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Bad Blogger

I am sure you experience this. You take on something new. You know you are interested, you know that you have time, that you can fit it in your schedule. But then you embark on your new project and find that everything falls apart, entropy takes over, and you have to pull yourself together again before you can resume activities as normal.

This seems to be a scenario that fits my life in so many ways, from tasks large to small. I am not particularly good at integration. I've known this for a long time. For example, when learning a new piece of music, I have to learn the parts for the left hand and the right hand separately, and master them before I can put them together. This continued to be true even after I had been playing for years, even when I was practicing several hours a day. The same thing happens at the gym, where my primary focus at remains mastering technique. I might think I have learned the proper technique for a squat, or for getting a barbell off the floor and up to my waist or shoulders, but as soon as I add some new component, such as getting that barbell from my chest to over my head, it is as if I forget everything I have learned before, which of course means I haven't really mastered anything at all. I'll give myself a boost by saying that anything that involves body mechanics is not my strong suit at all however and I am more than willing to cut myself a little extra slack in this area.

But I need to remember to take the time to master the individual components of any process before I can piece them together and master the whole. Whether what I am learning seems difficult to me, such as mastering new ways of moving at the gym or the yoga studio, or easy, such some of the materials in Introduction to Mathematical Thinking, which I am taking online through Coursera, I need to make myself go slowly to work through things until they are fully absorbed rather than rushing ahead if I think I have the gist of it but glossing over the details. Details matter.

Sometimes this process of slowing down seems antithetical to this world in which we live, a world that appears to revolve around "more" and "faster". And yet I find myself slowing down, calming down also, realizing that doing more is not necessarily better than doing well, nor more fullfilling. But of course life is not lived in isolation and the general rush of life intrudes and interferes. There are times when more and faster dominate and times for slowing down. Finding balance seems to be a lifelong quest.

There are still storms and lulls on the homefront, and I still tend to be emotionally tossed about or becalmed by the ever changing tides of dementia, but we seem to have a structure in place that more or less rights itself and continues on, and this has allowed me to branch out a bit. That doesn't mean that I always manage to juggle the bits and pieces of my life well but I am working on it. I need to be careful to go slowly, not to jump into too many things too quickly, not to lose the things that are important to me.

One of those important things is this blog. The difference between thinking about blogging and actually writing is significant and worth far more than the time involved. I suspect if I tried it more often I would feel less muddle-headed.

October 8, 2012
Unpacking The Colors of Dreams

I am finally unpacking fabric. Picking up each piece and putting it away certain aspects of an awakening. Each piece, be it humble or more exotic, seems so perfect. Dreams flow around me like whisps. Happiness envelops me.

I do believe I have the most beautiful fabric collection in the world. Of course this opinion is highly subjective. I am certain that ever collector feels their collection is the most beautiful, and rightly so.

These photos are not particularly representative, of colors yes, but of the entire collection not so much. Sublte gradations in color of flat weave basic fabrics don't photograph well, at least not in the still-darkish light of my studio with my photographic skills. But these are fabric pieces, the stuff of dreams.

In the past few months I have dreamt of my fabric. I have thought about how I would sort it and organize it and how it would look on the shelves. As I imagined my wall of fabric I quickly realized that in my dreams I saw the fabric sorted by color, and that in fact color is more a more important factor for me when I am looking for a fabric than fiber content, weave or weight. I did have my fabric sorted by type of fabric once, following some directive that this was the most efficient path. But any system is only as efficient as the people who use it. And I never look for a particular fabric by its weave or weight. Color always comes first in my mind. Even when I am imagining a dress, I am not imagining a wool crepe dress or a silk dress, although those features may be part of general plan, in that I may imagine a blue crepe dress or a pair of pants out of gray wool suiting. It is the color that comes first, not the fabric, with blue and gray being the critical points. I can adapt the execution of my vision to suit the requirements of fabric more easily than I can change my mind about color.

And so I am sorting by color as it is the color I remember when I am looking for a particular fabric. I have a pretty good memory for color and have, on more occasions than I can count, seen a fabric and known instantly that it was a perfect match for something I had waiting on the shelf at home. In fact my "memory-matching" ability is often more on-point than my ability to match something in the poor artificial lighting found in many fabric stores. Each shelf has its own unique range of shades but I am not sorting the fabric in any particular order on each shelf. There is not enough time in the heavens for me to fool with that. It is not like any one piece is going to be more than a few feet away from any other piece.

And of course this too is good. Because I have been known to say I want a green dress, and end up with a purple dress. These things happen whether I am shopping or sewing, and it is one of the happy little inconsistencies of life. I continue to believe that, had I not been looking for the green dress, I would not have noticed the purple one that finally caught my attention.

And now that you know that I almost always start with color, I'd love to know what prompts you to start your search for a new garment or a new sewing project. Do you imagine a silhouette? A weight or type of fabric such as silk or cotton? Or do you start off thinking about a color? If you start out thinking about one color, such as a blue dress or a red blazer, do you ever end up with something else entirely? Do share.

September 18, 2012
Little by Little

A lot has been accomplished in the last month. Oddly enough most of it calmly, without stress, although I have had my moments when I have reverted to my previous self-stressing mode of existence. In July I experienced a moment of clarity and since then I have tried to find calm, tried to create a feeling of calm in my life and my home. Not surprisingly once I stopped struggling with myself, everything I was fighting for came more easily.

I am really not sure where I am going at the moment, but at the same time I am not worrying about it. And I certainly don't know how this blog is going to evolve and it seems strange to admit to that I will continue writting but I don't have a plan or a purpose or a goal. Aimlessness seems so anti-modern and yet I know I will get somewhere. But I am tired of struggling with what I think I should write, tired of struggling with the persona I think I should project. I am willing to evolve. There, I can't believe it took me four weeks to get up the nerve to write that.

On the practical side, I have finally wrested my office into a manageable space even if I am still not completely unpacked.

I put cat perches up on the wall. Sometimes Moisés likes to perch up on the high curve and stare-down at me, Garfield-like, while I type here at my computer. More often though he just lounges in the lower curve content to have his own space high above everyone else. I like that they add a sculptural quality to the room, filling in the empty space and making it feel more finished.

As you can see, I still have boxes of unpacked paperwork on the floor, waiting to be sorted, scanned, and filed. There is another box on the opposite side of the sofa, at least adding a bit of symmetry. But this is manageable. I like things to have a place to live, even if it is a basket in my desk or a box on the floor. It annoys me that I don't really know what to do with the large blue triangular pillow standing in the corner. G needs it for his physical therapy which he does on the office sofa, and truthfully, I find it a nice place to rest my head while I peruse a magazine and sip an espresso on those days I am felled by the 4 o'clock slump. Perhaps I will like the pillow more once I cover it in something more appealing than hospitaliesque blue cotton.

Which may happen soon. My goal is to have a small working studio set up in one of the upstairs rooms by the end of the week. I have to assemble the shelves so I can start unpacking fabric. I at least have to move the fabric boxes once the shelves are assembled so that I can put up a table and a sewing machine. Maybe even an ironing board. I can sew amid boxes but I can't sew if I can't press.

I might be too ambitious. It may be early next week before the sewing room coalesces. This week I am exhausted. I finally decided I needed to join a gym. Specifically, this is my third week of cross fit and it is the most difficult and rewarding thing I have ever done. I am stronger already. I stand straighter. Yesterday, on September 11, we did a hero workout in honor of Navy Chief Petty Officer Mark Carter who was killed in Iraq on December 11, 2007. Even the beginner modification was tough for me but I did it and when I began to lose focus I pulled myself together thinking of all the people who work harder than I can imagine working and sacrifice so much that I can live my safe little life. Somehow by putting a name to the effort I felt I had to do best I could. I pushed myself so far I thought I would throw up before I finished, so I pushed further and I did finish. When I was done I discovered a moment of pure joy as I stood in the parking lot watching the sunrise.

On the other hand, I think I can get that sewing space set up this week as planned.

September 12, 2012
Looking Back on Summer: Sundresses

It is still summer, but the light has changed and it no longer feels the same. The days are often still quite warm but the nights are cooler. School has started. Everything is beginning to feel transitional to me. I am happy with this change. I feel like dressing again rather than just putting on protective clothing.

This leads me to reflect back on the summer. It was hot, too hot, but then I am a person who thinks the perfect summer temperature hovers around 75. At the same time it wasn't quite as bad as I expected although I was glad I bought a few sundresses. I had planned to make them, but didn't get to that with the sudden decision in early May to move rapidly to 24 hour care and the ensuing upheaval. I had already purchased two sundresses. I bought two more, the same styles I already had in different colors.

They worked for me, for the summer, and also as an educational experiment. Now at the end of the summer I have a much better of idea of what I want and, more importantly, why.

Two of the dresses were unmitigated successes. Two were useful and fine for this summer but not as successful. One dress is a favorite that will be copied and used again and again. One dress is a relative failure and is on its way to either Goodwill or the rag heap. The other two dresses are somewhere in the middle.

More later, when I have time and energy for photographs. I have family visiting this week. I will continue posting but the content may be variable depending on other claims on my time.

August 17, 2012
A new use for a favorite vase perhaps?

What is this?

Knitting? Is it finished?

What is it? A shawl with armholes?

Ah yes, a vest.

The pattern is Weekend Wrap by Julie Weisenberger.

I knit it using 1 strand each of Ritratto by Stacy Charles and Kid Seta by Trendsetter. The yarn was purchased in Boulder in June, with plans to knit something else entirely. Then I saw this pattern and knew exactly how I wanted to make it. Voila. Love. I'm sure the remaining Ritratto and Kid Seta will become part of something else equally fabulous. In the meantime, I am eagerly awaiting weather cool enough to actually wear my new vest.

In fact, now I want to knit the same pattern in something less fuzzy, like a crunchy habu silk or perhaps linen.

August 15, 2012
3 books

Since my early summer escapist reading binge, I really have not been reading much but I did manage to read a couple of really good new novels. Make that three good novels, but only two of them could be considered new. Oddly enough they share a common thread, although was not intentional in my selection of them; it was just the way things worked out

Back in July I read The Time it Takes to Fall by Margaret Lazarus Dean after reading a profile of the author in a local paper. Truthfully, had I come at the novel from any other approach, I might have passed it by. I was rather bored with coming of age novels and the challenger disaster itself, although I can see how it may have been a seminal event for a generation younger than myself, would not necessarily have attracted me as an interesting subject. But Ms. Dean makes it work, mixing snippets of fact with the story in a way that highlights tthe personality and struggles of this girl as she makes her way from the innocent hopefullness of childhood to the more murky waters of adulthood. In the end, the author managed to use the space program and the Challenger explosion as a framework around which to build a story, an event which was simultaneously incidental in that the story was really about a girl growing up and learning her own path, and central in the way that the space program in general and the Challenger explosion in particular, provided a framework on which to build one's growing perceptions of the world outside one's own narrow sphere.

Then, last week, I got a note from the local library that The Age of Miracles by Karen Thompson Walker was finally mine to read and I plowed through it the afternoon that I picked it up from the library. Like Dean's novel, it uses a seminal event to provide the underlying structure of the story, but in this case the seminal event is not something that has actually happened but a hypothetical future event. Also, this novel is smaller in scope even though the actual event is much greater in consequence. I think this smaller tighter frame of reference makes the book easier in some ways, and it is consistently engaging. The book is narrated, at some time in the future by Julia, who is looking back on the year she turned 11, the "year of the slowing" the year, the year the earth's diurnal cycle changed and slowed. That she is narrating the story tells us that the world did not end, and it also tells us that the focus of the story is not really this, the slowing of the earth, but the story of Julia trying to understand who that 11 year old girl was, and how this change in everything affected who she would become. In that sense it is not a fully realized coming of age story, but a story of someone looking back, trying to find some lost key that connects what was to what becomes. In that sense the story is slow and small in scope. It is not a story of what is happening to the earth, it is the story of what is happening to Julia. It is the story of how an 11 year old girl faces the unravelling of the world around her as if in slow motion. It is the story of memory, told not truly from the perspective of the girl, but not truly from the perspective of her adult self either, more from the perspective of the adult self reflecting back upon her memories of that time. I believe that the narrow focus is the strength of this novel, a reminder that although life and history can be shaped by grand events and themes that are beyond the control of the individual, it is lived in the smaller field of the immediate and the personal.

My favorite book of the three however was The Time In Between by Maria Dueñas. I loved this book. It is a wonderful story, well told, with of course special interest for anyone who is interested in clothes and fabric and sewing. It is a gripping story set in a time a place and time defined by turmoil, but it is also a story of growth and finding one's own strength and purpose in life. Dueñas masterfully blends historical reality with the completely fictional story of Sira and ties it all together seamlessly in a rather gripping read.

It is not a coming of age story. The protagonist, Sira, is physically an adult, although her potential remains unrealized. And yet it is a story of a young woman growing and learning to take responsibility and control of her own fate. In the beginning of the novel Sira seems to be particularly vapid, self-absorbed, shallow and uninteresting, someone whom one could easily dismiss. The young Sira makes terrible mistakes, mistakes that seem obvious to the reader, and make Sira seem oblivious and unsympathetic. One realizes, however, if one perseveres, that Sira herself, through the circumstances of her upbringing and the characters of the particular people who surround her in her youth, has just drifted through youth, unchallenged and untutored. I ended up forgiving her her mistakes, realizing that she truly was naive in the truest sense, existing in the world but really with no cognizance of it, and her parents, although probably doing the best they are capable of, do nothing to help or guide her, sending her on her way with vague admonitions as if sense and caution are innate and not learned, assuming that docility and good behavior imply understanding, or perhaps not even recognizing that Sira herself is capable of making leaps unrecognized by her parents. Sira does learn to rely on herself. She finds she is strong and resourceful, and eventually she learns confidence in her own strength, her own judgement, and she takes control of her life on her own terms. Oddly enough, or really not so oddly when you think of it, others initially see her as having more control than she herself feels, and she lets them use her until she realizes that she is stronger and more competent than she has realized. Sira eventually recognizes her own strength and realizes that she must seize control of her own fate, or forever let others control her.

I felt the conclusion of The Time In Between was completely satisfying although in terms of the historical story it could have gone on for a while longer. But this wasn't really the story of Spain, the Civil War, and World War II; it was the story of Siri Quiroga and the time in between the innocence of youth and the adult realization that, no matter how little we control the events of the world, we control our own role in that world. I could read it again.

August 14, 2012
Fly Away

A sweater was knitted.

It was barely finished before it flew the nest.

I purchased the yarn in Chicago in May, luscious silk and mohair by Shibui. I had a vision of a sweater in my head, a vision that did not quite materialize. The error was completely mine, a miscalculation compounded by a refusal to acknowledge my own growing dissatisfaction as I continued to knit.

The resulting sweater however is quite lovely in and of itself even if it was not what I wanted.

Luckily, I've never not found a home for a handknit sweater, and this one found a lovely recipient as I was tidying up the edges one day, a young womon whom it suits far better than I .

I know what I did wrong. I know how to make the sweater I want. I found the same yarns in a different color. Perhaps even a better color. Perhaps it was meant to be. The new version will come along after a few other projects are cleared out of the wings.

August 8, 2012
Well Hello There

Hello blog. I haven't forgotten you. I have thought about you. But alas I seem to have a problem making that transition from intention to execution. I hereby announce that I intend to work on this very problem, even I just type drivel until I get my blogging legs back.

So here I am.

In between writing my last two posts I was working on redoing two closets in the new house, transforming them from the standard single pole, single shelf basic builder's closet into something more useful. I redid the guest closet and got piles of boxes off the guest room closet floor, and turning the guest room into a comforting and welcome place just a day before my step son and his wife arrived for a week. Don't worry the guest room is still nice. I am intentionally not turning it into a storage center but keeping it as a guest room. We will have house guests again in a little over a week, and I look forward to many more visits from family and, hopefully, friends in the future.

The closet shown above is actually in my office, which can also double as an extra guest room should the need arise, although it has less available space for the guests to actually unpack. You can see my new purple purse on the shelf a little to the left of the basket drawers.

It tickled my fancy that I happened to be installing the closets just as I was reading Eric Abrahamson's book, A Perfect Mess. Truthfully I had already ordered the closet materials when I picked up the book, and although I am a firm believer in organization, I am not one who thinks that everything should be neat and tidy. Well, truthfully sometimes I walk a fine line. I do like things put away neatly. And I admit that all my spices are in identical jars, neatly labeled, although I don't particularly worry about the labels being neatly lined up. I like spontenaity. I've learned that a bit of mess is more productive than a sterile environment but at the same time, I tend to think that if the underlying architecture of a system, whatever it is, has some structure to it, some organization, then everything can go crazy for a while without the whole system falling apart. I've also learned that worrying about doing everything and organizing everything and scheduling everything is just another face of fear, a way to close a door, a way to justify not tackling some particular challenge for fear of losing or getting hurt, a way of building walls.

Or that is what I tell myself. I am sure this is just another one of my personal myths, the stories that we as humans tell ourselves to get through our days. But I'm not quite ready to give up my personal myths yet.

Anyway the book is good. It is interesting. It is not going to tell you how to organize your life. Nor is it going to tell you that total disorganization is the greatest things since sliced bread. Abrahamson might say that disorganization may be more efficient than hyperorganization, but then again it may not. Either way it is an interesting read and lead this reader to think about when organization has worked and when it has failed, sometimes in interesting and spectacular ways.

Otherwise, since all that building and fretting I wrote about before I have been busy entertaining, and recovering from sinuses or a cold or a whatever-it-may-be-dragginess-congestion-and-intermittent-fever thing. I would sit down with G to watch the Olympics only to wake him from a deep slumber and bring his caregiver running in from the next room when I would fall asleep and my head would fall back against the wall with a resounding thud.

I am better now. And I am more determined to try to pick up the little threads of my interests and activites and knit them into something more coherent.

August 6, 2012
Happiness is a Purple Tote

The coach bag arrived and I have kept it.

Honestly, my initial reactions were mixed. I adore the color. It is the perfect size: big enough to carry everything that I might need, especially when I am running around with G, but not so large that I feel like I am leaving for the weekend. On the downside, I am not thrilled with the chains on the handle or the metallic logo. My red Coach bag was more subtle. But they aren't that bad, and the chain straps will wear better than the straps on my old red bag which started to crack and fray almost immediately.

This tote is not as elegant as the Akris Ai bag I posted last week, which I still love for its sleek elegance. But that bag speaks to some inner fantasy me, the one who carries sleek bags and dresses in Akris and Chado Ralph Rucci with a few pieces by Dries thrown in for fun. That me doesn't really exist and I am not sure she ever would really exist, she is just a piece of the puzzle that is me. Besides, that bag doesn't really fit my actual life, whereas this new Coach bag does. It can easily go everywhere I might go.

Besides the color is perfect. It works well with the marjority of my Soft Summer palette. And I have been steadily building my wardrobe in my colors. Not every piece I buy or wear is actually in my palette, but it all works with my palette, it blends or coordinates in a way I find harmonious. I have found that this feeling of harmony makes me happy. I am no longer fighting with my various images of myself, they can all fit in one package. Apparently part of the trick is finding the right package, even if that means abandoning a few of those shiboleths that were drummed into my psyche from an early age. You know the ones I mean, the things your parents and grandparents told you, either in words or actions and reactions. Among mine were: "Our kind of people don't….wear polka dots, or purple, or drive yellow cars". I'm sure yours were totally different. But in the end what does it matter? We each have to live with our own truth and inhabit our own lives. My truth apparently includes pretty colors and purple handbags.

July 19, 2012
Paradigm Shift

Sometimes something happens, nothing really, just a small thing, but your world seems different. If you are lucky your world seems brighter. More likely it feels like everything is crashing down around you. You are upset. You may put on a brave face. But then, unexpectedly, when you find yourself alone, you cry.

Somewhere in there you see that nothing has really changed. The world goes on just as it did before. Dinner still needs to be made. Dishes need to be washed. Teeth must be brushed. Pretty toenails still make you smile. All that has changed is your perception. Maybe there were just some things you didn't want to see. We all live with our illusions. We all live with expectation. It is easy to think that if we do all the right things it will all work out in the end. Our expectations and illusions are like a mirror, showing us the world only as it reflects our own thoughts and assumptions. Sometimes the mirror needs to be shattered.

Last week was not such a good week. I'm not ready to discuss it, but it is there, that paradigm shift. Truthfully nothing is new, I was just forced to look at things differently. I did not take it particularly well. We humans are fallible that way sometimes. And yet it is possible that being forced to see things differently is actually good. Perhaps seeing how things are rather than how you want them to be is also good.

Objectively I would have to say that things are better this week than they were last week, and the changes made were all for the good. That doesn't belittle the process, make it less painful, or make it easier to accept. Finding the path to acceptance seems to be one of the harder lessons of life.

I'm still working on that one.

July 17, 2012