I'm peeved.

Rae and I decided to have a "girls night out" camping trip, since both of us have been positively itching all summer to get our tents out and enjoy the outdoors. And at the last minute, realized we could both do it this weekend. Wah-hoo! So, I set about to look for a campground that would be suitably close to where we want to go, reasonably priced, and reachable by a Civic. (At least one of the campgrounds would have required a somewhat higher slung vehicle.)

And realized I was going to have to put one more requirement in: must not seek to inquire into my domestic arrangements. One campground put right up on its website that it would only rent its campsites to families consisting of a mom, a dad, and dependent children. Excuse me? I don't believe I can have understood you correctly. Are you implying that I could not go camping with my sister, my brother, my cousin, or my parents (now that I'm an adult)? And of course, friends never go camping together. Is this how far narrow minded bigotry has led you?

Right then. State parks do not inquire into my wish to go camping with a friend, but will simply allow me to drive right up to the ranger station, fork over my portraits of George Washington, and pitch my tent in the spot indicated by the ranger. They do not inquire into my relationships, my morals, or my definition of "family".

They will charge me a little extra if I try to shoehorn more than 6 people into an individual campsite, but otherwise do not inquire into my intended arrangements, other than to recommend that I put any unconsumed food into a bear canister and don't wear the clothing I cooked in to bed. I think I can manage that.

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.