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Serenity Sundays

Sunshine.  A trail through the forest.  Two little boys ready to explore.

A peaceful Sunday to you.

We Forgot How to Play…

Toyland….

Once you pass its borders

You can never return again

***

(If you’re so inspired, right click, and open a new window here for music to read this post to.)

I woke up this morning after the kids.  I use my cell phone as an alarm clock, since E is jarred by the sound of your typical alarm clock (honestly, who wouldn’t be?  And who decided that a screechy BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! would be the ideal way to wake up millions of people each morning.  No wonder we’re all grumpy before 10.  But I digress).  I have the cell phone alarm set on a Monday-thru-Friday cycle, even though they don’t have preschool on Friday.  Well, last night I forgot to turn it off, and lo and behold, the one morning that they didn’t have to get up when it went off, they did.

I snuggled under the blankets for a few extra minutes, waiting for the inevitable moment that one of them would come up and ask for breakfast, or for me to read them a book, or to break up a quarrel.  But today, they played.  And played.  And I happily was content to just lie in bed and listen.

There’s something so natural to children about play.  I know it’s been said before, that play is the “work” of childhood, but what is it that causes play to come so naturally to children?  My mother came over last night with a large cardboard box, and instantly, both children knew exactly what to do – it was a sheep pen, then it was a cave to hide out in.  A birthday present – puddle of mud – a bridge – their imaginations knew no borders.  And as for me, I calculated the best time to bring it to the trash without overloading the bin, decided it would be easier to take out whole than breaking it down, and wondered if it would last long enough to store some toys in before it was broken down by the children.

Then I stopped.  Why is it so natural for children to play and not for adults?  Is it something we learn not to do?  Is it biological?  Do our brains change?  I remember my sister and I, as little girls, laughing to ourselves how boring it was for the grown ups to be sitting around talking when we were playing.  We felt pity for them.  They were missing so much fun!  Now we laugh at the irony because we’re the ones sitting around, while my children play and have fun.

Fun… sometimes I don’t think I even know how to have fun.  I know the satisfaction of accomplishing a goal, and the feeling of contentment that comes at the end of the night, when the children are happily asleep, the house is clean and I can breathe and appreciate the blessings in my life.  I enjoy the relaxation of cuddling with my boys on a cold, rainy day in front of the window, watching the rain fall and smelling the fresh, cool air.

But I don’t know if I’d consider any of those things fun. I watch my children play.  They know what fun is.  They know how to make fun every day.  Every moment.

“Lighthearted pleasure” is how an online dictionary describes “fun”, and I struggle to remember the last time that “lighthearted pleasure” trumped “responsibilities” and “what needs to be done”.  I was always a lover of responsibility.  I remember playing house with my sister, and spending inordinate amounts of time doing “pretend” chores – washing the pretend dishes, doing the pretend laundry, and cleaning and arranging the house.  Funny how my “play” back then has become my reality now… do I consider cooking and cleaning to be my version of fun?  I wonder sometimes….

The thing about play and adulthood is that it seems to be so universal.  It doesn’t seem to be a cultural thing, or something from any particular historical time period.  And how is it that playing even becomes a chore sometimes?  Why is it, when my son begs: “Play with me, Mama!” that sometimes doing the dishes sounds like more “fun”?  Where and when did I lose this gift?  Why did I lose it?  And most importantly, how do I make sure my children hang on to it for as long as possible?

Isn’t it ironic that as children, we want so much to be grown-ups, to not have to answer to anyone, or to go to bed when someone else tells us?  But when we finally reach adulthood, we realize how precious our childhoods really were – and the awful reality that we cannot ever reclaim that pure, childhood innocence again.  Time and again, in stories, movies, newspaper articles and biographies that I read, I realize how very important childhood is to the adult.  Sometimes it seems that childhood is the very essence of what we hold the rest of our lives in comparison to.

My heart begs: Please help me to make my children’s childhood the most magical, wonderful time that they can look back on with happy hearts for the rest of their lives.

As I laid in bed those last few minutes before waking up to find the youngest had accidentally peed all over the kitchen floor, and that the huge stack of dishes that I “took the night off” from putting in the dishwasher had attracted a swarm of appreciative fruit flies, I listened to my children happily shrieking as they joyfully chased and imagined with each other through their home.  Their bubbling preschool giggles made me smile despite myself and my overabundance of practicality.

My children are happy.  I may not know how to have fun, but I can take immense gratitude that my children do.  And I am so incredibly grateful for the opportunity to make the childhood of two little boys the most magical and joyful childhood possible.

A Rainbow Afghan

One of my most loved projects of the past year is the Rainbow Afghan I did in the cold winter months.  It started out as a New Year’s resolution – I had found the pattern online as a beginning crocheter and had it in my bookmarks through the years, transferred over from computer to computer.  To be honest, I can’t even tell you how many projects have been in my bookmarks from time to time, but this was one of those projects that I kept thinking about – one day, I’m going to make that Rainbow Afghan!  So finally, I did.

It had been a while since I’d crocheted with Red Heart Super Saver.  Yarn purists may cringe, but there is something so completely satisfying about $2 yarn with no dye lot that lets me feel more free – free to make mistakes, to try new things, to throw caution to the wind.  Eli has an aversion to wool as it is, so anything that I want to be in use has to be a non-wool, and try as I might, I just do not enjoy cotton… but anyway, I took $20 and stocked up on the essential colors in the deep of January winter and started this cheery, colorful afghan.

As I had imagined, it was incredibly enjoyable to crochet.  In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever crocheted a full-sized afghan in my life in as little amount of time as I did this one. Here is the site I picked it up from and here are my Raverly notes.  I added a border and reversed the direction of the rainbow (Roy G. Biv, right?… although, now that I look at it, I left the indigo out.)  I added a bottom ripple border as well as some fringe, for the heck of it.

It’s so cheerful.  It was the perfect winter pick-me-up.  I originally intended to make this for one of my children, but sometimes life pushes art into another direction.  So I’m donating this afghan to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation in a silent auction in March 2012, where almost 90 percent of every dollar spent by the foundation is used directly to advance its mission.  I’m so pleased that this little afghan will help somebody, somewhere.

Coming up with an artist statement and estimated value is a bit daunting and intimidating, however.  Luckily, I have some time to work on that.  Or maybe I’ll just be… silent.  Rainbows tend to speak for themselves, don’t they?

Back to Blogging

I took some time off from blogging.  And now I’m back.  I have so much to share from this past year and there are so many of you that I want to catch up with.  I’ll probably be revamping this blog a little bit, and some of the posts that I had put to “private” I will update eventually without the more personal information that I posted to keep in touch with family.

I love fall.  Most people consider January to be their time of new beginnings, but the return of autumn has always marked the New Year for me.  Maybe that goes back to being in school.  I always loved the idea of a new school year ahead of me – one with a blank slate, a chance to start over… I loved all the new school supplies to replace last year’s wrinkled notebooks, stubby pencil erasers and ink-stained bookbags.  My mom always made a big deal about our new back to school wardrobes – it was the time of year where everything was tried on, and everything that didn’t fit was put away.  We had a special “first day of school” outfit that she would get us, paying attention to all the little details, like matching earrings and shoes.  I always love the anticipation of a fresh start.

And here I am, with autumn starting in just a day, starting again.  Today, as it was raining, my littlest one called me over to the window, saying “Mommy, come watch the rain with me.”  As the other boy wandered over, we three sat there in silence, appreciating the magic of a summer rainfall.  And after a few moments, I told them: “See the tree over there?  Look at the leaves that are closest to the street.”  They looked. “They’re RED!” Elliott cheered.  Bouncing commenced as they exclaimed, “fall is here!  Fall is here!”  That, my friends, is what makes this fall even more special than any of the others.  This year, my boys are old enough to understand and anticipate the changing of the seasons.  This year, they know what lies ahead – juicy apples, trick-or-treating, jumping in piles of leaves and toasty hats and scarves.

And no one is more excited than Mama this year.  Usually, our Septembers are scorching, sometimes even hotter than our summer months.  This year, though, temperatures have been much cooler.  We’ve been wearing our sweaters in the morning and long pants throughout the day.  I don’t know if we’ll get our typical Indian summer or not, but we’re happy to make the most of whatever comes our way.  For me, though, these cooler days just extend the autumn season a little more.  Whereas I usually don’t start thinking of making hats and mittens when it’s 90 degrees out, I’ve already been planning two little hats for two little boys… along with something special for me!  New beginnings, indeed.

For those of you who have asked me about the belly casting and how it was done, I’m going to put together a tutorial or video for you to explain how I did it.  I’m so glad you love it as much as we do and that it’s an inspiration to some.  My little love who helped me grow to that shape is 3 years old now!  I love that I’ll always have that reminder of the times before he was born. 

The Roller Coaster of Granny Squares

All the images of little old ladies sitting placidly in rocking chairs crocheting are wrong.  At least, from my perspective.  Crocheting, especially granny squares, is like a roller coaster.

There’s the anticipation.
The same way you see that crazy roller coaster off in the distance and think to yourself, man, I want to ride on THAT one! is the same sort of excitement I get when I find a beautiful pattern to crochet.  Oooh, look at this pattern!  It’s beautiful! I could do that!

There’s the preparation.
Waiting in line for the coaster, watching everyone else on it… I liken that to the whirlwind of color selection, yarn selection, oooh, I wonder if I should try this yarn that I’ve been watching…. or maybe I should use up that yellow yarn I bought but haven’t used.  Ooh, these make a great combination!

It begins!
The project starts in a flurry of motivation.  Stitch, loop, over and around.  All those other afghans took a couple of months, I bet this one will be done in a week!  Wow, has it already been five hours?  This is so much fun, wheeee!

Then, it plunges.
Tedium, boredom.  Another square?  Exactly the same as before?  Haven’t I done a hundred of these yet?  No, only thirty-five?  Big sigh…. Maybe if I can do twenty a day I’ll be done by the end of the week. Start another square.  Yarn over, pick up a loop.

Another peak!
Hooray, the squares are finished!  Let me lay them down on the floor to see how beautiful they look together!  Ahhh, all my hard work, look at it, it’s wonderful!  It’s almost done!  This is so exciting!

Another drop.
Mutter… grumble… weaving in ends is NOT crocheting.  Sew, weave, grumble, sigh.  Aagh, how can I only be halfway done, I’ve been weaving these in for a week!

And finally, completion.
I did it!  I went on that coaster! See that coaster there?  Yep, I went on it.  I made that afghan!  I did it, look!  Isn’t it great!  I made it with my own hands!  It used to be just a bundle of yarn, but now we can cuddle up to it and the kids can play in it!

There’s something so innately fulfilling about seeing a project come to completion.   But it’s definitely not a calm little hobby for me.  Up and down, like a roller coaster.  Who says crocheting isn’t exciting? 

I haven’t kept up with this blog for a very long time.

It’s not that I’ve forgotten about it.  I can’t count how many times I’ve come and started a post, only to close out and leave it.  Part of the problem is that I am having trouble articulating why I want this blog.  And how much of myself I want to expose.

Crafting is a huge part of who I am.  I love to share, I love to learn and browse other people’s projects, and especially crochet.  But it’s not all of who I am, and a blog with random crafts without the guts of the story behind them feels sort of an empty way to share.  On the other hand, I struggle with privacy issues – for myself but especially for my children.  How safe is it to print their names, their images?  These are questions that I can’t answer and keep vacillating between.

And how much of myself do I want to share?  A private person by nature, I am unsure of the line between spilling my heart out and showing so much restraint that there’s no personality left to read about.

There are some blogs out there that I frequent that just seem to be all too perfect.  It’s a lovely (if inaccurate) image, but one that’s all too easy to envy and to compare yourself to … coming up short.   I am far from perfect, and I can’t portray myself that way without feeling like a complete and utter sham.

So, what’s left for this blog to be?  I’d like it to be a place where I can meet friends.  I’d love to meet those who like my crafting and whose own ideas I admire as well.  I’d like to meet people with friends and family on the autism spectrum, as this is something new our family is dealing with.  I’d like to tell the stories of my soul and learn the stories of others’ souls.  I’d like to just crochet, crochet, crochet (and maybe knit a little, too, in there).

I’m sure I’ll find my voice in due time, but right now I think it’s time to just take that first step again.

I hope you join me.

Works in Progress…

There’s something about having many things going at once that is so pleasing to me.  Even though I try to limit myself to two or three crochet projects at one time, I am constantly working on other projects as well – especially when inspiration strikes.  It feels less like a chore to work on what I’m in the mood for – be it drawing at night with a glass of wine, crocheting through the day while my little ones run circles around me, or to get that quilt finally laid out (while strips become imaginative toys here and there in the  process!).  Of course, there’s no better feeling of satisfaction to finish a project, but looking around my home at all the handmade love and promises of things to be fill me with comfort.

Woolfest 2010

What a wonderful way to return to this blog of mine – Woolfest 2010!  Held in Kirtland, OH, we made the long trek out there yesterday to see a huge assortment of sheep, goat, alpacas, and beautiful wool.

I have been looking forward to this for weeks!  Honestly, it felt like Christmas morning to me.  A chance to see and feel all the different types of fibers, see the beautifully dyed and handspun yarn, hearing the bleating of the sheep; it was a sensory feast.

For a newbie spinner like me, it was also an invaluable resource.  I sought out all the Ashford Traditionals on the floor and asked a ton of questions, watched as many demonstrations as I could, and took a lot of mental notes.  As many books as I read on spinning, for me, nothing is the same as actually watching (and doing!).

And seeing the handiwork of all these talented people was such a delight.  Handspun yarn hung from corner to corner: soft, delicate yarns, hardy and strong yarn, brilliantly colored yarn and natural, straight from the sheep yarn.

And even more than yarns, there was roving all around.  I had joked to my mother-in-law (who went with me) that I could easily have dropped all sorts of money on the beautiful roving, but my frugal nature forces me to hold off… at least until next year, when (hopefully) I’ll be better at the wheel so as not to waste all the beautiful fiber on practice…

Even beyond the roving and yarn, the wheels and looms, there was so much to be learned.  I had never even heard of a lucet before today.  However, as demonstrated by the vendor from Homestead Acres from Ionia, Michigan, it has been around since the 1500s, used to make decorative cords for embellishment.  I find it amazing how brilliant our ancestors were at creating such beautiful designs with such simple items.  Here is the lucet that Homestead Acres demonstrated on

We stayed for a few hours, or until the hot sun made my little ones tired and ready for home.  What a treat, though, to have a festival so wonderfully dedicated to fibers the way Woolfest is.  I had a great time, and can’t wait to return next year!

Spinning Wheel Goes Round and Round…

Merrily cheerily noisily whirring
Swings the wheel spins the wheel while the foot’s stirring
Sprightly and lightly and merrily ringing
Sounds the sweet voice of the young maiden singing…

A holiday gift from my beloved that took a l-o-n-g time to get here… but was worth every second of the wait.  Ashford Traditional, double drive, single treadle… or, as will always be known as, my first spinning wheel.

I would have loved to have added the quill spindle and distaff, but with little ones running around (and being not so graceful myself!) I think I’ll master the process and wait until furniture isn’t fun to play on anymore before setting up a distaff!

My first attempt came out… uh, sort of interesting.  But I’ve got to start somewhere.  I have grand visions of glittering wool, dotted with flecks of sparkling color, hand dyed with roots from my garden and spun into a perfect, even weight. Right now, though, it’s time to sit down and start with the basics.