Nothing momentous this week--

rather, a motley collection of moments
that has somehow seemed worth noticing:

--Lovely tunes at an annual outdoor Renaissance Fair,
the straw-bale seating much improved
by the purse spindle in my hands
(9 gram Jenkins Kuchulu)
and the new Brandi hat to replace the one
that fell out of my pocket after years of faithful service
keeping my ears warm and the rain off my glasses. 

--A mis-matched collection
of  backstrap experiments

--The Sides-to-Middle sheet,
apparently enjoying its extended life
as much as I have been

-Two coyotes crossing the path
(not together, but both heading south --following the mice?)
and then a black cat we thought (pretended), was a panther. 

--Also, drawing some instructions
(hopefully something I can share before too long)

--Beverages with Rochelle,
are always magical
even when the thing I most like
about fancy cocktails
is drawing them.

--That moment after lunch,
when I can get a little work done
​without moving from the spot in the sun
​outside the woodshed.

--Oh yes,
and deciding on the 20 gram yellow Hepty,
for the spin-and-knit-as-I-go Summer Sweater.
For some odd reason​
though the spindle is four grams lighter than the wooden one,
the finished chain-plied yarn is a hair thicker
(2700 yards/lb vs 2900yards/lb)
and thus slightly easier to knit.
Also, the spindle shaft is longer on the yellow one,
so it holds more.

--More laundry today
but I haven't drawn it yet
(and anyway you're probably less excited than I am
about sketches of our undies
hanging in the sun),
so I'll leave you here--
messing around,
barefoot in the mud.

You never know what is going to happen
 on a trip to our cabin. 
Sometimes the Glacier Lilies are blooming,
and all is peace and birdsong and rattlesnakes.

And a big pile of possibility
always seems a good idea when I'm at home
where distractions are everywhere.

Those of you who got last week's newsletter
might remember that I do try to limit myself,
for experience has taught me
that too many choices 
actually makes makes it harder
to settle in.

Because it turned out
that what I really needed
was to wander around in my muck boots
​between rain storms

How could I possibly forget

how easily I am amused?

​When last we left our heroine
she was basting the skirt together,
contemplating waistband options,
casting on another wedge
and gnashing her teeth over closures.

Today we find her blissing out
over drape, texture, comfort, lustre,

and trying to share those qualities
using the tools at hand--

with varying degrees of success 
​(me and photo timers -- not a thing...)

For there HAS been much
to contemplate and decide,
beginning with waistbands.

The first possibly
was a backstrap rigid heddle experiment 
(pictured above)
that I wove a couple of years ago using Kestrel,
​  a knitted linen tube from Quince and Co.
The yarn was lovely to work with 
and the finished band drapy and soft.
It was not what I had wanted back then,
but it had potential as both button and waist band
for this Sarah-Dippity.

On the other hand...
I  still had plenty of the cotton from the skirt,
and at the last weaver's guild meeting
my friend Helen gave a program
on  straps and bands --
and I hadn't made a warp faced band in ages--
so...well... you know how it is.

It turns, alas, out warp faced bands
are not as fun for me as a balanced weave,
(though my weaving cards are still singing a siren song from the drawer).
But I got her done and had some selvedge practice to boot.
Of course I also had to choose between them.

While deciding,
I finished knitting the fourth wedge,
began the final panel sewing (vs basting),
and finally saw that, matching aside,
the older linen band suited the garment best.
This was a satisfying decision
as I was still dithering about closures.
​buttons? zipper? frogs? 
The internet is not always a decision-making friend.

But a local weaver's guild--
there a person will find compatriots
who fully understand
the enormity of these dilemmas.
So at that same (woven band-centric) guild meeting
I just happened to mention my closure angst to Helen
"What about snaps?" she said.

"SNAPS!" I cried. "NO!
Erm --I mean thanks,
good idea,
 but I don't think so.
The knitted part is too fragile.
And what if they came undone?"

"You must lead a very exciting life," she said, lifting an eyebrow.

"It's just that the fabric might catch the corner of something,"
I hedged.
"Maybe a zipper?"
​
Helen didn't reply.
She's very polite that way.
And anyway, she had done her work.

Continuing to chew on the options at home,
I sewed the panels firmly together
(replacing the rough basting),
and by the time that was done 
knew absolutely
that I wanted a zipper.
Definitely.

Except...
it was raining too hard for a bicycle,
and though I could have walked the two miles
to the fabric store in the mall,
it was windy enough to turn my umbrella inside out, 
and my raincoat leaks,
 and I was NOT going to start my car just to get a zipper,
and... and...
darn it.
Better make some Oolong and think.

Filling the kettle, I switched it on.
and decided to have a quick rummage
in the sewing machine drawer
while the water heated.
Who knew?
I might find a cast off zipper
under the spools of purple polyester Woolworth thread
that my ex-husband's Grandmother
used to buy on sale and send to me
when I lived in the wilderness
where, heaven knew,
there were probably no Woolworth stores.
(not sure she understood that there were actually no roads or people either,
or that the brownies she baked sat in Hamilton Montana
for a month or two before anyone brought us our mail,
but that is another story,
and anyway I didn't find a zipper).

What I did find,
waiting quietly in an Altoids tin,
as they had been waiting since about 1985
when I moved from said wilderness
to a teensy shack 
where though I had to carry water uphill in a bucket
there was a roadish kind of thing
that would eventually take me
to a fabric store of sorts,
were.....
​OH SNAPS!
​
​Thanks Helen.
​Those words are just delicious.

Astonishingly (or not)
I also happened upon a bit of linen tape,
hand woven in England and purchased just for me
by my dear friend Rochelle who knows I hate gifts
but always finds the ideal thing to give me anyway
in a form of friend torture for which I love her dearly,
that was perfect
 for reinforcing both knit and woven edges
and ensuring snap stability and security.

Now, however, I no longer needed
the full length of the linen band.
But as I was loathe to cut it,
and it goes twice around my waist,
I'm going with the time-honored
double wrap and safety pin solution.

Here are a few stats:
-400 grams (just under a pound) for the finished skirt
-waist: 31 (ish) inches/78 cm
- hem circumference: 73 (ish) inches/186 cm
-length (including waistband): 31 inches/78 cm
-woven panels (finished) are 8 1/2 inches/22 cm wide
-knit panels: 9 1/2 inches/24cm at the bottom
and taper evenly to 1 inch/2.5 cm at the top.

The skirt is flexible and stretchy.
The knitted sections do intimate that there are black leggings beneath
(at least when stretched out while sitting crossed legged on the floor),
but don't feel remotely immodest 
when outside without leggings
dodging raindrops,
clutching a hot cup of tea,
wondering what on earth to do with two giant willow balls,
and pretending it is perfect weather
to wander around barefoot
in a Summer Sarah-Dippity Skirt
(slightly wrinkled from three days of wear),
on wet green grass
amidst leafless trees
composing really really long sentences,
that hopefully make sense.
Au Revoir.

​Usually it happens in the middle of winter --

But there was a lot of snow this year.
​And it was cold.

So the urge to tromp across field and marsh,
gather willow and red osier dogwood,
fill my studio with multi colored sticks,
and twist, twine and weave them into something,
didn't show up until a few days ago. 
(same link as above--an old blog post about willow projects over the years,
so no need to click it twice)

Funny how such ideas appear--
the sudden irresistible need
​ to make a thing
I hadn't even imagined
ten seconds before.

Does this ever happen to you? 

and I had to do my part.

As often happens with such projects, 
I had/have no idea how to weave an orb. 

so I made something up.

The willow wands and grape vines
were long and satisfyingly resilient.
The Pear shoots not so much,
but they are pretty,
and since Ana was cutting them, 
it was less trouble to weave with them
than to put them in a pile.

 I ended up making two
largish, round(ish) objects.

An heir and a spare for the flamingo, perhaps?

Guess, I'm done for now, though.

Except, perhaps,
for taking another stab
at removing the grass stains
from the knees of my pants.
​
​Or not.

When last we left our heroine,
she was planning to devote herself to shoveling 
and finishing her skirt,

Amazingly enough, 
​in the last week
she managed to do both
if not much else.

Pinning first,
then rough basting with cotton yarn

The basting made it easy to try on
so I could  measure and calculate
​ for the button band.

Truth be told, 
the buttons were the most traumatic part of this,
 including the sett drama at the very beginning.

Clearly I survived,
but it was not hard to notice my relative reactions
to the overwhelming abundance
of what is supposed to be a fabric store
and the joy of having one piece
of very plain cloth
waiting at home.

Brief aside about value --
When I first chose the values of yarn
I assumed I'd use the darker of the two
for the knitted panels.
But you can see that the button band above
(which I did knit in the darker value)
looks significantly darker than the woven cloth,

while the triangular knit panels,
though somewhat lighter,
blend in with the woven cloth
with more subtlety.
I can only conclude that the knitted cloth 
has so many shadows
that it reads darker than it is
thus making it blend in with the whole.
A good thing to note for future skirts --
sometimes those knitted panels
​might want to take center stage!

Sewing the buttons on
before replacing the basting with actual yarn/thread
allowed me to  adjust position
of hte woven and knitted panels
and thus the size of specific areas,
so that the skirt would drape just as I wanted. 

And yippeee!  It does!
Despite the 10 F temps yesterday,
(definitely a two sweater day),
​it was also wonderfully cozy to wear outside--
it drapes and stretches,
so I can take big steps but also not get tangled in cloth.

It is wonderfully cozy to wear inside too--

and after taking this pics so you could see 
a little more clearly how it fits.
I sat down on the floor
and spun cotton on my book charkha,
the skirt stretching where I did --
no binding or funky leg positions necessary.

So yes --
sartorial satisfaction is a thing--
and the flamingo and I are pretty pleased it ourselves.

Except I should also have worn some shades.
​It was bright out there!

And so as not to leave you 
with my smug expression ,
here's the view from the top 
(golly gee I DO love these textures)
and a few specs:
The Skirt itself is 32" long.
It weighs 405g  --approx 14 oz
Owing to the sett miscalculation mentioned above
I have another 75 ish inches of fabric left --
enough for a knee length three panel Sarah-Dippity
or a mid thigh length four panel one.
But it is snowing again.
and since I now have something cozy to wear,
it's time to get back to whatever I was doing
a couple of weeks ago.
​What was it again?

We're having a  thoroughly wintery week here in North Idaho--
cold and white and silent (except for the snowplows).
It is perfect weather
for the long tweedy Sarah-Dippity
I've been working on.
Except--

That I've been doing so much of this (see above)
that the skirt still looks like this (see below).

So, thought it's probably not how the internet works,
I'm going to declare today a Snow Day,
make another cup of Oolong,
and go stitch these yummy swaths
of knit and woven cloth 
into something I can wear.
See you next week!

One of the great things about comics

I only wish I could draw a picture
that could describe the weight and texture 

of these two swaths of cloth
(each 104" x 8.25" after washing/light fulling)

The sett issue of last week
really did end up working in my favor
as, not only did I get another two days of blissed-out weaving,
(this kind of cloth-making is super fast compared with knitting),

but I also have nearly 70 inches of fabric left--
enough to make a second 
(if decidedly shorter) skirt.​

The extra yardage also meant
another expedition downtown
(all of five blocks away),
to buy some more yarn
​for the knitting parts of this project.
Fresh from weaving yummy yardage
I just happened to notice
that there are quite a few possibilities
for future Sarah-Dippity skirts
in that store.

While there, deep in a discussion
of how mill spun yarn is finished
​and why I find the knitting experience
so much more pleasurable
​if I wash such yarn before knitting
(if not for weaving),
we conjured an experiment,
​the results of which you can see above and below.
The yarn is not only fluffier and shorter,
it is also distinctly softer.
Why wait till after the knitting is done?

At any rate, after several swatches
I'm now deep in the knitting portion of this skirt show,
where, given the length of the woven panels I just cut,
​ I am likely to remain for a while.

But that is no hardship. 
I do love to knit.
And it'll provide balance to the other enticing
(but less pictorially sharable), thing I'm working on:
​an article for the autumn 2019 issue of Ply magazine!
​Wheeeeee!

Indeed, I seem to be having an extra delicious magazine moment,
as I drew a cartoon for the new issue of Spin Off
which should be showing up at any moment.
I haven't seen it 'in paper' yet,
but am most excited. 
Has anyone received their copy?

I sure do love to be part of this yarnish world
and treasure absolutely everyone in it. 

In October 2017,
I had an idea for a skirt.
My thought was to combine
shaped, hand knit panels
with my myriad backstrap experiments
to build a flexible and fitted garment. 

It was just an experiment.
​
Definitely a one-off.

Though not usually short ones--
or at least I haven't since the early 1970s
when my mother and grandmother tsk tsked 
over my desire to share more adolescent leg
than they thought fitting or attractive.

But attractive is as attractive does
(whatever that really means),
and anyway, the skirts are fun at any age--
to make and to wear.

The simple structure makes fitting a breeze--
the unbeatable texture of specially selected (or spun) yarn,
the underlying energy of hand woven cloth,
the built-in stretchiness of  hand knit panels
all work together to to make each skirt
as comfy as plain leggings--
and as long or short as I want
(​or fabric length will allow).

note: my skirts are mostly short because I made them 
using existing color and weave experiments
designed, warped and woven
with no thought to future leg coverage.

Anyway,
I've long wanted to share the idea
and fully intended to have these instructions done
shortly after the concept showed up.
Backstrap Dialogues,
(the instructional story zine that led to
the cloth that led to Sarah-Dippity),
was freshly out in the world
and somehow I imagined
that after a 56 page comic,
 a straightforward skirt guide
​ would take a mere few weeks!
​Sigh.

​But finally, after writing and re-writing,
drawing and re-drawing,
and overriding a firm decision
to shelve it permanently,
​(shows what I know),
I am beyond pleased
that Phineas reminded me
about the underlying joy
of the garments themselves--
(well, he bullied me just a bit,
​ as only a squirrel can do,
insisting that other weavers and knitters 
might well want
to cover their butts
​with their own magnificent cloth).

So HERE IT IS, 
freshly loaded into my web store:
a 16 page downloadable PDF guide
​ to using your cloth (hand woven or otherwise),
and your yarn (knit at a gauge that suits your hands and taste),
to make a garment that fits your body,
your life and your style. 

And to help celebrate the joy of hand woven cloth,
hard copies of Backstrap Dialogues
are now on sale for $13 
(I love prime numbers)
with free shipping.

Endless thanks to Phineas, for spurring me on,
and my ever patient reader/testers,
for all their support.

In early December,
the  sun vanishes over the rim of the canyon
at what seems an unconscionably early hour.

The hills are very steep
(we have had to dig flat spots to stand or walk),
which means  it also takes quite a while
for the sun make its way back
over the opposite hills
 in the morning.

​But getting up before the sun isn't too hard 
in these modern times,
thanks to a couple of old solar panels
(one light at time to preserve the batteries,
and a very warm old parka.

And since there is no internet, phone, radio or cell service
 the days,
if  short on natural light,
​are long on time.

These solo weeks
are always remarkable in some way --
if rarely easy.
Endless uphill and downhills can be hard on the legs.
And  I can almost guarantee 
that on the first day
I will be awash in what I've taken to calling
"transitional melancholy,"
a thing I cannot like but am learning to embrace
(or at least accept),
as an elemental if uncomfortable part
of shifting into a different gear.
"This was SUCH a bad idea,"
I mutter as I unpack the absurd pile of projects.

But the next morning (at least so far)
I can hardly wait to get up
light the fire,
and get started.

Sometimes, all I want to do is knit.
On other trips I've been glued to my loom,
or gathered lichen for wood cookstove dye experiments,
or carved magic wands from sticks.
There was one memorable one
when I was drawing a naked self portrait
(I was weaving a lot of nudes then, and not so prone to getting cold),
when an old friend knocked in the door
walked in and introduced me to his his brother, who I'd never met.
They had just walked across the canyon
​and were mostly interested in scrounging some lunch.

On my visit a couple of weeks ago,
​I became obsessed with:
trying to play my old recorder,
 drawing hourly (ish) comics.
and gathering  stuff 
(dead plants, coffee filters, grocery receipt),
to twist into cordage.
​
Oh yeah -- and playing the Cello suites by headlamp.
(Actually only the Allemande from the G major suite
which I play in D major on a baritone concertina,
​which I'm sure is exactly what Bach had in mind....).

One of the things I most love
about these solo visits to the canyon,
is getting to practice being how I am
when no one else is around.
With minimal outside input,
and no emotional labor,
(other than dealing with myself that is),
I can immerse myself utterly
in whatever takes my fancy--
really notice how it feels,
and remember that once upon a time
I was good at solitude.

It's awfully easy to get out of the habit of solitude -
way easier than to get back into it, at least for me.
And these days, even when seemingly alone,
our devices are usually there
to connect and distract.
And that's a wonderful thing.

Until, sometimes, it is just too much,
especially around this time of year
when everyone seems to be trying to sell something,
or ramp us up about how perfect things should be.
​
So it's nice to step away,
to gather weeds
and tunes--
to gather myself together. 

And then to write about it,
​ to you! 

It's time for a new comic diary.

Number 19 is almost full --
only a few blank pages at the back,
and they will probably be all mucked up
​with ink, paint, angst and ideas,
some time next week.

These moments of  transition
between the one I'm  about to start
about the one I'm about to finish
make me both proud and wistful:
proud that, despite myriad days in which there is nothing to say,
something usually, amazingly, still shows up;
 wistful in that once a book is put 'on the shelf
I rather miss the comics I've done.
(plus it's harder to flip back to check when I last washed the sheets).

​Not that every comic is precious,
​or even particularly good.
​They are just there.
And what is precious, at least to me,
is the simple usefulness
of seeing my thoughts
reflected back
​ in the moment
Golly, is that really how I feel?
I had no idea. 
and
Gee -- I had such a hard time learning that tune --
and now, finally, here it is under my fingers!
Or maybe not. 

At least I think it is--
though I'm not a particularly good book binder.
Adequate at best.
But truth to tell, 
my limited skills suit me down to the ground. 
The last thing I want
is for these diaries to feel precious
​ before I use them.
If they got too fancy, I might be intimidated. 
Accidentally tear a piece of paper the wrong direction?
Put it in somewhere.
Head off backpacking
with a single-signature sketchbook?
Stitch it in when I get home. 

I started this habit
in a Moleskine I got an an airport 
on the way to a teaching gig 
about which I had a lot of feelings,
(travel is not my thing).
For a long time, the practice
felt so fragile that I was loathe to do anything
(like use nicer paper)
that might cause me to pause,
so I stuck with the Moleskins till I had ten filled up. 

Draw something, anything,
was my  motto.
​So what if you only have three minutes.

These first drawings were in pencil, 
and for a long time I insisted that the pages
 have something else already on them --
lines, or dots or squares --
as though the drawings were mere accidents.
If I spent too much time on them
I feared I'd develop expectations,
freak out
and stop. 

But somehow I didn't.
And the practice evolved
until suddenly,
between one day 
and the next,
I added color.
This might have been because there were no lines on the pages,
or because my friend Jodi had just sent me
the worlds' most adorable handmade watercolor paint set.
​Or both.
Whatever the reason, I didn't dare to question it,
But within a few months, 
INK!
ZOUNDS! How brave.

But really, how long does it take
​to trust a new habit?

Jessica Abel recently wrote a wonderful blog post
about the power of Small Habits .
As a creature of habit myself
it resonated strongly, and made me so grateful
that somehow, over time, 
I've  managed to carve out bits of time
in which to add new things into my life.

Not all at once of course.
Indeed, NEVER all at once.
But slowly, gently,  in teensy bite sized portions.

Spinning Yarn, beginning in 1982 --
at 4 AM mind you, before barn-building began for the day
(or cooking for the hunters, or haying, or whatever).
Tapestry Weaving  in 1989
(an hour a day, max, while my infant slept),
Running in 1995
(again -- early morning ).
Four Selvedge Tapestry -- gosh, can't remember the year
but my kid was definitely in school for part, or most of the day.
Barefoot Running--2010
(my son sent a Youtube link, I was intrigued,
but made sure not a soul could see me take my shoes off that first time)
Comic Diary --November 2012
Color and INK -- October 2016
Color and Ink AND Coptic Sketchbook -- August 2017
(a baby habit still -- but the thicker pages fill up fast so it looks like a lot)

Geez. 36 years and that's all I've learned?
Well no.
We all learn stuff all the time--
sometimes to please other people,
sometimes to survive in the world, 
sometimes to write a blog post when the program has changed,
sometimes  because there will be a test
(after which one can often forget it completely). 

But 36 years of choosing  to learn things
that no one else gives a damn about?
That feels good.

It is just occurring to me as I write
that the things that have stuck
have involved a gentle sort of learning:
inner permission be curious--
to start small--
to keep it private --
to take whatever time it takes--
to figure out which techniques and processes suit me--
to stick with those for a while--
(what it is about that material or technique
that makes it compelling and/or pleasurable--
since they don't always go together)--
to refine skills over time as needed.

Really, if no one else gives a damn,
how you learn
​ is no one's business
but yours. 

At the end of the Webinar with Rebecca Mezoff, 
we were asked how a gal could make time for tapestry.
I blathered on then about something or other -
but what I meant to say,
was that the only way
to make something happen
(even when it is hard
​ and scary),
is to begin
whatever it is
in whatever way
​you can.
No fanfare needed.
Just curiosity.
​And Kindness. 

ps .  for more comic diary and sketchbook posts
check out the  sketchbook tab
on the archive list on the right
(or underneath this on a phone).

pps.  also, Anne Lamott,  Bird by Bird.