in the outcomes of said events.

and this is the part where i say "buck up, this is where the losers wash out" but...
but...
but i've learned to make (a sort of) okonomiyaki, not to mention finally conquering crepes. i wrote a couple of short stories a month or two ago. i found a sheaf of poetry i sent to my now-partner while he was deployed and completely floored myself. i may be little more interested in that. i certainly long for that one of me, that her more strongly.
(yes, i know i'm whining about/celebrating multiple talents. multiple things i enjoy doing well, and here's how you know i'm listening to my guilty pleasures pandora station, i've got justin timberlake's chorus inviting "cry me a river". don't even start. musically speaking, it's a great freaking song, and it's thursday which is my friday.)

but i feel like i'm getting pulled on, and when i cook, damn sure people appreciate that. and it's no greater an art than evening dinner, so it's something i'd be doing anyway. when i manage to write, i've finally gotten to the point at looking at things in hindsight and realizing i've got a way with it... killing myself softly with my lines, as it were, singing my life with my words.

i'm not going to quit. this is just justification for lack of recent activity. and venting.
i'm sure it happens to all of us. more proof that i'm not invulnerable.

finished, and not

and so i've come mostly to completion on the first of the capes, tentatively called either the laurel or the daphne prototype*. i used the same yarn i used for my new leaf afghan, the pale green cotton. i had a fine time modifying the pattern, as it's not one that instinctively works with increases and slight shaping.
this cape project has been one that tests my innovative abilities, especially regarding the numbers of crochet. however, i've found that i do ever so much better with it when i go at it intuitively, instead of sticking with the strict numbers. i understand the math, logically speaking, on paper, but math does better with pencil and paper than it does with hook and yarn.
i'm already working on a second one, with a shell pattern. it's in a pink that's somewhere between fruity and bubblegum, and i'm using the shell pattern in recognition of my influence for that particular piece; aphrodite.

this project is so fun because i'm playing with ideas that i've loved for a long time, and combining them with something new to me. i haven't made a lot of garments beyond very basic shawls- and there's nothing wrong with those shawls; their simplicity makes them really beautiful and wearable to me. however, cape, just the concept is ever so much cooler. i fear that when people see "shawl" they immediately think that it's for one specific age group, and i don't think that's the case at all. i hate for style to be pigeonholed to any particular decade or time of a person's life (besides onesies, of course) . but the theoretical influence is totally mythology and literature-based. the same woman, my great grandmother, who taught me to crochet at the very beginning also incubated in me an appreciation for old stories; poetry and histories. she was a devotee of the tragic story of the love life of henry the VIII- more tragic for his wives than him, i suppose. she was firmly in anne boelyn's corner; i have to wonder what book in her youth in the nineteen-teens inspired her love for that story. she made certain that i read her old copy of robert louis stevenson's a child's book of verse frequently, and i've still got most of "twas the night before christmas" memorized due to our recitations. that passion ignited, someone, a particular aunt i think, gave me d'auliare's book of greek myths. i read it so often that the spine is a faint memory, and it was one of the books i never marked my place in by turning down the corner of the page. (no, it had a special bookmark, as i remember, a lovely piece of embroidered ribbon with a shiny brass unicorn at the top). it went on many a road trip with me, despite its large size, and the illustrations weren't michael hague or kinuko craft, but they still filled my head with ideas about sturdy, larger than life gods and the mortals under their influences.

so the first cape, with the leafy pattern is tenatively either laurel or daphne. daphne was the daughter of a river god, fated to never fall in love (cursed by a lead tipped arrow of eros', perhaps) and though the beautiful god apollo loved her and pursued her, she was determined never to wed. at one point, apollo's pursuit of her was an acutal chase on foot and when she reached the banks of her father river, she implored him to save her. having little power in comparison to apollo, daphne's father was able to help her, but at the price of losing his daughter. her toes sunk into his sandy banks, her arms reached out as branches and her hair turned into the flickering leaves of the laurel tree. from then on, the laurel has been sacred to apollo, and is the crown of leaves with which victors were honored in ancient games of skill, might, or intellect.

this was an interesting story on which to meditate while crafting the piece, and i anticipate finding the buttons that will truly finish the cape.

a new leaf

the pattern that i'm enjoying working on most right now is the one i call the leaf in my head. it's in a pale green and i'm working up my cape prototype. i've worked with this stitch pattern before, and it's so relaxing and rhythmic to my hands and mind that it's a good meditation to work on.

and i do need to work on my meditation. which is a laugh; meditation is supposed to be non-work, but it's coming so difficult to me. this is one place i do try not to self judge, but there i was, doing so just now.

but i've caught an upswing, it happens this time of year, frequently, coincident with spring and my birthday. i'm not a religious person, but i do celebrate my birthday with a festival amount of energy and happiness. this isn't really a terribly egotistical thing as might be supposed, it's simply to celebrate my own arrival, to give gratitude for the moment of my emergence into this world. (and as always, a moment of gratitude for my mother, as i squirm a bit for her.) it's a convenience, easier than celebrating the day that i first deciphered words via reading or began to communicate myself to the rest of the world in spoken or written words.

i was gifted with a trip to breitenbush hot springs, which is a retreat as well as the spring tubs and found it incredible. the literature and people of the place communicate a desire to provide an atmosphere of renewal and respect and sanctity. a community environment, but minus the loudness generally present in places like rivers and beaches.
it was spring or summer in the pools, and winter, with snow on the trees on the mountains across the river from us. and the noisy river, working hard on its work to make it to the pacific, i think. or to make it somewhere, and breaking down the big rocks into smaller ones, making stones, then pebbles, then sand.

i happily take this chance to turn a leaf, and to embrace all the crawly critters that have taken up habitation underneath.

short stories. other things.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
to begin i'm temporarily peeved that my browser appears to have eaten all the tabs i saved on it from last night. i accumulate quite a few over the day, and the interesting looking ones or the ones i am just about to look at stay open for a while.

i was chatting with someone once and managed to relate a quote or spout off some fairly specialized information, and they didn't know why/how i'd had that particular thing at the ready. memorized? no, many many tabs open. a holdover from an old job, is as far as i care to get into that. (another time, it's certainly an entertaining tale here and there.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
i've really woken up to short stories all of a sudden, recently. i've always liked the form, and it's contributed heavily in making grace paley and dorothy parker two of my favorite authors. i would say it's hell loving dead writers, but their stories are good enough to re-read many times, as i have. (having not quite the budget i'd like to have for books and a sporadic at best relationship with libraries for some reason. [note: it's because i often have a problem with how they're curated. no offense intended to librarians, and i'm sure that i feel this way because i have not looked hard enough at the selection.])

but often, in the past, tho i've enjoyed reading them, there felt to be something poignant about short stories' brevity. grace paley's stories kind of make up for this because they're also kind of poetry, a series of epic poems in which i can imagine the same narrator, or similar. and dorothy parker's are so often about me- or to be more correct this little incarnation of me that hangs out in part of my brain. the dread, the clumsiness, the self consciousness, the monk trapped in junior high school- knowing there's so much more, laughably infinitely more, and yet subject to the ridicules of closed minded Others.

for my current (unfortunately adult) circumstances, i have work, and an apartment with people who like to be fed, well and often. i like to cook, so this is not such a big deal, but it does cut into my reading time. i sneak it in, as i have this art/craft habit and get itchy hands if they sit still too long. therefore, short stories have been my balm.

short stories are inherently a twisted little thing, having taken so much longer to write than to consume. a little block of aged cheese, gone in a blink. a carefully mixed and hand shaped piece of chocolate. gone that quick, as soon as it's in my mouth. well, best to consider it gone, as i generally let a nice piece of chocolate melt on my tongue, and that's sort of a private thing.

and happily, i can speak from experience this week- having had a non-professional, non-compelled writer's block (meaning i can write non fictionally about a topic and do so reasonably well or clearly. yes i can write clearly, not a drunken camel's walk across the harshnesses of the page. believe me.) this writer's block having lasted since my partner was deployed, since 2007. that year, i wrote so much that i think i broke something. some circuitry, over loaded and stressed wiring finally cracked. but i was able to dream up and write down i think two little ditties this week, and of that fact i'm well proud. i won't worry about whether they're good or not at this point, it was just nice to get them out.

but output requires input. it's a nice feeling to return to a familiar pasture- your shit having broken down and nourished a newly green corner, she same old dandelions along the fenceline. that quiet spot under the tree where you can lock your knees/hips/ankles and put your head down and rest for a while.

i hope to remember this kind of remedy for burn outs in the future.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

if wishes were horses (i'd have lots of poop to clean up)

re: the last post, handfelting. i'm now inspired to take up wire work or blacksmithing or even horse shoeing, as i don't know how soon i want to touch wet fiber again. it was interesting at first and then got old, fast. drips running up the forearms, etc.
i'm thinking that is going to be more of a summertime activity.
::::::::::::
i've learned a bit about biting my tongue, and that old saw about discretion being the better part of valor, i.e. knowing when to keep one's mouth shut this week.
first, i learned "thanks for the tip" instead of freaking out on someone explaining something to me that i already know. i'm not patient, and feel insulted sometimes when someone explains something to me- esp when i'm like a billion steps ahead. however, in the future, a grave nod and a serious "thanks" or "thanks for the tip/idea" will suffice. no one will give a damn how smart you are if you are a complete asshole about it.

second, well, it regards projects in various states of "in progress" and my need for information to continue with any of them. i am impatient (see above) and so am punishing the projects by picking up an old bracelet project that's been patiently waiting for me on my shelf. it's nice that what i make is more chilled out than i am.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
and speaking of impatience, i think it's a good time to get my ducks in a row and get some projects done and posted already. i'm chomping at the bit to get some new yarns and some new projects started (especially since i've visited with some incredible yarns new to me and have some super cool ideas). i can't complain, as much as i'd like to say "if i don't make any sales i can't move it to the next level already" because it's no one's fault but my own.

(i could also consider blaming the military/industrial complex and a certain former president, not to mention some unscrupulous financiers as well but i think they've really got enough on their heads as it is. perhaps.)

everyday circumstances kill the creativity sometimes, and make it harder to do these things that i love, but in the end those are just excuses too.

and on the plus side, i've just made a lovely pitcher of tomatillo salsa, have tortillas in the oven turning into chips and a pot of non-burnt black beans on the stove. if i could find it in myself not to wish for a six pack of pacifico or another pitcher full of margaritas, i would be completely content.

felting....

i'm working on my first real ambitious hand felting project. it's pretty entry level, but i'm enjoying it so far.
i've felted a lot of bracelets by hand, but working with my hands with the fibers before they're at a yarn level is pretty new to me. i got up early this morning at started at it, so as to work with a little less interruption, but it was only marginally successful. i have all the colored balls i'm going to make for this project, i think (depending on how big i'm going to make it) and am about to move onto making smaller brown ones. i got new roving this week and am proud to be in the minority of people who are really really excited about getting something like wool roving.

working with it wet is another matter, as most of it is silky, fine merino. it's worse than dealing with wet human hair- sticky, and when i went to fix balls or add contrast color to them i had little fine strands of wool sticking to my hands/wrists more than the ball. add to that also having drips of water running either down my hands or up my forearms (one of my number one unfavorite feelings) and it is super time for a break.

am still working on pictures from the lightbox, i stumbled across a few the other day that better represent the neck pieces i'd made. and in my recycle bin (always check the recycle bin on the computer before emptying, especially if you're prone to temperamental picture deletion!) i found a good one of me modeling the neck piece i gave myself as a little gift. (it was a chilly hiking day and i couldn't resist.)

one of the downsides of the lightbox has revealed itself, which is kind of a fear of shooting "outside the box" - i'm pretty sure this felted ball project will be a hung one, and therefore not lend itself to easy photography in a light box. natural light = scary at this point. it's a good thing that it's not anywhere near finished, so i've got a minute to figure out how to handle that.

another project for the day- working on the custom afghan i'd made for a lovely customer. it'd been a long time in the making and it made its way to its new home, but then needed to be bigger. so there's a whole thing with measuring and growing it. i'm working with a fantastic supplier on this one, who even called brown sheep to ensure we have access to the same dye lot of yarn that the blanket was originally made with. incredible customer service. outstanding. really. i've dealt with yarn shops in person who've been less accommodating, and regarding the same yarn company, no less. this is a benefit of dealing on a really really small scale, this whole chain of uberprofessionalism. if you took a blanket back to macys (etc) and said it needed to be bigger, chances are they'd ask if you had a receipt and if you'd prefer an exchange or a store credit refund. regardless of how much you'd like just that same blanket, only bigger.

but i suppose that's an obvious point, and i'm just procrastinating editing pictures. again.