(com)Passion

I find the development and evolution of self to be endlessly compelling. What I have often lacked in spite of a fair dose of self-awareness is the development of true self-compassion. I like to keep myself on the coals, so to speak; to hold myself accountable for both the things I have done and the things I could have prevented, and sometimes even things that have absolutely nothing to do with me, but if I can get a creative enough angle, I can MAKE them about me. Once hung and pilloried, with the blood of martyrdom coursing down my face, I internalize my shame and keep myself humiliated; bad, wrong, failed. I am, after all, a Horrible Human Being.

Or am I?

In most (dare I say all?) religion there is an element of compensation for "sin". In Christianity in particular those sins are hung on Jesus, who takes the abuse for us and thereby allows us to live free and clear, coming forth "white as snow" or "sinless". Go, and sin no more. Some have taken this idea to it's extreme - "If Christ is in me, I cannot sin. Therefore what I do, I do without shame." This same philosophy seems to infect the minds of radical Muslims flying into certain buildings, or kidnapping and raping into subjugation young women, or blowing up perfectly nice villages. Oh wait. That was us...

But I digress.

The primary piece if information that I believe we are supposed to glean from religion or a spiritual path is really more about self-compassion. Learning to see our failings, fallings, "sins" (and those who have sinned against us); learning to accept our collective fragile humanity, and then - and this is the part where I think most of us miss the boat, let the boat go, shove the boat way, way far away - not in the sense of denial, but from the perspective of liberation - CHANGING. GROWING. LEARNING.

This weekend we went to Charlotte VegFest, which was an amazing thing for me on a lot of fronts - certainly preaching to the choir, but there's always new songs to learn. We listened to a few speakers - most notably Dr. T. Colin Campbell (swoon) about whom I will speak in a later post. But for now I want to focus on the idea of compassion, expanding on it's presentation by Shabaka Amen, who was the first speaker of the day, and who said something that stuck with me: "You cannot be passionate about animals until you are compassionate to yourself". This may not be an exact quote, but that isn't the point. The point is that unless we are able to be compassionate with ourselves - really nitty gritty down and dirty open and honest about what we are and how we could be better, we cannot be truly, deeply passionate - or compassionate - about "others" (animals, people, bugs, etc).

That thread from that morning speech bled into the rest of my day. Ronnie Tsunami mentioned, in his talk, a few documentaries that I had not seen before (and here I thought I had them all covered!). Specifically he mentioned Earthlings, which he said he got about ten minutes into before converting to veganism. After last night I know why. I don't recommend it unless you know yourself to be self-compassionate, because your complicity in what you see on the screen could have you needing therapy or possibly an inpatient stay. How bad is it? Well. It had me up for a couple of hours trying to figure out how to feed my carnivorous pets ethically. That bad.

But again, I digress.

Near the beginning of Earthlings the screen is alight with quotes, some known, some not. One that stuck with me was this:

The Stages of Knowing:
1.) mockery
2.) violent opposition

3.) acceptance

That's what I woke up with in my head today, questioning, ruminating. Where am I on that scale? Am I truly accepting? Am I externally compliant and internally mocking or opposing? Am I justifying the actions of myself and others, which I think might be in-between opposition and acceptance?

In further research this morning, I came across the work of William G. Perry, an educational psychologist who developed a detailed theory (The Perry Scheme) of intellectual and ethical development in college students, the framework fo which is a nine-step progression from dualist thinking ("right is right and wrong is wrong and that's that!") to relativist thinking ("right and wrong change with perspective and awareness") to commitment ("I believe this or that, but I am open to learning and changing as I go.")

Further (extremely) simplified, those nine stages or progressions become something, from what I have read so far, like this:

1.) The Garden of Eden:

In this phase, we believe a thing is true because we have been told that it is true. This is your basic garden variety religious or cultural education and inculcation. At times there are dualities within the scaffolds of our assorted indoctrinations, but they are usually justified or explained away by some intellectual sleight of hand. Think: "Mommy, if God said don't kill, why are we at war?". The adults fabricate some rationale, vaguely aware that they are spewing bullshit, or perhaps truly believing the righteousness of the cause, depending on where they are in their own journey of self-awareness and development. Also in this category are such nuggets as "But Pastor said..." and "The government entity knows best." The corollary from Earthlings would be mockery. I now what I know, and what you know is wrong. Idiot.

2.) Anything Goes

This phase is where I think most of us get stuck. In this phase, we are deeply - maybe unconsciously - aware that there are no right answers, that right and wrong are entirely dependent on the perspective of the individual - but in order to conceal this little fact from ourselves we engage in denials and justifications for our thoughts and behaviors that range from deeply held religious beliefs to strong secular attachments to any bloody effing thing that keeps us from looking at the thing that makes us culpable, PLEASE DEAR GOD DON'T LET ME SEE. This I think brings us - this need to keep the self unaware and "innocent" of who/whatever's blood, to justify our actions - to the point of violent opposition. We are the most adept at denial, and will use whatever skills come to hand to indulge that denial.

3.) Critical Thinking

Or, you know, acceptance. If I objectively and without rancor to self or others evaluate the facts and the sources of those facts, then I am able to approach all new information with an open mind - a mind that seeks knowledge and awareness, a mind unafraid of change and unafraid of truth. The alternative is, of course, a mind that continues to be slapped shut and rejects all new information that might result in expansion of awareness and understanding.

You cannot progress to acceptance without self-compassion.  If I am truly forgiven, if I am truly and deeply compassionate with myself, then the new information is not a threat. It is merely a window that lets more light into my world and clarifies my beliefs and awareness.

Stay tuned...

Seeing is Believing

Well. I almost have a heckuva kitchen. You may remember that I had this kitchen about 15 months ago:

(Be aware: if I come to look at your house and I eventually buy it, I will post pictures from various showings on my blog, with all your stuff in them. Also if you look at a house with that many microwaves and toaster ovens? CHECK THE MAJOR APPLIANCES!)

What is not evident in the images is that the wood was in horrible condition in many places, rotted in some, worn beyond repair in others. The appliances, original to the house, were not great - although they did turn on and off - and sometimes without anyone pushing a button or turning a knob. The cabinets were not really functional for modern living, and certainly not for a cook. I think that this kitchen was a bit of a space age, TV dinner sort of a thing really. But I don't live that way, and for me this kitchen was just really intolerable. Kitchen snob: I am it!

Then I had this kitchen which I felt I had for entirely too long:

Then very (very) briefly I had this kitchen:

And then this kitchen:

which turned out to be a big old failed attempt to retain some of kitchen one in a misguided attempt to save money and resources.

Last but not least, I had this kitchen:

Definitely not a big favorite, except that it paved the way for the kitchen I have now. Because now I have a totally different kitchen, which is not quite yet ready for a full reveal. But trust me, it's amazing!

I have also had, for a long time now, a microwave cabinet of forgotten origin. You see it up there in a fair number of those images. I remember that it cost me all of about $100, and I know I bought it specifically for use in our old-old house during our kitchen remodel there. Thanks to a slick real estate deal I was able to double my money on a piece of land by selling it back to the original owner for twice the price I paid. Long story - just never sell a piece of land you think you might be attached to, or you'll find yourself buying it back for a lot of money. Anyway, I used the profit to invest in our old-old house - I had both kitchen and bath completely redone. At the time we still had kids at home, and we lived for a few weeks out of this microwave cabinet. It housed a microwave (who saw that coming?), toaster, and coffee pot along with lots of paper plates and utensils, bread, and peanut butter. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

Since then it's served us around the house(s) in a variety of ways. It has been used to hold video game systems along side it's junior sibling - who is identical in all but size. It has housed craft supplies. It was used by Mr. W to hold his cycling DVD's and two small televisions for when he rode on his bike trainer in the basement. It eventually became the island in my 1950's kitchen nightmare, and then most recently was again put into use as part of a temporary kitchen during this latest kitchen update.

I have loved it's usefulness, but it's appearance has left me pretty flat for some time now. I preferred it hidden in finished basements or craft rooms. It's junior sibling, for example, holds my primary sewing machine so that I can sew while standing up - a boon for ye old sciatic nerve problem. Out of public view, it does not offend. But in public view...well, I guess maybe I am just over it. Love, love the butcher block top, but over the unfinished exterior and the big blocky handles and drawer pull. So I decided that in order to continue to use it in the new kitchen (it makes a great island!) it would need a serious face lift. Initially I tried staining it the same color as the cabinets, which proved to be a hideous fail. The color wasn't a match at all and - worst of all - the stain clashed pretty violently with the aged and heavily treated butcher block top.

I started with a splotchy and brush-stroke-laden coat of the gray paint I'd used previously on the old cabinets we tried to salvage - Benjamin Moore Satin Impervo. I liked that color a lot - I think it's a Martha color, Chinchilla, which handily can be dumped into any Ben Moore paint. The neutrality of it would, I thought, work well in the kitchen again. Then I distressed the gray with a series of power and hand tools. Specifically, I beat the hell out of it with, in no particular order: a pair of scissors, an ax, a wire bristle brush, and my little DeWalt random orbit sander. Then I covered the whole thing with a brown glaze using a sample of brown paint left from Girl's wedding birdhouses and a jar of Martha Stewart glaze. I brushed that with a Martha Stewart wavy graining brush, being sure to go out of my way to get as much effect and odd layering as possible, but no waving. I just wanted the brush strokes and the removal of excess that this tool offered. Once that dried I coated the whole thing with Zar Ultra Max waterborne polyurethane; another leftover from a previous project. Waste not, want not!

And now I love it. I wish the butcher block was squared and not rounded. That's my only complaint.

It's neutral, distressed, abused, and has me written all over it. I love the rudely and roughly filled holes, the sand marks, the chips from the ax, and the lovely uneven brown glaze.

In the middle of this amazing new kitchen, surrounded by perfect cabinets and pristine flooring and appliances, it somehow fits right in. Just don't look too closely at the underside of that butcher block. I may have gone a little nutty...

Now, to find perfect knobs and pulls. Ideally I want something salvaged and old, maybe from a dresser, and with that in mind I stopped in at Fat Chance today on my way home from the Depot (where I procured a host of items ranging from silicone caulk to one ivy plant for that rejuvenated Crock Pot that works and still has it's cord but for now I've decided is a planter and is that a run-on sentence or what?):

I didn't find knobs. But I did find things to amuse me:

An adorable copper fondue set! It has forks, and even an old Sterno ad tucked inside.

Bunnies! Primitive bunnies missing body parts but needing love.

The new kitchen counter top doesn't come for days and days. Between now and then I can work on a book,  install the dishwasher, plan a baby shower, and make some newborn diapers for said baby. And try not to count the minutes before I can give you a tour of the whole kitchen, and explain how, on a budget resembling a shoestring, I managed to get a whole new kitchen in a matter of about 5 weeks. It's a good story, I promise!

I Should Blog

But I can think of nothing to say. So we'll do one of those posts with images and brief bits. I am working on a third book, celebrating the launch of the second, and generally over my head busy lately.
We did fit in a day in Maine.We saw lobster boats, lobster men, and lobster pots. The only lobsters we saw were red and on plates with butter, bibs and wetnaps. There is a great spot in Ogunquit called Perkins Cove, home of Barnacle Billy's. It was lovely. Placed our order, retreated to the deck, and waited for our tasty pal. I am not enamored of lobster having eaten entirely too much of it as a kid. But it's nice once in a while. Gene sits and waits like a kid for his meat to be cut while I make quick work of the shell. I still remember the first time he ever ordered one. He had no idea what to do with it. I think now he could get to the meat if he had to, but if your wife is going to have it all out for you in a minute or two, why bother? Also, if my mother knew that I now eat the bits she always yelled at me about not touching, she'd die. My dad made a face when I said I had become a bit of a tomalley fan. I also used to sneak the roe when no one was looking. My parents were very inland folk.I love climbing on rocks and taking pictures of objects. Like shells.Or damaged lobster pots mimicking cresting waves.
I ordered some yarn last week. Great segue, I know. I am not feeling subtle today. It is Monday after all!This is painfully yummy Black Bunny Fibers Stella Sock, and everyone should have some not just because I am all about the sparkle. I have plans for this yarn. More will be revealed.
This weekend I burned a pan to a crisp while attempting to make chicken wings for friends.The kitchen failures have become a bit of a trend. I am slipping. Apparently cooking is not like riding a bike. Speaking of bikes, in my defense, Gene had called me downstairs to try a modification on my bike trainer and I got distracted. Never leave sugar unattended where heat is involved. I know better. But I am a slow learner.
We went for a hike above our house.We live very close to a Vermont state forest, and the land up at the end of our road is quite secluded. If you leave my house and walk two and a half or so miles you will be in Vermont. We saw the prints of our moose friend. He or she is around seasonally. The attraction being both privacy and...
beavers. Who have made a series of three dams, and are working hard at turning the area into a lake. Moose like lakes. Given sufficient time, the beavers will be successful. The topography lends itself. Eventually, left to their own devices, another three or four acres could easily go underwater. Of course then if their dams fail many bad things will happen, like some pretty significant flooding of some recently created wood roads. But then isn't that the nature of the planet? Constant change? Change is good. I am rooting for the beavers, which is unusual for me. They're generally kind of a nuisance. But they were here first.
When we came back from our walk we found that the chickens had gone across the road and into the pasture. Far into it, almost into the woods.This is them returning home after I called them. I leave home for an hour, they head into the brush. Trouble's name is chicken!
More soon, with some actual knitting. Right now we're all about the writing. There's a couple of projects on the needles. Yarn soon, promise!

A Weekend, Home and Away.

I had such plans for the weekend. I am always amazed at how things turn around on me. First I got the mudroom ready for chicks.Dazee helped. Camera=Dazee. Sigh. Then we headed for Greenfield to attend the Greenfield Green Fair at the Franklin County Fairgrounds. I still dream of solar panels, just like I have since I was 10. Give us time...research, tax credits, maybe a little lessening of the cost of equipment. That'd help.
While I am waiting for solar panels and an off-grid lifestyle complete with SunFrost fridge, I bought some stuff to amuse me. There was a table selling Equal Exchange snacks - I got cranberries and pecans, and a chocolate bar for Gene (milk chocolate. ptooey!)Katy directed me to the Cheshire Gardens table where I TOTALLY SCORED their chili pepper mustard. It's really, really nice. I love it, and they're a mere fifteen minutes from here. We chatted with Traci who was selling her wares with some other local crafters. And of vital important I purchased Recycleze diapers for the future. Don't ask me why we do this, but someday Girl may spawn and when she does it'd be a lot easier if I had a collection in place. Super Cool Grandmother gives Super Cool Cloth All-In-Ones. Just wait. She wasn't here to buy one for herself, so I bought two; one on her behalf.By the way, I should interject here that my children wore old-fashioned pre-folds with pins and rubber pants. We didn't have this coolness.
We spent some time talking with Spartan of Co-op Power. Mr. W. then spent hours calculating potential savings of membership if he combines the discount on heating oil (which we use comparably little of, only a few hundred gallons a year) and potential savings on that solar system that I dream of.
Then we trotted to my mother's apartment to deliver a sewing machine table, chair, sewing machine and various associated gadgetry. She'd been given a Sears Kenmore portable machine a while back, and I brought it into the house Friday intending to oil it and get it working. That is until I discovered that it is missing parts available only from Sears, and only at a premium. So, Hello Kitty to the rescue! I knew buying that machine wasn't nearly as crazy as it seemed at the time. Now Hello Kitty lives at The Arbors, and mother is merrily sewing away. We headed home, but Mr. W. suddenly decided he wanted Mexican (What was I supposed to say? "No, no, honey. Stop. Don't take me to Mesa for lunch. Bad, bad man."!?).
Saturday evening we discussed plans for Sunday - remove center dividing wall of chicken house to make more floor space. The divider was for the turkeys, who are long gone. Assess the bee hive and determine what we need. Chill out on the deck.
Sunday dawned a bit colder than I wanted it to be. My fingers were cold, and I hate working with cold fingers; I also don't like gloves. We went to the garage to assess the hive situation. We talked about Getting the Bees, our fears about what to do, would we figure it out, would we kill them all, could we handle this. I generally reason that it can't possibly be as hard as keeping infants alive, and since I've proven I can do that, what's a few chicks, bees, whatever else you want to throw at me. Heck, I can even breed fish and keep lizards alive and that's not easy doings. I complained that we'd missed two classes already, and probably would miss more if we didn't get on it and make ourselves go. Mr. W. agreed that we needed to do something, find out more, before we slaughtered the poor nuc. There was a lot of sighing. Mr. W. set to work cleaning the hive off and contemplating paint colors. I headed for the chicken house to do my worst. I love demo work. Isn't this just gross?This is the dividing wall with the nest boxes on it. There was a sloped cover over the nest boxes to keep hens from roosting up there. Once the cover came off I discovered 5 years worth of dust and smut. Chickens' feathers make dust, the shavings make dust, there is dust in the air, the grain makes dust. I pulled the roosts out of the way after unscrewing them (see, this whole thing was put together with the intention of easy disassembly)and started on the wall. When we put this wall up it was done entirely with wood screws and was supposed to be mostly modular so that we could rip it down without difficulty. Except the base plate. See, 5 years plus cheap screws plus chicken poop = rust. Rust = stripped screws. Every. single. one. So while the studs came away nicely, and I got the top of the wall detached, the base wasn't going anywhere. What I had was a floppy disaster of an 8' wide x 8' tall wall. So really, there was no way to get it out as intended in one piece. Gene came down and offered the use of his reciprocal saw, but I was still determined in my mind that this could come out, in one piece, with no more than a driver (around here it's called "The Zippy Driver", the cordless drill/driver is, and right next to duct tape and the compound miter saw it's my favorite tool) and maybe snips for the chicken wire at the top if it needed it. No 100 foot extension cord, no big tools. Pigheaded? Nawp. Not me.
I had just finished removing the wall (Should I tell you how it ended? Ok. Not too badly. The wall came out in two pieces, the base plate got a little extra attention from a wrecking bar and the whole thing was conducted without any more electricity than that contained in the battery pack of the driver, which was my intention.) and was sitting on the floor of the filthy chicken house contemplating 'furniture' placement when Mr. W. approached with my cell phone. "You're gonna say this is karma, or meant to be, or whatever it is you say, but listen to this message." and handed me the phone. It was Jacinda (no blog, doesn't even knit, but we let it go because she's been around for 20+ years) letting us know that there was a bee class, today, on how to install package bees into a new hive. She and Greg were going, and did we want to come along? I looked at my watch. I called her, and we made plans to meet there which gave me a super generous 20 minutes to shower, change, and find lunch. While I was on the phone with her, one desperate hen came back into the house. Lots and lots of noises were made about the condition of the space, the changes I'd made which were obviously not to her liking, the odd (and temporary) location of the nest boxes. So distressed was she that she initially tried to lay her egg IN MY LAP.I convinced her that this was not a good plan. Gene helped me get the nest box into a more appropriate location and she tottered in and skeptically settled down to business.
We made it to the bee yard in perfect time.(Interesting to note, for upcycling/recycling/reclaiming fans: the wood used to build that wall I removed has been around for 20 years, or more. Some was reclaimed from a project Gene and I did a million years ago on my trailer in NH. Some was reclaimed from cabinets we pulled out of our old house in Northfield. All of it had screws removed, and it's been returned to the reuse pile in our garage meaning it will likely see use in the future as roosts for birds, more animal housing, who knows. But we pulled the red 2x3 studs out of NH when Meg was barely out of diapers, and the icky brown stained ones were put into our last house by the parents of kids I went to elementary school with, and I think that's pretty cool, frankly.)
Back to the bees...our bees - or I should say Girl's bees - are coming from Warm Colors Apiary which is pretty local to us, about twenty minutes or so. Warm Colors also has a great educational program for people new to bees and beekeeping. Sunday was a "package bees" pickup day. This means that boxes of bees were brought up here from Georgia by Dan Conlan for sale to local beekeepers, or potential beekeepers. This is the same method used to ship bees via the USPS. Bees come in a package which contains about 3 pounds of bees, a queen in a special cage, and enough sugar water to sustain them on their journey.These are bee packages in the shade awaiting pick-up. There were lots of bees.
Sunday's class was to show people how to get their hive started; how to introdce their package bees into a new hive.These are two hives in the Warm Colors bee yard. I love that they paint them up. I've been reading and apparently it's helpful if you've got more than one colony in a yard if the hive colors are varied. The bees can more easily recognize their own home and have less tendency to "drift", or end up in the wrong hive. Each colored section is called a super. They come in different sizes; deep, medium and shallow. Simply put, the lower supers are where the bees make more bees, keep house, and store a bit of grub and is also where the queen resides. Honey supers are added above, and a screen is used to keep the queen out of the honey supers. The honey supers are what the beekeeper gets.
Even junior beekeepers need to don their protective gear!Tiny bee suits. Why knew?!Dan dumping the bees into the lower hive body, a deep super. I love that they really are just dumped in. At first they are a big pile, but very quickly they spread out and cover the surface of the hive.At this point there's a lot of bees in the air. Some even stop off and visit.3 pounds is a lot of bees, by the way...After a remarkably short time, the bees settle down and figure out where they are supposed to be. Some sit on the hive top and fan the air vigorously with their wings, sending out a pheromone signal to their sisters that their queen is HERE, not over there.We had an awesome time at the bee yard. We signed up for the rest of the classes, got some supplies we needed and in general feel very prepared to be Bee Grandparents. In fact, I kind of want to be a Bee Mommy now.
Eventually Mr. W. reminded me that we needed to start supper and finish what we'd started earlier in the day. I came home to discover that some adaptation, albeit reluctant adaptation, had taken place. They are comfortable enough to lay me a couple of eggs, anyway.This is the new improved house, much more open, although the only one who'll really believe that is Girl. The shed is 10x12, and the area the birds have is about 8x12'. 2' is reserved for storage of their feed, and to keep them from leaving the building every time I enter. They've got six nest boxes, although I am going to add 3 more on top of the ones they've got. Their feeder is still hanging in it's proper place, and the waterer hasn't moved. Really, they have nothing to protest, but at bedtime they did anyway.
Chickens are not fans of change. But then...LOOK!! SPRING is really HERE! Gene pulled the straw off and found ASPARAGUS! I adore asparagus. I cannot wait for a few spears - but only a very few. This is the first full year they've been in, so we can't take a lot. But I can be patient. There's time yet!

What a Weekend

First and foremost I met Cat Bordhi and neither slobbered nor wet my pants. I was very proud of myself. I found her to be a really, truly, genuinely lovely person, a brilliant intellect, a giving teacher and just an all around wonderful woman. When I grow up, I wanna be Cat Bordhi. This is one of those people who's brain I covet.

Although she wasn't teaching Moebius this weekend, she brought some along to show and tell. Sunday's class focused on creativity and was, at times, a bit mentally intense. So breaks were taken in which she amused us by, for example, knitting behind her backShe did this both days. I need to add this skill to my ever-growing box of knitter's parlor tricks. Impressive. She's a huge fan of Judy's Magic Cast-on created by the brilliant Judy Becker (now there's a woman who should write a book). Cat does things with it that astound me. It's gone in all new directions for me now, that cast-on has. It is possibly the best cast on ever for SO many things; almost EVERYthing. It's a skill every knitter should have in their arsenal.
On Saturday morning the Ready, Set, Knit podcast was taped live in the parking lot just before the official beginning of the tent sale. This does not mean that people were not arriving and shopping. It was someone's birthday, so her employees took advantage of the moment and celebrated with a cake and singing.
I have actually never been to the tent sale on a Saturday. Saturday is the Fleece Market, where local growers bring their wares and display and sell them. Barb Parry from Foxfier Fiber and Diane Roeder from Sojourner Sheep where both there, among others. The tents were set up outside of the warehouse, and good shopping was had by all. I personally scored three bags of Cascade 220 mis-spun to a dk weight in a nice dark charcoal color. Yum.
Lots of shopping happened. In fact, there were 5 registers...or six? set up. Two outside, four inside I think. I snapped this during a quiet moment. There were moments during the day when i was reminded of a very recent event held at Webs in which 1,000 knitters packed into the store.
Mary Alice sat and spun with a friend who's name I rudely failed to ask - but I was cheating at this point and really should have been back in class with Cat, so it was a brief hello, click, and I was gone again. I wonder why we didn't spin at Rhinebeck. I am pretty sure there was a plan to do so...
Sharlene made a new friend, Diane's new rescue Border Collie. Adorable dogs, if insane unless employed. Luckily Diane has the perfect job for a Border Collie - she has sheep. Work woolies, work woolies, work woolies...and get some lovin' from the locals.

Now, if you're at Cummington this weekend, be sure to stop by the Foxfire Fiber booth between 11am and 1pm and say hello! I so love this time of year. I love festivals. I may have to buy a batt this time. . . . or maybe a whole fleece . . .

Dear Mr. Wonderful

I love you. You know that I love you. I might even use words/phrases like "adore" and "suffer from extreme co-dependecy with" and possibly "cannot live without but would adjust if I had to". But somedays it is difficult to live with you when you don't understand the simplest things about my life, what I do, and who I am. When I say things like "I need a Bohus kit." the response "You already have yarn." is not appropriate. Wrong answer, honey. Yes. I have yarn. I have lots and lots and lots of yarn. I am lousy with it. I could provide enough socks out of stash to last both of us into the nursing home. I have enough sweater-projects in stash to keep us clothed into eternity. But I do not have yarn hand dyed by a Norwegian woman in her mudroom in a sausage cooker in the perfect shades of Bohus, made from rabbit and sheep, that knits at the right gauge for a correct Bohus. You are, in short, KILLING ME with your refusal to comprehend why I need to spend $200 on More Yarn. I will try to explain.
This is Bohus.











Well, actually it's not exactly Bohus, but that's another story. This is Bohus:









This is yarn I don't have. It's yarn unlike any yarn I own, except for the wristlet kit I got yesterday. This is yarn that only comes from Norway. It is only available from one place on earth - well, two if you include the museum. But still it's yarn that isn't available at Webs for store credit if I just whip out another design or two. It's not yarn I can get on sale. It's not something I can just spin up either, so don't even go there, because I can see a glimmer of hope forming. I could spin it, but I could never get the colors right. I can't make, beg, borrow or steal this yarn. It has to be bought with kroners at the current exchange rate from someone in Norway. And this is yarn I NEED. I know you don't totally get the "need" yarn thing. Let me find a way to make it relevent to you.
OK - you think you "need" this, right?
And let's not even mention the other one in the garage that you need more, and that cost more. So let's pretend, just for the hell of it, that those two things (one shown, one too shy for the camera) that you "need" are yarn. Let's say they're Bohus yarn. Those two things you need?? They equal about 20 Bohus kits. TWENTY. And that's at the price you paid for the damn things, not their actual value. If we're going by value then I think 40 kits would be more appropriate. Just so you see my point. So if you want to know where your bikes are, well, when the 40 Bohus sweater kits (or 80 mitten and scarf sets) you're buying me arrive from Norway, I'll give them back.
Enough of him. That man who's made me sad by not spoiling me at the level I would prefer to be accustomed. That man who thinks money does NOT grow on trees (who tells him these things???)
This weekend I was priviledged to sit in on two classes led by Susanna Hansson - The Mittens of Rovaniemi on Saturday and Bohus Stickning on Sunday. I was VERY happy to be able to convince Mary to attend Saturday class and am even more excited that she's hooked. I liked the mitten class, and I find the technique compelling. No sharing though - later this winter (Jan/Feb) you can buy a copy of Piecework magazine and find out all about it. Also in attendance were knit bloggers Tamara, Lisa, Carol, Sara, Laura and Teresa, and ravelers MsKhofhinn(Laura), LizzyJaine (Liz, former student who suffered for two days with itchy allergy eyes that would have sent a lesser woman packing) and Lizzieknits (Lani).
On Sunday Eliza-who-works-at-Webs arrived, carrying her two personal Bohus sweaters purchased for her by her mother in Norway in the 50's when she was a kid. And she actually wore them. "With everything..." she said, and into her 30's she recalls. They're unbelievably pristine considering the abuse they must have suffered at the hands of a teenager. I love Girl, but cannot imagine her being as careful with a garment as young Eliza apparently was. I have been fascinated by the Bohus tradition since I read Poems of Color. My obsession is multi-pronged. The artistry, the use of purl stitches to hide some colors while popping others, the amazing use of some pretty dramatic colors that you'd never expect to see, and really don't see unless you're eyeball to eyeball with the garment or the charts...and the story; the history. Women helping their families survive at a time when jobs for the men had dried up; knitting sweaters after the day's chores were done...I just love the appeal of that story. The dedication of Emma Jacobssen to a project she probably wasn't at first remotely interested in but felt duty bound to initiate, sacrificing her personal goals for the greater good. And these are not "just sweaters". This is high fashion, couture created in little farmhouses all over Norway. I highly, highly, highly recommend this class. I begged for it based on the theory that I'd never get far enough from home to take anything with Susanna. Now we need Lucy Neatby and Debbie New. And Cat Bordhi. And and and....and I'll let you know when the 40 sweater (or 80 scarf and hat) kits arrive from Norway. Um. But don't hold your breath. If you want to help my cause, you can vote in the coments section - Should Mr. Wonderful let Melissaknits get at least one Bohus kit, yes or no?

**After many requests, we have BLACK 2-at-a-time shirts in the Cafe Press shop! It's also available in red.**