Category: Comics

and....instead of but

11/10/2020

Lots of things happened in 2016 --
not least
that I built
my first backstrap loom.

Though probably not directly connected,
this elemental tool
has helped to see me through
some of the other world-rocking
events and emotions of the last years--
the reverberations of which,
(as you might have noticed yourself...),
have yet to settle down.

For these years have
asked-- nay, demanded
so very much --
not least
the development of
new levels of fortitude--

-- a massive amount of trust
in some absurdly fragile-appearing
threads of connection--

--and even some heart-expanding joy
when the threads
actually hold.

So it is with a peculiar kind of curiosity
that I remembered, just now,
that it has been just over four years
since I first leaned back against
my needlepoint strap--
and to spend some time thinking about
what has happened to me
since then.

Backstrap Dialogues p. 34

Of course it was tapestry
that started it--
the desire to begin weaving
with a single word
and follow it, letter by letter,
wherever the unfolding idea chose to go--
a deeply unsettling thing
for a person given to weaving
from carefully composed cartoons
(and thus even more worth pursuing).

The idea of plain plain weave, however
never crossed my mind.

Well, not until
the very second warp anyway.

And then --
well then I was a bit of a mess for a time.
A happy mess to be sure--
bounding back and forth
between delicious, weft-faced text
and luminous, drapy, open cloth--
yet also thoroughly confused
and bemused
by my new divided attention.

Luckily, I blogged about it at the time.
(three 2016 posts: One, Two, Three),
then wrote Backstrap Dialogues,
in order to dig even deeper
into what felt, in the moment
like uncertain direction.
"Who am I
to enjoy both of these?"

There were days, indeed,
when my head
felt as divided and divisive
as this country--
a place where "and" was not a thing--
my internal state
as seemingly unreconcilable
(and sometimes downright cruel)
as the national mood.

Backstrap Dialogues, page 9

Four years,
many many many yards of cloth
and more miles of yarn
than I can even begin to count later,
much has changed--
and much has not.

As thrilled as ever
by the breadth of possibility
inherent in the simple tools,
I now don't think twice about using
un-sized, super fine singles as warp.

Backstrap Dialogues, page 12

And in endless, in-depth conversations,
Luminist and Storymaker--
though sometimes not as polite
as they might be--
have, over time,
come to realize how
interdependent they actually are,
and to make space for
techniques, ideas and materials
one or the other
might once have disdained
(or, more truly, never even considered:
coffee filters? wedge weave? milkweed?
tapestry book covers? nettle baskets?).

Two Blue Houses (detail in process); hand woven tapestry; balanced plain weave weave; milkweed; backstrap loom

Though not always been a cakewalk
(as you might imagine),
even my tradition-bound inner Storymaker
has begun to concede
that tales can be told in many ways--
narrative, light and local materials
coexisting
in a single swathe of cloth.

And at least some of the time,
in a single human as well.

(Or heddle -- Margaret, with her sweet, bemused smile,
is pretty much up for anything--
the more untried, the better).

Two Blue Houses (detail in process); hand woven tapestry; balanced plain weave weave; milkweed; backstrap loom

I can only hope, now,
that the same might soon (someday?)
be said for this entire country.

For I do so hope,
along with the unmitigated joy,
brought by final ballot counts,
that civility, kindness
and attempts at being helpful
might be possible
in our government
and amongst ourselves.

Two Blue Houses; hand woven tapestry; balanced plain weave weave; milkweed; backstrap loom; 38" x 1.25"

Or, at the very least
that we can remember
that taking turns
is a thing.

18 Comments

milkweed 'n me

8/11/2020

11.8 grams--

a week's work.

Or, more truly,
a week's pleasure--

day after day
of long white fibers
making themselves known
a strand at a time--

beautiful bast
in a small clump
of Aphid-infested plants
my neighbor wanted gone.

For months --
nay, years--
I've been trying
to learn about local bast fibers--

Nettle, Dogbane, and Milkweed too--
reading the sparse literature--
mostly about working with Nettles
(thank you Allan Brown for your work)--
watching the odd video
(thank you Sally Pointer),
and trying,
with limited/mixed success,

to make friends
with these glorious materials--
one of which,
this week,
for whatever reason,
and rather against the odds,

agreed to work with me.

experimental distaff stick (vs baskety thing)--willow whip without bark from last week's post. For more on previous distaff experiments, type 'distaff' into the search bar above.

This is not even supposed
to be the right season--
not least because Milkweed plants
are essential to the entire life cycle
of Monarch Butterflies
(should Monarch be capitalized? Anyone know?)
and to cut down the stalks
before the butterflies have flown
is deeply irresponsible--
which makes me
insanely grateful
to my neighbor
and Aphids.

Well, truth be told,
I'm grateful, too,
to all the people
who have worked with
these plants for millennia,
as well as to all the plants
that have helped me,
in turn, to practice
and learn.

what was left in the combs after the long fibers were drawn through

And really,
how not to also be pleased--
in the moment
and in retrospect--
by my former self
for her persistence
and (sometimes painfully)
slow acquisition
of knowledge
skills,
familiarity,
dexterity,
and
dare I say,
patience--

all of which have helped
to make me available
for these beauties:
to the obvious long fibers,

to the 'leftover' medium length ones
that were ready to be re-combed,
drawn out into a form of top
wound on a wrist (vs stick) distaff
and made into lovely yarn themselves,

and to the shortest ones
which were just the right length
for a couple of easy-to-spin
hand carded rolags
and allowed for
absolutely no waste at all --
barring the now composting
scraped off outer green bits
and the drying-for-kindling inner stalks.

How lucky can a gal get?
(says she to her future self,
lest she forget, sometime,
how wondrous and generous
the world can be).

--and a sartorial post script--
You might well think my just-off-the-needles
Targhee/Debouillet/Cormo etc tank top is all I've worn this week.
And you might be right!
Also the blue pants. I have to say. Oh my word.
They come from MAIWA --first new pants in years and years.
A gift to my legs and butt, from me.
No promotion thing -- they have no idea-- I am just utterly in love.
Be warned -- there will be patched pants and long term mending
(as needed though none yet despite continual wear), in future blogs...

thoughts on a two apron morning

7/21/2020

How else but with two aprons,
to pick rapidly ripening raspberries

and carry a garden watering timer
(aka phone)

when neither your linen shirt
nor the hand-me-over-unfinished-skirt
you're wearing underneath
has a pocket?

Not that I couldn't remedy that.
A nice patch pocket on the skirt
would be the work of a moment.

And the shirt
is a continual work in progress--
the fact that it already has
a teensy tapestry pocket on one side
no reason to neglect the other.

It's just that I wear the shirt so often--
like every day I'm not wearing
the linsey-woolsey one--
that I just haven't gotten around to it.

Yes -- it's hard to tell from the drawing
that I'm wearing the linsey-woolsey shirt.
But it is only short-sleeved shirt I have,
so not a tricky deduction.
Besides, it was just a few days ago.

Also, though I occasionally
bend the absolute truth in my comics
(for narrative clarity only),
I generally aim for sartorial veracity--
if only because I love my clothes
and am oddly attached
to the idea that future me
might like to enjoy seeing them too
(while remembering what. weenie I am about shopping).

It also helps with the laundry.
("I seem to have worn Sarah-Dippity Skirts
in almost every drawing for this entire diary--
definitely time for a bath!")

But I digress.
Paper pockets
were the topic of the moment.
And they might actually be
a compelling experiment.
Though the coffee filter yarn
is itself pretty fragile,
especially as singles
(I can't imagine using it for warp for instance),
it seems to stand up remarkably well
tightly packed in a weft faced plain weave--
at least to the wear and tear
of life as a diary cover--
growing soft, pliable,
and almost leather-like
(if a little grubby),
with daily use.

And true shifu,
(woven from hand spun washi)
has been used for clothing for centuries,
so the idea is not totally outrageous --
except of course, that washi
(and the resulting kami-ito)
is often specifically made
for strength and longevity
while coffee filters are (usually)
single use items.
Though expected to withstand
boiling water and soggy grounds,
they are definitely not
as intrinsically strong as washi.
But who knows?
In case you haven't noticed,
my life is a constant work in progress --
my chief delights arising from
experiments with the materials at hand,
no matter the source.

And as we all learn daily,
you never know
what is going to happen.

Indeed, I'm super excited
about watching the evolution
of this diary I just made.
Not only do I get to play
with the wedge weave tapestry
I wove last May.
(2-ply vs the singles of the last one)--

but I also got (and get)
to see how the dog bane binding cordage
(made in the fall of 2018),
behaves with constant handling.
It's pretty rough right now,
but super strong
even if I did have to punch
extra large holes in my signatures.

Now what was this post supposed to be about?
No idea.
Undoubtedly something
satisfying and insightful
that would rock all our worlds--
though nothing could equal
the roller coaster ride
of real life just now--
my mind growing, I hope,
as strong and flexible
and welcoming of change and possibility
as dog bane cordage.
So a bit of paper-induced absurdity
never hurts alongside, say, things like
the recent groundbreaking
Supreme Court Decision
that almost half of Oklahoma
falls within a Native American reservation!

So I'll just end with this photo--
because it makes me happy,
and is a good reminder
to enjoy the hidden richness
in even the simplest
of moments.

ps. Tiny chair carved by Linda Ligon's grandfather in about 1915 --
and though this chair didn't start
Thrums Books , Long Thread Media,
and the once-upon-a-lifechanging Interweave Press,
Linda did, and all three make (and have made)
the world a better place for textiles
and their makers.

pps. Squash plant--a volunteer,
grown by itself from a bit of compost,
whose contributions to my world
are blossoming even as I type.

ppps. Because it has to be said:
Fuck Trump

a month in textiles and comics

7/7/2020

Oh goody--
back to the blog
after a whirligig of a month.

Except --
this business of typing words--
I think I must be rusty.

Or perhaps there are just so many
thrilling and important and true words
written by people far more eloquent than I--
shining light on our world
with magnificent clarity--

that for today,
I'll let the cloth
and
the comics
(and a few links)
say what I have to say.

Plantation Slave Weavers Remember by Mary Madison

(Listening to Rhiannon Giddens with Francesco Turrisi
and here with Yo Yo Ma)

Luminist and Storymaker from my guide, Backstrap Dialogues

(Ki/Kin Pronouns from Robin Wall Kimmerer )

And oh yes,
a chemo holiday
is an amazing thing.

a note from my younger self

4/27/2020

Dear Sarah,
I just have to ask--
why are you sometimes so rude to me?

"Why oh WHY did you do that thing
back when you were eighteen???"
you moan.
"It would have been so much better if..."

If what?
That's what I want to know.

I mean --
I'm the one who had the gumption
to learn how to spin
AS you might recall.

And also weave.

You know it's true!

Out The Window; hand woven tapestry; 9" x 9"; wool, natural dyes ©Sarah C. Swett 2008

Ok, so maybe I took a few chances--

Don't Look Back; hand woven tapestry; 9" x 9"; wool, natural dyes ©Sarah C. Swett 2008

--didn't always think things through.

Indigo Bath; hand woven tapestry; 28" x 48"; hand spun wool warp and weft; indigo; ©Sarah C. Swett 2003

It's not like a gal could --or would--plan
to find herself naked and blue
with nothing but a few strands of warp
to hold her up.

Sunlight On The Floor; hand woven tapestry; 36" x 24"; hand spun wool warp and weft; natural dyes; ©Sarah C. Swett 2002

But what could I do?
It was all so interesting.
And I was curious.

Blue Day; hand woven tapestry; 48" x 36" wool, natural dye; ©Sarah C. Swett 2007

I never expected
the hard parts.
I mean really -- who does?

Two Recipes for Coffee Cake; hand woven tapestry; 48" x 24"; wool, natural dye ©Sarah C. Swett 2007

And we sure ate well.

Anyway, you've got to admit
it HAS been really really interesting.

I mean,
what could better --

Diana's Fire; hand woven tapestry; 9" x 9"; wool, natural dyes ©Sarah C. Swett 2008

than to find yourself
a white-haired woman

Jane's Picnic III: Toast Marshmallows; hand woven tapestry (detail); 48" x 40"; hand spun wool warp and weft; natural dyes; ©Sarah C. Swett 2000

who gets to play
with fire and light?

If you think about it,
all I really did
was pick up that strand of yarn--

Casting Off: A Comic in Seven Tapestries -Pages 2-3; 10" x 10" x 2"; wool, natural dye, cotton/ hemp, thread ©Sarah C. Swett 2009

Casting Off: A Comic in Seven Tapestries -Pages 3-4; 10" x 10" x 2"; wool, natural dye, cotton/ hemp, thread ©Sarah C. Swett 2009

and follow it--

Walking The Walk 13" x 10" x 6" Hand Woven Tapestry Hand Stitching, wool, steel wire, stone natural dye

into the night

The Last Few Pages; hand woven tapestry; 18" x 24"; hand spun wool warp and weft; natural dyes; ©Sarah C. Swett 2003

until one tiny house--

The Plum Shed; hand woven tapestry; 9" x 9"; wool, natural dyes ©Sarah C. Swett 2008

led to another--

Tiny House Book 2.5" x 2.25" x 1.0" Handwoven Tapestry Spun paper (washi) Coptic Binding (linen) Paper (Handmade by Velma Bolyard (flax, milkweed, cotton; natural pigments)

and yet another--

Blue Moon; Hand Woven Tapestry (four selvedge); Hand spun wool warp and weft; natural dye; 2.5" x 2.5"

and eventually
I turned into you.

So no more whining OK?
We have stuff to do.

love,
Sarah

ps
and don't forget
that I started working in the weft ends too
so that all of the tapestries in this post
(plus the bazillion others in the archive)
could be woven that way --
AND so that you could write
TUCKING THE TAILS.

I mean, it's not like the technique is limited
to the monochromatic/geometric stuff
you're doing now.
Right?

So come on --
let's mess around some more.
It's still so interesting.

the view from here

4/14/2020

It has been a full week around here.
Not that I went anywhere (who did?),

but two fresh fleeces arrived from Montana,
and fleece washing time
is usually packed
(especially when scouring delicious fine,
seriously greasy, Cormo and Targhee/Debouillet),

Happily, the results
are always worth the effort.

Clean soft fleece + a pair of perfect spindles
definitely equals contentment--
both for present and future me.

As it happens, however,
though I'll be drum carding for days
and happily spindle spinning
for months and years,
present contentment sometimes lasts
only as long as the time
between the completion of one satisfying task
and the moment of being
struck/taken over/flattened
by a brand new and un-ignorable idea.

Ok, yes, I know --
the coracle/mask I wrote about last week
was also an un-ignorable idea.
It, however (the pulled warp coracle),
did not grow to be a source
of long-lasting satisfaction,
while I think this project will.

What's the difference?
You might well ask
since it is so hard to tell in the moment.
With the brilliance of hindsight, however,
I'm pretty sure that I started the coracle/mask
as an attempt to relieve
the persistent, pervasive, fearful angst
of this moment in time,
(no need to explain further, methinks),

while carving a funky 8-dent rigid heddle
from a scrap of wood I found in the basement,
was pure, self-indulgent joy,
and joy, a rare and delightful thing,
is perhaps a more useful a source of angst relief
than all the reluctant mask-making in the world,
if only because it wells up from inside
rather than falling on one
like a mildewed, news-laden blanket.

At any rate,
hyperbole aside,
one way or another
making the rigid heddle
led me to a forward thinking,
elementally satisfying place,
where in fact,
I already rather badly wanted to be:

that is:
cross-legged on the floor,
weaving paper and linen
on a backstrap loom.

Not that I had a vision
of exactly that thing.
I've just been missing the feeling
of working on my backstrap loom,
and vaguely dreaming about
the kinds of things I might make on it--
while still cutting and spinning paper
with persistent pleasure--
and these two things
seemed mutually exclusive.

Mutually exclusive, that is
until I saw the tiny rigid heddles
that Kirsten Neumüller has been carving
from a fallen juniper in her back yard,
and was immediately smitten.

Now, I did try to set aside
my instant longing to make one myself
( "it's just an idea storm-wait it out").
But happily it was un-set-aside-able.

Indeed, in the three days since I saw hers
the thing shaping up to be a source
of idea-consolidating calm--
an unexpected doorway
to both immediate and long term pleasure--
like fleece and spindles
with the added benefit
of getting to make a half-assed
yet fully functional new textile tool.

And I am a total sucker for such things
as you may have noticed.

(If you're unfamiliar with Kirsten Neumüller's work, her beautiful, useful and charming book Mend and Patch: a Handbook on Repairing Textiles has just been translated into English, and though I haven't yet read her earlier book on Indigo, I can only imagine it is as good).

So that was my week
and this is where you find me today:
right back doing the things I have been doing,
with a slightly different perspective,
a cool new tool that keeps me planted in place
(except when I need to mow and dig in the garden)
and much less angst,
for which I am most grateful.

How's your week been?

the sublime and the ridiculous--our new best friends

3/17/2020

Gee Whiz --
is this wild or what?

Everything shifting so much
that it is hard to know
from moment to moment
what to think--
or even how I feel.

Sometimes,
happily,
it is all perfectly clear:
when in doubt
make stuff.

Then five seconds later,
my brain has gone racing off
on unhelpful imaginary voyages of its own--
and in an effort to calm it down
all I can do
(short of panicking about toilet paper),
is to remember how useful it can be

to notice how everything changes
when I shift my point of view
just a tiny bit.

In some ways
I've been in training for this time
all my life.

Decades of making stuff
makes it seem obvious
to turn to the work of my hands
when things are less than ideal--
as well, of course
as when they are bloody marvelous.

And spending my early twenties
on a ranch in the middle of the Idaho wilderness
where solitude was my daily companion
and I grocery shopped twice a year
(cuz, no road...or store...or people
or internet for that matter
since it hadn't been invented),
makes social isolation
still feel pretty normal.

And then there is the last six months (and counting)
filled with the extra special uncertainty
of my husband's pancreatic cancer diagnoses,
and the subsequent,
ongoing
extremely intense,
and astonishingly effective
(if seriously immune system compromising),
treatment.

At the same time
none of it is easy,
as you know,
and can't tell you how helpful
it has been
these many months
to draw that freaking out person
I sometimes am
(hard to believe, I know, but true ;-)
and to have a place
from which I can look back at myself,
and laugh, or commiserate, or whatever,
even while whatever it is
is still happening.
(Some day, maybe, I'll even share
a few chemo side effect comics...
but not today).

Today,
I want to thank you
for your company along the way --
and to say how much I appreciate
you coming here
and hanging out,
and giving me reasons
to keep sharing
the light in the shadows.

And I hope we can keep doing it--
today and in the weeks and months of uncertainty
that most certainly lie ahead.
For while it can be crazy hard
to be in the middle of something
with no idea
how it is going to turn out,
(as we all are now),

it is also wildly wonderful
to have companions along the way
who are also turning
their prodigious attention
to the making of things
that are perfectly ridiculous.

And really,
was there ever a better time?

ps. And now that I'm about to close
I suddenly remember how much
I also want to thank you
for all the marvelous comments
in last week's post,
and say that there is not much to
these curled wire hangers
beyond that they are made
from 16 gauge wire
I found in the basement,
that I gently unroll
then twist about with my hands
(and sometimes a cheezy pair of pliers for the tight curves),
until the thing balances--
which sometimes takes a while.

pps. and one more quick more thought
on perfectly ridiculous projects --
weaving a bag on box is a prime example --
and also terrific
if you want to try your hand at weaving
and don't have a loom--
but do have a cardboard box!

magic medium pullover -- revised!

2/11/2020

That about says it all, doesn't it?

magic medium version 1; 3-ply hand spun cormo x -- a brown fleece overdyed with indigo-- sport(ish) weight

Did I really need to take all these selfies?

Much more fun to draw my butt--

magic medium version 1; Palouse Yarn Company Merino Fine singles;

and natter on about the joys
of a shirt-like sweater
that can be tried on
at most stages
of the proceedings
so a gal can make
a garment that actually fits --
which means she'll actually wear it--
than try to smile at a camera you're holding yourself.

Because wearable, these are.
I think I made three
before Shelley of The Yarn Underground
and The Palouse Yarn Company
nudged me to write up the pattern
so others could enjoy it too--
and then she hosted it on her Ravelry page
until I got around to making my own a few weeks ago.

magic medium version 3; 3 ply hand spun targhee/debouillet--lace weight

After that I knit another three or four more
in different yarns/gauges
and these (eventually) led to the changes in this revision --
but not before I'd thoroughly tested each one.
(note: these are my clothes you're looking at,
not pattern samples
so please pardon their imperfections).

And really, what is not to love
about a lightweight wool shirt?
Cool when warm, warm when cool,
hypoallergenic, carbon-positive,
renewable, non-stinky,
and endlessly stretchy without
the saggy spots of dead lycra --
such a garment is
(unless you are vegan),
a freakin miracle.

Indeed, apparently a bunch of big outdoor companies
have finally figured this out and are using it for lots of stuff.
Wool is the technical fabric of the future!
Who knew?

Well they they act like they just invented it if they have to,
as long as they keep working with it.

magic medium version 2; 5 ply handspun targhee/debouillet--sport(ish) weight

In the meantime,
we can go ahead and make
whatever we want for ourselves.
Because we already know how.
And living as we do
on the cutting edge of technical achievement,
the right garment has always been a thing.
Nothing says focus and physical accomplishment
like weaving, spinning, knitting, reading
and hanging out with dogs,

magic medium version 1; Quince & Co Finch (fingering)

But gosh,
for all my messing about
with paper and linen,
I don't need to extoll
the virtues of wool to you.
What I really want to do
is go on and on
about one of the most important features of this garment
which is that (assuming you are so inclined),
since most of it is knit in stockinette in the round,
the literarily-inclined knitter
can scale the heights
of two of these massively important activities
at the same time.

And no commercially made garment
will ever provide a pleasure
to equal that.

square bag (hat?) that looks round; 2 ply used coffee filter paper yarn

Oh yes --OOPS.
One more thing.
The Pattern for the magic medium pullover
can be found both on my Ravelry site
and my web store
depending on your preference.

(Alas, the two are not linked, so the choice is up to you
but if you have already downloaded the pattern
from The Palouse Yarn Company site on Ravelry,
you should, by now, have already received the pattern revision
so need to worry about any of it).

square bag that looks round (an enlarged variation of the pattern in the all new Homespun Handknit by amy clarke moore), knit with 2 ply used coffee filter paper yarn

Now, what was I doing?

not boring yet!

12/17/2019

It's astonishing, really,
how much I continue
to love making
these little books--

at least once I begin.

Before I start
there is always
the moment
when it feels like a chore.

"Almost out of pages, Sarah!
Stop spinning
and make a new book.
NOW!"
(so bossy)

Of course I forget all that
once I actually start tearing and folding paper.
And once I've made or found the cover
I'm immersed until done.

The cover thing has been growing on me.
My first coptic bound diaries
didn't even have them,
the top and bottom signatures
having to do the job.
Then, to save that lovely paper,
I covered the books in scrap cardboard
gleaned from the backs of pads.

It is only in making the last three
that I've been brave enough
to try a thing
I'd been consciously avoiding--
stitching tapestries onto books
not as decorative objects,
but as paper protection.

My fear
was that tapestry covers
would make the books feel precious--
would strip both the pages
and the act of drawing in them
of the relaxed status
I count on.
Transforming them
into untouchable artworks
about which I might be
vaguely reverential--
and thus not use--
would do me no good at all.

At the same time
I was also concerned
that it would be painful
to watch my precious
tiny tapestries
grow grubby
with dailyness.
Are they not works
to go on walls?
"Be careful, be careful, be careful."
Who needs that?

So far, neither concern
has been warranted.
(for which I'm hugely thankful),
though I'm not sure why.

It could be
that drawing myself
as a cartoon character
every day--
taking a step back,
seeing this person called Sarah,
noticing how she behaves
what she thinks,
what she has been making
(and of course gently mocking as necessary),
is as helpful and addictive
as running.

And since both practices
are now well established
I am no longer intimidated
or embarrassed,
or stopped
(injury or unavoidable circumstances notwithstanding),
by much of anything.

It could also be
that using a thing I've made--
be it sauerkraut, sweaters,
shoes or a skirt--
transforms it back
from precious object-hood

into a treat,
so that lacing up my shoes
(oh that moment
when the grubby, familiar cloth
snugs up around my ankle),
or opening up the diary
and watching the marks appear
(so that's what today feels like),
becomes an pleasure
worthy of anticipation--
a daily gift
that cannot be matched
by anything purchased.

Or perhaps it is merely
the fathomless joy
of surprise:
--how today's run
is different from yesterdays,
--how the thing I draw
is never the thing
I think I'm going to draw,
--how the same route
and the same apparent image
(me blogging, or weaving, or spinning),
rendered over and over and over
still feels like a miracle,

or indeed,
--how the word
"and,"
upside down and verso,
looks like the word
"pug"
in mirror writing.

ps. those running shoes are now well into their second winter (I have a low pair for warm weather). I waxed them for semi-waterproofedness which is one of the reasons they are so grubby -- the dirt sticks to wax really well.
For more on these running shoes (and others),
Click here

Fancy that -- it was all about yarn!

9/3/2019

Before it began,
I dreamed I would be able
to spend the month of August
reading novels,
relishing the dailyness of home,

and also giving time
to the the myriad tempting ideas
that had been tickling my brain.
Luckily, many of those ideas
had to do with spinning,
(which allows me to read at the same time),
except when I'm spinning flax,
(which means putting down my book),
or learning new tunes,
(which--usually--means
putting down the spindle),
or sitting quietly in the shade
listening to the birds
with a cup of tea
(which means neither book nor spindle
but maybe some knitting).
I had hoped to do some sewing
but then I'd have to put down EVERYTHING else!

Looking back at my daily drawings
I can see that holding my shoes
while running barefoot,
is probably the only way
I managed to avoid the temptation
of attempting to spin and run
at the same time.

And that it was likewise important
that the juice of the yellow plums
from our tree in the hell strip
is so sweet and sticky
that yarn, concertina,
and the current novel
could not be in the kitchen
while said fruit was prepared
for winter consumption.

Secateurs, too,
are not yarn friendly--
though the now dry weld
will someday transform
unknown skeins
into spectacular yellows
(or greens with the help of indigo and/or iron).

On the other hand,
if she's sufficiently half-assed
while cleaning the house for visitors,

a gal can sometimes
carve out a moment
or two
of elemental pleasure.

Dust? Whatever.
Water, coffee, salad, spindle and a book
at the same time?
Yes, indeed.

It will surprise none of you--
certainly not long time readers of this blog--
or anyone who has read
the post before this one--
or has happened to click
on the word Handspinning
in the sidebar to the right--

that given a chance to make yarn
(as slowly as I possibly can),
or to make something with that yarn,

I'll take it.

Though sometimes
the depth of my entrancement
still surprises me.

So yes --
though I did not get around
to making myself
a new pair of pants*
from those finally-too-worn-to-mend
sides-to-middled linen sheets,
or learn all the tunes I dreamed of,
it has been an exquisite
and deliciously yarn-centric August,
at home on the Palouse.

I'm so glad
I didn't need
or want
to be
anywhere else.

*And anyway,
I have plenty of Sarah-Dippity skirts to wear.
Many of this month's comics
indicate that I wore the short wool ones
as often as the long one I made just for summer!

I plan/hope to wax verbose
in future posts
about the specifics
of my August explorations
(not least, what feels like an improvement
in my flax spinning),
so stay tuned.

Due to unforeseen vagaries of life, however,
I may not, for a time
be able to blog quite as consistently
as I have in the past.
I'll still aim for every Tuesday,
but if I don't make it
know that I'm probably making yarn,
drawing pictures of whatever is going on,
and will be back to tell you about it.

ps -- Remember, too,
that you can visit the archives
(links on the right)
if you need more glimpses
into this yarnish life
because really,
though every inch of yarn feels fresh,
I keep coming back
to the same old elemental bliss.

<<Previous