Encroachment

My husband and I are crafters, makers... hands on people.

I do a lot with fabric, paint, concrete, wire and metal (on a very small scale) and sometimes beads. There's other stuff but it's minor in comparison to those.

Hubby does a lot of electronic stuff, works with wood sometimes, and is a great photographer. Oh yeah, and I like photography a lot too. He does a LOT of stuff on his computer and he is nuts about RC aircraft.

We are both introverts and REALLY non-traditional. In fact, he called me a "hippy" once because he considered it a complement.

Why am I telling you this? Well, we have an encroachment issue. Although, I'm not as worried about it as you might think.

Our living room has seating for about 4 or 5 people, theoretically. Realistically, only two people fit comfortably. That's because of all the supplies, and equipment (and the cat and tiny dog).

We used to make fun of how I always had my favorite chair set up as a little craft pod. All around me there are all the things I need to keep me engaged without needing to get up repeatedly. You see, the cat and dog think I am the place to sleep so every time I get up it's a whole thing. Mostly, I keep crayons and sketch pads and things like this close to hand. Plus, always have my chrome book close to hand... and a kindle and a phone.

Then, we set up some bookshelves in the living room too and I stowed a few of my craft supplies there... the ones I use a lot.

There's a small amount of overflow in the guest room but it's mostly just folded dyed fabric awaiting use. Oh wait, then Hubby set up a big workstation in there. Well, can't have that out where the cat can get into it and it's not like we have constant guests, right? Yeah, I mean, it makes sense. Harder to get to the ironing board though...

The dining room already is a craft room. It's mostly mine but we treat it as a communal space since I have a huge cutting mat and lots of nifty cutting and shaping tools and Hubby likes those. Plus, the workbenches make assembly easier. Sometimes it takes a month to get a table saw moved back outside even though it was supposedly just moved in there for the night but whatever.

Then, I turned into a giant harpy and got mad that Hubby didn't spend any time with me when he got home at night since he just went directly to his room to work on his stuff. After he decided that I might have a point, he moved his play desk to the coffee table in the living room. It's the kind that pulls up and forward to make it a good surface to eat on and stuff. Well, it turns out it makes a nice desk too. It's in front of the futon and so Hubby kind of has like the world's largest desk chair now.

I think you can see where this is going. We are gradually turning  the house into a giant craft space with a bathrooms, kitchen, and bedrooms. But here's the clincher: I don't care and I'm pretty sure Hubby doesn't either. Oh sure, we beat the chaos back from time to time and the paths between the projects get wider for a bit, but the fact is, we love our multiple craft zone dwelling.

It may not look like your living room but it's our natural habitat.

The Squish Book Saga Part Two (Venturing Into New Territory)

As we discussed in my last post, I'm making my own adapted version of a Smash Book but with fabric. I promised to tell you about "gilding my pages".

I was going to machine sew a satin stitch up each side of the squares to make a border that would be similar to the idea of gilding if it were actually a book page. Well, I hated the satin stitch after I tried it on some scrap fabric. Besides, it took a LOT of thread. I still wanted a blue border though. What I ended up doing was using a different decorative stitch on my machine but I used random spools of left over blue thread. Fortunately, it didn't matter what the bobbin thread color was so I didn't have to wind any bobbins. I also was lucky to have two spools of dark blue that matched pretty closely to use (really they were half spools left over from other projects). I swear I really will get pictures taken soon but I don't have any right now.

Anyway, I put the border about 3/4 or an inch in from the edge so it would still show if I seamed the squares together into a quilt and I let the sides overlap at the corners instead of turning a corner. That way I could run all the squares through on one side daisy chain style. It made it way faster. No, I didn't measure how far I came in. I really just set my edge guide a random distance from the needle and went with it. You could use a piece of tape as a guide for the edge of the fabric or even a fridge magnet.

So, about my pages; I started my first "page" for my squish book. I decided to embroider a wreath of daisies. I like to learn new things so I'm using a technique that has been called long and short embroidery and also called silk shading. The daisies are white with very light blue toward the bottom of each petal and, of course, yellow centers. I guess the truth I am speaking here and that I will likely be speaking throughout my pages is that I love to learn new things, constantly.

I chose daisies because I feel a sort of kinship to them. They are so perfectly wild and uninhibited. They are innocent and friendly. I'm not a perfect daisy though. I have thorns. I'm not elegant enough to be a rose so I decided to go ahead and embroider the daisies clearly but, once they are done, I will quilt on a pattern of thorns I think in the background. We will see if I still feel that way when I get to that part. I've also thought of sewing bands between the squares (I guess kind of like bookmarks) and I might make one band a quilted thorn pattern or maybe all of them.

The fabric for this square was an experiment with ice dying (I wrote a blog about ice dying.) that I did in a forest green. The resulting design looks like a sort of unfocused picture of some leaves and yellow flowers (the colors in the dye often separate when you ice dye).

I promise, next time I will put in pictures. I needed good strong light for it and the week did not cooperate as I mostly got rain until I was too busy to take them.

Squish Book Saga Part One (The Adaptation of an Idea)

I have always loved Smash Books. Those books that you take forever to fill with art and poetry and lists and color and texture and which help you to do your own self therapy; art self therapy. I've always thought it would be good and so cathartic to work out an issue through art to learn something about yourself through brushes and pencils and markers and so on...

My beloved and ultra creative and talented sister, Janet, offered to teach me and some of our other sisters about making smash books so that we could explore this intentional creative therapy for ourselves. I jumped right in and rapidly discovered that working outside of your preferred medium can be a right bastard of a struggle.

I decided I would like to work on a project to learn to "speak my truth". This means something different to each person but I mean to open my throat chakra and allow myself to speak up and be heard instead of just sighing a lot and feeling trapped and hurt when I am not understood or heard. Your intention could be anything from wanting to learn to eat to live and not reward yourself with food to letting go of old hurts or addressing how you feel about abuse you suffered or letting go of anger.

I began my book like this:

I started with a book of my choosing (it was suggested that an inexpensive book like a composition book would be fine and perhaps preferred so that's what I chose.)

I glued two pages back to back through out the book to make the pages more sturdy with a glue stick successfully. (So, I've got that going for me.)

I gilded the edges of the pages blue using an acrylic paint because I had it on hand and because blue seemed the right color for the project. The color of the throat chakra is blue.

I was supposed to put a book mark or ribbon in after every 8 pages. I didn't like that idea and I was struggling to find a way to accomplish it in a way that was comfortable for me. I guess I didn't see the purpose and there probably was a good reason for them but I didn't ask because I am an incredibly stubborn person. Really, really stubborn. Trust me.

I decided to skip the ribbons for now and work on a page. I was just looking and looking at that book day after day and nothing was coming to me. I decided to gesso a couple of pages to make them good surfaces to paint on and I even tinted some gesso with acrylic paint.  Still nothing.

I wanted to include this super cool quote I found on Facebook so I glued it in the book and stared at it for a while. Nothing. Just crickets, man. Zip. Zilch. I was starting to get angry with the book.

This didn't seem right so I just walked away from the book for a day or two. Then, I talked to Janet. Did I mention how super awesome she is? Not even kidding.

Sometimes what you really need to do is explain the issue out loud to someone else to come up with the solution. That's what I did.

Paper is not my medium, I realized. That's why I've been getting rid of all my decorative paper and scrapbooking stuff. I had so much and it never got used. HOWEVER, it's pretty clear I love fabric. I have drawer after drawer and bin after bin full of fabric. I love to dye it and sew it and stitch things to it and glue things to it and paint it and embroider it... FABRIC IS MY MEDIUM. It's how I express myself.

So, how do I do a Smash Book type project with fabric? That's the project I'm going to share with you; my "Squish Book". I've already started.

I'm going to need 16 squares of fabric of the same size (I picked squares of 12.5 inches but I don't think it matters if they are all the same or if they are the same shape even. That was just my choice.) and I'm going with all cotton fabrics because I like working with cotton fibers. I didn't choose the same weaves or weight or density for all of them. They are all a bit different. Some are just plain undyed and unbleached muslin. Some are fabrics I tie dyed. Some are quilt fabric I really liked.

I picked 16 squares because it makes a 4 by 4 layout and I can make that into a wall hanging easily. It would be just over 4 feet by 4 feet square once all the piecing and finishing is done. Not 100% that's the way I'll go but it's why I figured the sizes and numbers. I could also sew them all in a banner like prayer flags. That might be cool too.

The same way I glued pages together to make them sturdier, I overlocked the edges of my fabric on my sewing machine with just whatever thread I had in the machine. Turns out it was just an off white general purpose thread which worked fine.

Some of the fabrics are more flimsy so I might iron some interfacing to the back of them. More on that later.

Next time, I'll talk about how I tackle the "gilding" of my "pages" and a few other things. I'll try to post some pictures too.

Bones in the Winter

Not too long ago just about this time of year, I attended a Bone Mother ceremony. This is a way to help teach women to listen and to hear the wisdom of the mothers who have come before us that is carried in our bones.

Many cultures believe that some knowledge is passed down genetically in our very bodies. Scientists are starting to realize that some animals exhibit behaviors that seem to support this assertion. If we accept that this can be true, we can feel comforted that, perhaps, when we listen deeply to ourselves, we listen to the voices of all the mothers who came before us and we carry their lessons into our lives.

I believe that the gathering with our elders in this time of the year when the Earth begins to prepare for slumber, when the darkness creeps in a little more each day, when we are worrying about heating the house for the Winter and "putting by" enough to eat, is in some ways, about listening to the voices in our bones. We draw close to our own mothers (spiritual or physical) to listen to their wisdom in a time when it is easy to doubt our own voices.

For some, this is really a symbolic exercise but, for others, it can be more traditional. Maybe you all sit around and tell stories of your elders before you or you learn at your Grandmother's elbow exactly what she puts in her dressing this year. Maybe your Grandfather tells you a story about how he met and courted your Grandmother and you learn how you wish to be looked at and cherished. Maybe this year is the first year you are allowed to eat at the big table.

Maybe you learn, for the first time, the traditions of your new spouse or maybe you simply continue to learn the traditions of his family.

Maybe your lessons are less positive or happy. When the past's rusty doors squeak open, we can't say which memories slip out on cat's feet.

Still, here we are closer to death than any other time of the year, it is true. We are also closer to more lives than we normally have access to; those whose lives we carry in our bones.

Listen to your bones.

Chuck E. Chili's

My husband and I have no children, not our own nor from any previous relationships. It's a choice we made and we are happy with it. We don't hate children and they aren't evil. I handle child noise and such better than he does but even I get a little on edge with the screams sometimes.

I understand, as does he, that we cannot expect a restaurant that caters to families to ever be child free. I don't think it's a lot to ask that it be screaming-jumping-running-shouting child free. I also don't think it's a lot to expect a parent not to use in a restaurant meal time to encourage a small child to squeal loudly and shriek at the top of it's lungs. But then, what do I know?

We went to Chili's tonight. It's a weeknight, a Monday no less. Half the restaurant, literally, was empty as in no one at the tables at all. It was about 5pm when we got there. The hostess started to seat the two of us in a corner with three families with small and already shrieking children around us. We asked if we could sit in quieter area and she gladly complied but we were still on the same side of the restaurant with the families while no one NO ONE was on the other, much quieter, side of the restaurant. Hey, I get it. You don't want the limited wait staff to have to cover the whole place like a volleyball team playing on a football field. That makes sense.

Then, the hostess, who seated us in this quieter area (a relative term I assure you as the music was turned up loudly enough so that we had to almost shout to be heard) proceeded to fill all the tables on all sides of us with families with loud screaming children.

The manager asked if there was anything she could get for us and I told her a cone of silence would be awesome as I couldn't hear myself think. She laughed and said she didn't have one and I said I thought not. We finished our food as quickly as possible and left. We even discussed taking the food to go and eating it next door in McDonalds because it was actually quieter there but I was too stubborn to give up.

I get it. You want to go out as a family. I get that it's impossible to keep a small child from occasionally shrieking in delight or displeasure. It happens. I don't really want to hear it while I'm eating though. It doesn't mean I hate children. I hate noise.

Why can't a restaurant like Chili's just seat the patrons with children in the same area together and double up the wait staff in that section and then seat couples or groups of adults without children in a separate area, like on the other side of the bar? Ask the childless adults if they would like family seating or something more low key or find any phrase you like to describe it. Please, I beg of you, let me have a quiet dinner out. I now dread going back there. Loud music, screaming kids, a hostess who doesn't understand the meaning of quiet.... I want to relax with my husband somewhere where other people will cook for me and I don't have to take out a second mortgage to afford to eat.

Please understand. It's not really about the kids. It's about the noise. Whatever your arguments on what to expect as appropriate behavior from child in a restaurant, I make no judgement on that.

Just please let me relax in your establishment without so much noise and PLEASE turn down the music while you are at it. It really only makes it worse.

There is Nothing Wrong with Me

When I was a small child, I never questioned whether there was anything wrong with me. I knew it. I was stubborn, slow, talkative, lazy... and these were wrong and and since I was these things, something was wrong with me.

As I aged, the message became increasingly more clear. It was my fault when bad things happened; sometimes even things I didn't do. Clearly I was very flawed. Something was wrong with me. Then, I added stupid and ugly to my long list of faults... to the ever growing list of what was wrong with me. I worked really hard and even got to add easy (although I'm not sure my parents were aware of that one) to the list of what was wrong with me. Most importantly, I was stupid. That was universally accepted as was, ironically, the fact that I had such potential (which, of course, I wasn't living up to).

I didn't want to be beaten and yelled at and I thought, in a tiny part of my mind that wasn't smudged up with slimy wrongness, I had a right not to be.

As an adult (legally anyway), I knew there was something wrong with me because I couldn't be Martha Stewart and motivated and cheerful and happy and eventually, pregnant.  I could not believe what others believed I could not agree with my husband's politics. I could not dress or act like a proper wife.

For years, I tried to fix what was wrong with me. I even tried to fix not being able to get pregnant. None of what I did worked.  Then, I realized something.

There is actually nothing wrong with me at all. Nothing. I was and still am, exactly what I am supposed to be. It was not easy to figure out and I had to learn it for myself because I could not hear it when someone else said it and it took me a very long time too.

I'm not broken because I have a strong will, am methodical, outspoken, sexually liberated, a nurturer with no human children, unable to force a marriage to work, sad sometimes, and don't like to wear makeup. I'm not broken because I choose to be childless. I'm not flawed for not believing what you believe.

I am a complete, slightly irregular, and yet perfect human being and there is nothing wrong with me.

There's nothing wrong with you either.

Who You Callin' a Witch?

Smoothing ointment on my new tattoo this morning because it felt a bit raw and also needed protecting, I was looking in the mirror at what I was doing and a thought popped into my head seemingly out of nowhere. "This is why I am a witch." 

I have considered myself a sort of Hedge or Kitchen Witch for a long time but I felt kind of bad because I'm not big into spells and calling on goddesses and that seemed very "unwitchy". I'm actually more of an atheist if you want to know the truth. I'm not really superstitious but I do like to study them and understand why some superstitions exist (some evolved out of very real and practical necessity - Standing a broom on it's bristles doesn't really spill the luck out but it sure does cause the bristles to bend and make it less usable over time). I like rituals because they help shape thoughts and mindsets for the one(s) doing them. They help me empower myself to think more positively and to act in ways that are more compassionate and loving. I'm not a witch because of a pointy hat or pentacle or because I talk to plants, and the Moon, and my pets, and the Sun. 

I'm not a witch because I meet in circles with my sisters and perform rituals. I am a witch because I trust my wisdom and the wisdom of my sisters to guide me to solutions that are more in harmony with nature than the profit/loss goals of Pfiser or Glaxo-Welcome. I am a witch because messing with the normal evolutionary process of plant breeding by creating a something that would not under any other natural process ever come into being seems really really wrong for all kinds of reasons. I'm a witch because I show my love for my sisters and family with a big pot of stew or something else I have made with my own hands and not things I spent way too much money on from a store. I'm a witch because I constantly strive to know more and learn more and I can't stop myself from passing on what I know to anyone who seems to need the information or asks me a question. I'm a witch because I study goddesses because they tell me about my nature and help me see aspects of myself I'd like to develop and express and because they help me see what I am not happy with and need to work on.

 I'm not a witch because of a costume or superstition or ancestry or any other stereotype and I'm not any less of one because I don't own any eye of newt or believe for a minute I can hex someone. I'm a witch the same way I'm a woman, stout, curvy, olive skinned in the Summer, an avid reader, an animal lover and sarcastic. It's my nature.