making explorations

“I’m making explorations. I don’t know where they’re going to take me.” — Marshall McLuhan

I’ve recently embarked on a new creative exploration, and in the spirit of Show Your Work, I’ve decided to reboot this space. I’d say I am taking a break from fabric and yarn, but I’m making good progress on my Noro striped scarf and have a blanket border going, also.

If you’ve been following me on Instagram, you know I’ve been running my way through the pandemic. When the days started getting shorter and colder, I knew I would need something to keep me going through the winter. Around that same time, I received an email invitation to CAMP — an online community for exploring creative play. 

I found Joanne on Instagram a few years ago and commissioned one of her house portraits for my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. I could just tell from her creative portfolio that this was something I wanted to join. 

The above watercolor is from a CAMP class hosted by Nve Art Studio. I added the quote afterward. I’m not sure where these new explorations will take me, but I’m excited to start showing my work again. 

wip: noro striped scarf


on Instagram: https://instagr.am/p/CMXzoxohz1a/

I started this on the way to Michigan last week. It’s the Noro striped scarf inspired by Brooklyn Tweed but with Kureyon instead of Silk Garden. I’ve had to fudge the colors a bit to make it work. This has been something I’ve wanted to knit for years and I love how it is turning out.

raising my daughter in the resistance

women's march

At the first Women’s March we were driven by Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Alexander Hamilton — If you stand for nothing, what will you fall for?…Rise Up! We were encouraged by Hillary Clinton’s concession message to girls — Never doubt that you are valuable, and powerful, and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world to pursue and achieve your own dreams. We channeled our Carrie Fischer grief with images of Princes Leia — A women’s place is in the resistance. The new administration was only a day old. We had our fears, but it was hard to comprehend the reality.

I had knit a hat, but wasn’t sure about it. I figured I’d take it and give it away. My 10-year-old daughter convinced me to wear it. She had her own with cat ears that I made for her when she was in kindergarten. It was a little too small, but I was impressed with her enthusiasm. I suggested something simple for her sign like Fight Like a Girl, but she chose Rosa Parks — The only tired I was, was tired of giving in.

It was an unusually warm and sunny day for January in the Heartland. The march was bigger than we expected — a lot of people for a tiny blue dot in a big red state. The mood was empowering and the sense of community was overwhelming. We left feeling high on unity, passion, and hope. A week later our high came crashing down when the president signed an executive order many of us saw as a Muslim ban.

2017 was an exhausting year: Charlottesville, #MeToo, Paris Agreement, Las Vegas, Little Rocket Man, Harvey/Irma/Maria, executive orders, tweets, and so much more endless breaking news. Processing everything was hard as an adult. Watching my daughter process it was even harder. Being a kid today is so different than when I was growing up. Cable news didn’t exist until I was in college. The news ticker didn’t start until September 11th. Breaking news wasn’t pushed to a phone in my pocket. These days I mute, turn off, and try my best to limit her exposure. Then I wind up glued to a screen in my hand while hundreds of think pieces shame me for not being a present parent.

Over the summer my daughter turned 11 — officially a tween. She went from elementary to middle school, the oldest kid to the newest one, knowing the ropes to learning locker combinations. Even though we held off on the big social media websites, she used Google for homework, watched videos on YouTube, and had chat in Minecraft. We talked about sponsored posts, online ads, and the dreaded comment section. One morning she received a news alert about Matt Lauer. Just another thing I had to turn off.

Generation X may have felt like we had the weight of the world on our shoulders, but children growing up these days really do. While they are discovering their sense of self, dealing with hormones, and navigating bullies, they’re hearing about shootings at schools, trucks crashing into crowds, and explosions at rock concerts. I remember watching The Day After in eighth grade and thinking how impossible it all seemed. Now the president tweets threats to a dictator with nuclear weapons.

At this age, children begin using the critical thinking skills they learned in elementary school to analyze and question the world around them. When my daughter was younger, I promised her I’d never lie to her. These days that means self-editing breaking news on the fly into words and concepts that are age appropriate, like explaining the recent media interest in the first lady:

Me: Stormy Daniels is to Donald Trump kind of like how Maria Reynolds was to Alexander Hamilton.

Her: Oh. [thinks a moment] Oooohhhh.

Sometimes I admit I don’t have an answer. Too often I tell her she may be better off not knowing. Most of the time she wants to know anyway. Subjects that seemed difficult to talk about last year seem so commonplace now. Sadly, the more you practice talking about sexual assault, mass shootings, and terrorist attacks, the easier the discussions become.

Getting ready for this year’s Women’s March felt different. She wanted to go, but getting up and away from the computer seemed like a chore. We had gathered our things by the door, but at the last minute she decided not to wear her hat. It was too small, “made her hair look weird,” and looked too childish. The weather was cold and dreary. It matched the mood of the past year. But then we started to see friends. We laughed at smart and witty signs. The singing and clapping lifted our spirits. After a year of questioning how I was raising this young person in our crazy environment of current events, I felt like I hadn’t screwed up. I was doing an OK job.

We left the march early because middle schoolers shun coats for hoodies. As we walked back to the parking garage, I offered her my hat. She protested it was her arms and feet that were cold, not her head, but reluctantly took it. After glancing at her reflection in a store window, she mentioned it didn’t make her hair look weird. A few minutes later she decided she liked it (and that it was, indeed, warming her up). I watched as she walked a little ahead of me, seemingly lost in thought. I snapped a picture to remember the moment.

By the time we were at the car, she decided she wanted one of her own. A grown-up hat for herself, for next year. “Maybe after the 2018 elections we’ll have something to celebrate,” she said. I hope so. There is no doubt this year will bring many changes, more growing up, more learning as a parent, and much more navigating our crazy politics. One thing that won’t change is the sign I march with — Here’s to strong women. May we know them, may we be them, may we raise them.

a little fox, with a little help

It was a Black Friday impulse purchase. My daughter loves foxes. I had intended on buying a fox oil painting kit and wound up with a fox felting kit in the cart, too. The paints have not been opened.

felted fox

I read something a long time ago about a mom who straightened her daughter’s knitting rows late at night. Friends told her that was cheating — she was robbing her daughter of something she truly made herself. I’ve never forgotten her response. She said evening out the stitches was just a little boost to help her daughter continue falling in love with the craft while she climbed the learning curve.

I think about that a lot. At our local paint-it-yourself store, there’s a sign that discourages parents from helping their children. If they see parents helping too much, they will charge an extra fee. While I appreciate this sentiment, sometimes my child wants help. I am not about to say no if it will help her stay in love with creating.

felted fox

I always offer and I’m mostly turned down, but my daughter knows I’m there if she needs me. Sometimes it’s adding a sharpie outline to Hogwarts crests because details on round surfaces are hard. Other times it’s saving a felted fox from having a football-shaped head.

When we help children over creative speed bumps, we help them learn to love creating. When they see us struggle, and rip apart, and re-felt football-shaped heads, they see even adults don’t always get it right on the first try. Sometimes your idea can inspire them to fix it themselves.

felted fox

Then, when you’re not paying attention, they’re finished with a fox, a mouse, and working on a little chick. They have dug into your into your wool stash and book collection, and they no longer need your help. Well, maybe a little with the chick beak.

felted fox

stash: This is the bag of wool I had in my stash. The mouse and chick patterns are from Kyuuto Japanese Crafts, the Fuzzy Felted Friends book. We upgraded to a better needle when the kit one broke. Little chick photo to come.

new halloween traditions

country pumpkin

We had never been to a pumpkin patch before living in Nebraska. Our first visit was short and cold. It wasn’t until our daughter was a little older that we discovered all the fun things our local pumpkin place had to offer. It quickly became a tradition with different friends and different levels of play as she got older. This year she decided that she might be too old for tradition, so we came up with something new.

country pumpkin

country pumpkin

On Sunday afternoon we drove west toward Sutton to a little store called the Country Pumpkin. I found out about it from a friend on facebook. We avoided the interstate and played music. We learned you’re not too old to say “cow” and “train” when you see them. We discovered pumpkin soft serve ice cream.

country pumpkin

country pumpkin

The store is small and cute. The trip is long enough to be fun and relaxing without being too much. The squash are out of this world. Upon leaving, our daughter declared, “Let’s do this again next year!” Another tradition is born.

country pumpkin

waterdoodles

I bought some Pentel Aquash Water Brush Pens before vacation and spent time at the beach trying to learn how they handle. I really don’t know what I’m doing with watercolors — just going with the flow. I like taking pictures along the way. The final piece never turns out how I envision it. Hoping to practice letterforms with these pens soon.

summer reading: the futures

I watched the banking crisis from afar, on my small kitchen television in Nebraska, with a two year old running around. It felt surreal and far away, perhaps how September 11th felt to people outside the Capitol Beltway. This book takes you deep into Wall Street, into the lives of a couple that would be forever changed by the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression. Two recent college graduates living in a shoebox apartment not even sure if they’re meant to be together deal with some of the most common relationship stresses during extraordinary times. There are secrets, hard decisions, betrayals, and devastating outcomes. Can their relationship survive? I read it in less than 24 hours. It was slow starting and then all the sudden I couldn’t put it down.

The Futures by Anna Pitoniak

pink power

Me: How are you doing? A little nervous?
Her: Yeah.
Me: Is it because you’ve never been to a march before?
Her: Yeah.
Me: Does it help to know that I haven’t either?
Her: Really?
Me: I never felt like I had to before.

I finished knitting around midnight and put the hat on my head. It looked ridiculous. I figured I’d take it anyway and maybe give it away. The next morning my daughter encouraged me to wear it. Pictures came in from all over the world: a sea of pink. I live in a small blue dot in a very big red state. It feels lonely sometimes. Today it did not.

Lots of people are uncomfortable with the name of this hat. However enough people were comfortable electing a man who uses it to the highest office in our country. I did a quick search on Facebook for the word vulgar. It’s amazing how many Trump supporters did not like women using the word pussy today. I can’t quite figure that out.

This week I heard something on the radio that has stuck with me: marches don’t change policy, but they create a movement, they start a conversation. I like that. And I’m glad I wore my #Pussyhat.