For two women who taught me.

Sitting on your couch,
Holding sea shells far from home,
I watch you crochet,
your hands and hook dripping lace
that foams on your lap.

Your children beg you,
"Come to Florida, with us"
But hills are your home,
So you teach me old ways,
hoping memory will live.

********

In the county home,
Dark, dusty, lonely, sad
I come to visit,
for you have magic hands
that can crochet new worlds

Bright colored cheap yarn
brings sunshine indoors to you,
Making new flowers
I sit on your bed, learning,
your hands guiding mine.

Those plastic bags

Over at her blog, Salihah by Sea, Salihah wrote about jurisdictions trying to cut down on plastic bag waste. Now, I have a largish collection of grungy-looking canvas bags (even when they've been washed, they still look grungy. *sigh*) and even one cute little heart shaped bag - it's actually a grocery sized bag that folds down into it's own zippered pouch - useful, handy, and very, very cute. There is also a version that is a rectangle. The cute bag lives in my craft bag that goes everywhere with me, along with my crochet hook collection and a few random balls of yarn. That way, any impulse grocery runs can be easily cloth bagged, and I try to remember a few of the grungy bags for larger runs.

But I also have a work in progress that I consider both incredibly appropriate and well, hard on the hands. I'm crocheting a bag out of plastic shopping bags. Essentially, you cut the bags into strips, then use the strips as yarn. It's slow going, not just because I'm making the "yarn" as well as crocheting it, but because I can't do it for very long at any one time - there's no stretch or give at all. Even cotton, which is notoriously hard on the hands, is easier. I also found along the way, that 1 grocery bag makes up nicely into 1 "scrubby" - cut the bag in a spiral after removing the bottom seam (while most instructions tell you to cut off the handles, too, I just sort of incorporate them in the spiral). Then crochet a circle using all the plastic. If you just hold it in your hand, it will feel soft, like a bunched up plastic bag (which it essentially is), but if you rub it against your hand, you can feel how it works as a scrubbie.

I'm back.

Caught up on my rest some after the grand train adventure. We wound up going sleeper car both ways, and it was lovely. While the "roomette" accomodations are indeed tiny (there was essentially no room for more than my husband's messenger bag, my small handwork bag, our coats and our two selves), they were plenty comfortable, with room to stretch out a little, a fold-out table, and a tiny closet. Meals were included, and while the selection was limited (it might be difficult to maintain a strict diet for more than a day on board), the service was prompt and the food reasonably tasty.

And they provided a space to go for quiet. While we enjoyed meeting many people over meals, it was also nice to be able to go to our own space and shut the door. In the dining car, we met train enthusiasts, a Katrina relief worker and his wife travelling to relatives, a professional dancer on vacation, a woman travelling to a school reunion and other interesting people.

I think if I were travelling with children, the train would have to be my first choice - on our way out, there were two infants on the same car with us, and a family with children. Unlike air travel, there were no major pressure adjustments, even as we travelled through the Appalachian mountains, since we mostly rode along the valleys. There was room to move about for the older children, and even my husband and I found ourselves practically glued to the windows, stopping only to sleep and eat.

The scenery was fabulous: from rolling hills and tumbling rivers to the vast open expanses of the Plains. At night, we found ourselves watching the Christmas decorations flow by. One house was plainly waiting for the train, because as we passed, they blinked the lights and waved to us. On the way back, we were able to tell when we passed the Eastern Great Divide, simply by watching the waters beside us - and watching the Potomac turn from a tiny mountain stream to the churning whitewater near Harper's Ferry was incredible.

Frequently, we found ourselves saying, "That town looks interesting. Can you tell where we are?" We were grateful for local businesses, because they often incorporate the name of the area, or prominant local features. Also, they were often nicer to look at.

As we left Chicago, we passed a large shipping yard and were simply blown away by the volume of freight containers - One part, we weren't sure - was that a warehouse made of freight containers, or simply a stack? We found ourselves thinking about the incredible wealth of a nation that produces those vast yards of food and goods. How can it be possible that we have created a system where so many lack basic heathcare? How could that happen?

Frequently, especially in some of those small towns, or along the rocky gorges of the Appalachians, we found ourselves wishing we could somehow both ride the train to see what comes next, and also that we could get out and explore the treasures that we passed...

I guess what I'm saying is... Wow, what a ride!

Excuse me?

The New York Times has an article on those of us fools and nutcases who would prefer to see less waste over the holidays. It is, of course, presented as those austere green grinches verses the merry traditionalists.

*sigh*

My er... favorite part of the article is the characterization of a "call for less excessive consumption during the holidays" as "un- American". Oy.

For the record, my gifts, mostly homemade, all in reusable bags or containers, are also ones that I think the recipients will enjoy. For those who can't or shouldn't have sweets, I'll be roasting cashews with spices and including a card with the recipe. Frankly, small gifts of handmade candy rarely wind up in the trash. And since I'm putting the effort in, anyway, I can personalize the gifts with little additional work: an initial worked in a crocheted cloth is not difficult, once you've already decided to do the cloth. Nor is choosing colors that the person enjoys to begin with. And I don't think the recipient of that gift will be tossing it, either.

And apparantly, they ran a different version of the same story last year. Come on, people, this isn't difficult. (And just a hint: it's a good idea to turn the thermostat down during parties, because lots of people in a small space generate plenty of heat. It gets warm fast if you don't.)

Random thoughts

I'm so amazed by my friends. One friend mentioned Quilts of Valor, an organization that provides quilts for the soldiers who are returning wounded, so another just whipped up a quilt top. Just like that. Boom. And with the leftovers from that, she's doing another couple quilts for the Linus Project. And silly me, I wasn't sure that they'd be as enthusiastic about the next blanket. I already have squares on offer. Wow.

And that same friend who just sewed up a quilt top was interested in one of the hyperbolic crochet pieces I did, so I'm doing another. Wave forms in blue... it's gorgeous. This one, I think I'll get a picture of for my flickr page before handing it on.

It feels a little strange to document the pieces I'm doing. I wonder if it's that I'm used to a more ephemeral art - storytelling, that isn't easily captured. Even if I were filmed while storytelling, it's hard to capture the full experience. And, of course, the same is true of other art forms. A picture or even a print is hardly the same as standing in a room with one of Matisse's papercuts.

But one other thing that I wonder is if perhaps I am acting as other women have, minimizing the art of our hands. A doily is often presented as the ultimate fussy accessory - a useless thing that must be kept neat, primarily owned by fussy old women. And yet - look at one, sometime. I have pineapple stitched doilies that amaze me. There are cobwebby pieces so fine that you can barely see the threads. And elegantly simple pieces - linen battenburg lace comes to mind...

And yet, how often do we know anything about the skilled women who produced these incredible works of art? Especially if said woman was poor or a member of a minority?

In an earlier comment on the finished blanket, Peterson Toscano asked me whether I felt deity-like when I finished and saw what I had created. If it's really big, it can take me time to realize I've really actually finished. The blanket was one of those. I kept looking at it, wondering what else I should do, even as I *knew* I wouldn't be doing anything else. Finished. And yet...

For me, the moment when I feel deity-like is when I'm in the actual process of creation. I can do anything with this piece - where will it go? What will I do? Will I learn a new stitch, or throw a different inflection in my voice at that point? For this audience, should I tell this story or that one? Funny? Sad? A teaching story? In traditional style, or with lots of movement? Or perhaps I'm making a card...

One of the concepts that really called to me in Judaism is the idea of tikkun olam - building the world. The idea is that God is still creating the world, and that people were created to assist in the work of Creation. We are called to help bring just dealing to the world, to make it a better place to be. When I'm engaged in that act of creation, I feel like I'm a small part of the Act of Creation, not so much a deity myself as a partner in work.

The rabbis have a way of teaching the idea: the blessing over bread translates to "Blessed are You, Sovereign of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth." Except that bread doesn't grow - wheat does, and then must be harvested, threshed, ground, mixed, allowed to rise, formed into loaves, and baked. By praising God for bringing forth bread, we are acknowleging our role as partners in the act of creation.

Cold out today

Brrrr.

Crocheted on the way to work on the train this morning. The good thing is that I got a lot done. The bad thing is that I can't find a particular square. I'm really hoping that I didn't drop it, since it's one of the ones I really like, and not only that, but I can't get more of the yarn easily. Meh. I'm hoping I'm lucky and that it's sitting at home where I dropped it before heading off to work this morning, or else that I forgot it in my friend's house last night, or in the car when transporting it back. At least I have a picture, even if it's gone.

The crochet hooks arrived last night, and they weren't the size I was expecting, but I'm not too bothered by that, since they're lace hooks, and I do use lace hooks.