Wonder Woman (and My Tragic Realization That I Will Never Be Her)

                                         

Fall is upon us, and I sit here wondering where the last couple of months went.  I did a lot.  But there seems to be a long list of things I intended to do and didn't.  And another list of things that I should get to, but haven't.  And, worst of all, the list of things that I missed doing, causing some major crisis or another.

What happened?

I am a high energy person.  I do lots.  I got 1200 yards of cotton spun this past month.

I have indigo dyed it. 

It is now transforming itself into a lovely knitted top.

I have taught workshops, worked on Fibre Weeks 2010 and 2011.  I have raised, tended, and harvested a garden.  I have cooked meals, cleaned my house, done the laundry, paid the bills.  I have done everything but solve world hunger (though there are 8 apple pies in the freezer that may be a good start!)  But, I have come to the tragic realization that I will never be Wonder Woman.

I'm not talking about the comic-book character, who is a princess of an Amazon tribe who can, among other things, move at superhuman speed, commune with animals, and coerce the truth out of villains with her Lasso of Truth.  You, know, the tall woman in the red, white, and blue bustier.  Truth be told, I share many of that Wonder Woman's talents.  And, possibly, some of her wardrobe.

I'm talking about that Wonder Woman of the 21st century.  The woman who holds down an amazing job, raises ideal children who all get straight A's, keeps an immaculate home, and always has a home-cooked, gourmet meal waiting for her tired husband when he gets home from the office.  She is the woman who is the president of the school parent association, leading the bake-sale and hot lunch committees to heights only ever previously imagined.  She is the woman who throws themed birthday parties for her kids, complete with entertainment and appropriately cutsie loot bags.  She is the woman who serves on the boards of local charities, and attends every meeting.  She is the woman who is always immaculately dressed, with her hair and make-up perfect. 

Oh.  Wait.  I was that woman! (Except  for the amazing job--I was a stay at home mom, which was amazing for me, but no so amazing to the rest of the world.)  The operative word here, however, is was.

But something has happened.  I am no longer interested in or have time to get involved in the fascinating details of hot lunch budgets and next month's menu choices.  My kids are well beyond the themed birthday parties--at least I think they are...  Anyway.  I've missed so many charity meetings that I have felt compelled to resign from boards.  Though, I am still a pretty snappy dresser.

I tell myself that I have chosen to slow down, to focus on this little obsession with string and not clutter my life with busywork.  And, for the most part, that is true.  I would rather be making string.  But life has to be taken care of.  Food must still be procured, and sooner or later, the Mount Kilimanjaro of laundry must be scaled.  Bills need to be paid.  Eager learners must be introduced to the mysteries of twist.  Adventures must be...advented?

However, last week. it all came to a grinding halt.  I was felled by a lowly virus.  And when I say felled, I mean knocked flat on my a**.  In bed, wishing I could die, for 5 days.  Incapable of brushing my teeth.  Felled.

I did NOTHING.  Okay, maybe a little knitting.  But, otherwise, nothing.

And something amazing happened.  THE WORLD CONTINUED TO TURN.  The sun rose and set. People got up, went to work, came home.  My input was not required for the normal daily functions of over 6 billion people. 

I cannot begin to describe how liberating this discovery was.  I could just lay there and rest and recover and the world went on. 

Oh, my inbox is something fierce this week, and it will take me forever to catch up on emails.  Mount Kilimanjaro has reached new heights.  We have been eating whatever was in the back of the fridge for 3 days now, and the pickins is getting mighty slim.  But, I have seen the light.

Even Wonder Woman took a day off, every now and then.

So, if things slip by every now and then, let them slip.

I may never be the Wonder Woman that we are all being brainwashed to believe we must be, but I will be the wondrous woman that I am.  And when I need to say no, I will know that the world will continue to turn.  Sometimes, I need to sit and do nothing.

Or sit and make string,  Yeah, that's better.

And that other stuff? 

I'll get around to it. 

Five Short Stories About August

Here we are in September already!  I've been home from the latest round of travels for 4 or 5 days now, and I'm just starting to get my feet under me.  The two weeks on the road were go-go-go, and I'm exhausted.  Not that that will stop me for long!

Here's some of what happened...

1.  The Boyd family gathered to say goodbye to our patriarch, Bill.   The three siblings, Steve, Mike, and Pat, interred their father's ashes, then we went back to Bill's house for a day of food, talk, and play.  The day was remarkably joyous, with family reconnecting, new discoveries and a whole lot of goofing around.

This is the first time that my three babies and all of their cousins have been together since a family wedding nearly 2 years ago, and it was wonderful.  The phrase "I'M IN MY ROCKETSHIP"  will live on in infamy.

2.  We had flown Lexi up to Edmonton to join us for the interment and family celebration, and since we were driving out to Gibsons that weekend, we all crammed into our Crown Vic and headed westward.  Every family car trip we've ever taken has been more of an adventure than anticipated, so, by comparison, this one was pretty tame.  True, cramming 3 adults, or near-adults, into a back seat for 1500 kilometers is no picnic, but everyone held together pretty well.

Of course, we took plenty of breaks to stretch long legs.  And play.  It makes me rather happy to see that my kids haven't lost their sense of play, and that they have finally learned to play nice with each other.

After all, you know what they say about the family that plays together!

3.  When we got to Vancouver, I did something silly.  Okay, sillier than usual.  I got a tattoo.

Miss Arabella Spider is now permanently spinning her spiral on my left shoulder.  I've been planning this tattoo for months, and finally got to the Eastside Tattoo Parlor, where the magnificent Jessica Pare etched this beauty into my arm.  Spiders mean a lot to me, for a lot of reasons, and I'm pretty happy to look at my shoulder and see one spinning away.

4.  After a couple of hot, sunny days in Vancouver, we headed up to Gibsons for the Gibson's Landing Fibre Arts Festival.  I have to admit that I absolutely adore the community and the festival, and this visit did nothing to change that feeling.  I taught, I shopped, I visited with friends old and new. I ate my annual crab at Smitty's Oyster House.  I may or may not have "liberated" a yarn bomb into the possession of a street musician...

...though there is no proof that I actually removed anything.

The Festival is taking a year off next year due to manpower (or should I say womanpower?) problems.  It's a tough job to put on a festival of this calibre, and some of the board is getting a little weary.  They plan to revisit the way things are done and recruit some fresh blood and be back again in 2012, and I sincerely hope that they do.  This festival is a wonderful thing for all fibre folk, and it would be a terrible shame to have to lose it.  Send your good vibes their way!

5.   Back to Edmonton.  Lady Gaga.  There are no words to describe this concert.  Part theatre, part concert (complete with a massive live band, and a harpist!), part motivational speech, part modern art.  Brilliant!  And, may I just say, that regardless of what you think of her music or her wardrobe, that lady can SING.  Holy cats!

The best part of the whole evening for me, though, was the crowd.  There were the obvious fans, with their Gaga looks going on.  And then there were the seniors.  There were more people in their 60's and 70's there than I have ever seen at a concert.  And a lot of them were up on their feet, dancing with their "paws up".  Awesome!

So, now I'm home.  We picked up some fresh fruit and veggies on the way home, and I spent the weekend  pickling and preserving.  The larder has been stocked.  New purchases have been stashed.  Miss Julia is settling into school.  It's time to spin.  And plan for the next trip...

Goodbye, Bill

Do not cry because it's over, smile because it was. ~ Dr. Suess

My father-in-law, Bill Boyd, died peacefully in his sleep on July 25, 2010.

This is the second father I have lost in three years, with my own father dying back in 2007.  Now, Bill was not my "dad".  I do not have childhood memories of piggy-back rides and long days fishing on the lake with him.  But he was a father-figure to me, nonetheless. 

He welcomed me into his family, and treated me equally with his own children, the other in-laws, grandkids and great-grandkids.  If Bill had a family favorite, he never let it show. He was there with advice, whether I wanted it or not.  And he was there with help, whether I asked for it or not.  He put up with me as patiently as he did his own children, and if he thought I was doing something stupid, he did not hesitate to tell me so.  And he let me do it anyway.

Bill was a humble, quiet man.  But when he found something he liked, whether it was a detergent, a TV show, a restaurant, or a person, he was fiercely loyal.  Never to the point of fanatacism, just firmly loyal and always there to support.

Bill loved a good debate, especially about things political.  He was very active in politics at the local, provincial, and federal levels.  And he was pretty astute.  Some of my favorite memories of Bill are those days when we wasted a morning debating a political issue over cups of cooling tea.  Even when I agreed with him, I liked to play Devil's Advocate and argue the opposite side, just to see his responses.  And they were usually quite well-thought-out and concise.  When I didn't agree with him, we could go on for hours, usually only ending when he walked away, shaking his head at my foolishness.

But my favorite thing about Bill, and the thing I will miss the most, was his interest in the fibre arts.  He never knit a stitch or twisted a fibre, but he was interested in what I did because it was something different.  He went to fibre arts displays with me, not really knowing what it was that he was looking at, but finding it interesting in its beauty and  variety.  He would ask me questions, listen patiently to my long, meandering answers, then ask another question.  He wore handspun caps and mittens with pride and joy.  One of the highlights of my annual trip to Fibre Week was to stop and share a coffee with Bill on the way home and tell him the tales of drama and intrigue within the fibre world.  If nothing else, he loved a good yarn (pun very much intended!), and my adventures in fibre gave him plenty of those.

The family will be gathering to lay his ashes to rest this weekend.  We will say our goodbyes, but I wanted to just say one, all on my own.

I will miss him.  A lot.  Goodbye, Bill. 

Mea Culpa

I must confess.  I have committed a grave act that haunts me day and night.  I bought this sweater...

...which looks the picture of innocence.  But don't let looks deceive you.  This little sweater is...THE DIVIL!

You see, I am trying to reduce my carbon footprint.  I know that I am only one little person, but if I can reduce my dependency on petrochemicals and teach others to follow my example, I will feel that I have made an impact.  So, to that end, I have begun to walk to the grocery store and the post office, I have eliminated single-use plastic shopping bags from the household, I carry my own cup to Starbucks, I buy bulk groceries when I can to reduce the packaging waste...I do what I can.  But my big, soap-box rant-inspiring,
save-the planet action is to avoid clothing and textile products made from petrochemicals.

You know their names.  Polyester.  Nylon.  Acrylic.  Polyamide.  And the dreaded poly-vinyl-chloride.

Oh, they've gotten sneaky, these petro-textiles.  They hide behind names like "micro-fibre".  Spandex has snuck into the blue jean supply chain.  Petrochemicals are now being used to coat natural fibres, like wool -and cotton, to make them "shrink-proof" and "wrinkle-free".

But I see them out there, lurking.  I read the labels, and I put that super-sexy little top back on the rack because I don't trust those sneaky petro-textiles one bit.

Now, I live in an petrochemical community.  Fort McMurray is the home of the Oilsands, and we have a lot of debate about the rightness and the wrongness of the methods of extraction used around here, and the environmental impact.  Greenpeace shows up every now and then and rails about the dangers of "dirty oil".  All those activists, dressed in their acrylic fleece vests and Spandex pants, rappelling down nylon ropes to hang a vinyl banner protesting the extraction of oil from the ground were clearly not paying much attention to what that oil is being used for.

And nothing burns my biscuits like the animal-rights activists who protest the shearing of sheep by telling us that there are plenty of man-made alternatives, like polar-fleece and polyester, that do no harm to animals.  Tell that to the dolphins and sea turtles of the Gulf Coast.

All this talk about the dangers of oil extraction, and the ever-looming threat of peak oil, and we are wearing the stuff on our backs.  We are sitting on it.  We are walking on it.  We are carrying our groceries home in it.  We are wrapping our newborn babies in it.  Oil is everywhere.  (It really is!  Check out this list, which is actually pretty entertaining, to find out some of the other places petroleum products are used.  My favorite is pole vaulter poles!)

So, instead of wasting it on clothing, that can be made out of renewable resources like linen, cotton, wool, and even wood pulp, let's save our oil for driving our vehicles and heating our homes.  The supply will last longer, and development could slow down and take the time to be kinder to our environment.

Whew!  Soapbox rant over.  Now back to the sweater.

I will preface the conclusion of my tale with the defense that I was in a hurry, on my way to meet someone.  I saw the sweater in a store window and popped in to look at it.  It had a lovely hand, crisp, yet soft, like cotton.  And it was on sale for a price I couldn't resist.  So, I tossed it on the cashier's counter, then popped it into my re-usable cloth shopping bag and dashed to my appointment.  As the evening cooled, I pulled out my lovely new sweater and wore it.  Then I wore it the next day, loving the cuddly feel and the warmth it provided.  The sweater wound up in the laundry basket eventually, where it languished until yesterday.  As I sorted my laundry, I debated whether to put the sweater into a regular wash or the gentle cycle.  With trepidation, I checked the tag to see if there were any sneaky petro-fibres lurking that might require particular care.  And that is when the bombshell hit.

The label read 100% ACRYLIC!

I hang my head in shame.

But I'll probably wear the sweater anyway.  'Cuz it's a really nice sweater.

Mea Culpa.

A Whole Lotta Nothin'

That's what's been going on round here for the past few days.  Oh, stuff has been happening...laundry, food shopping, weeding, dog walking,..you know, stuff.  I've been slowly redecorating our bedroom, which is long overdue, but that is a work-in-progress.  Steve and I celebrated our 28th anniversary last week  We have been to Edmonton a couple of times.  But really nothing blog-worthy.

I seem to be unable to blog regularly for two really good reasons either nothing is going on, like now, or too much is going on.  My life just seems to be like that.  I suppose I should work on my pacing.

So, this afternoon, here I sit on my patio, in the sun, blogging about having nothing to blog about. 

Of course, I am spinning...

...this yummy silk blend, handpainted by Barb at Luscious Luxuries.  The beverage in the picture is Ribena and soda, cool and refreshing on a day like today.

And I'm watching my garden grow...

...as lazy bumble bees and butterflies poke around the blossoms on the scarlet runner beans and rather cheeky little finches dart in and out of my cat-infested yard.

Even Molly seems to have caught the summer ennui...

...watching the birds from a little fort she has built from an up-ended garden gnome under a spruce tree.

I know things are going to get busy around here really soon.  They always do.  But, for now, I'm just going to enjoy doing a whole lotta nothin'.

To Olds and Back Again

Yes, I know Fibre Week ended over a week ago.  But you should know by now that you are dealing with a delinquent blogger.  And a lot is going on, besides the making of string.

Like my new website http://www.michelleboydspins.com/.  Who knew writing lines and lines of code and learning FTP protocols would take so much time.  But there you have it.  Good-bye, June.  Go ahead and check it out, if you haven't already.

And then there is the garden.  This time of year brings out the horticulturalist in me.  I plant pretty flowers, and though I don't specifically grow a dyer's garden, I do harvest a lot of nifty colors all summer long.  And veggies.  My childhood was filled with fresh garden veggies all summer long.  I had decided to turn the wee plot in my back yard into a veggie garden with peas, onions, beets, beans, corn and carrots all carefully lined up in pretty rows.  My cats, however, had different ideas, and now I spend a lot of time discovering new plants where other plants should have been.  And weeding.

And then, of course, there was Fibre Week.  Every year, I enjoy this event more and more.  And this year topped them all.  Not only was there fabulous enrollment in the workshop program (which makes me, as the coordinator, look pretty good!), but a record number of entries in the fleece shows, enormous community support, and fabulous weather.  Who could ask for anything more?  (Okay, edible food in the cafeteria would be nice...)

My favorite thing about Fibre Week, however, is the people.  Some of my very best friends in the world are people that I have met at Fibre Week.  And I keep meeting more and more wonderful people and adding to that list of friends.  People who play with fibre are the very best kind of people.  They are kind and generous and adventurous and hilarious.  They are smart and loyal and just seem to be happier than the rest of humanity. 

We gathered for classes...

...like this one with Sharon Costello.  Look a them working away!
We gathered for speakers and for the fashion show...

...hosted by yours truly, which is why there are no photos of the awesome garments we saw!

We gathered for potluck dinner...

We welcomed new spinners...

And new-to-fibre-arts-in-general folk...

I managed to find myself room mates with three of the most remarkable fibre folk I have yet to meet:  Joan Ruane, Sharon Costello, and Cat Bordhi.  Talk about a nexus of fibre brilliance.  All three of these women are remarkable human beings and very gifted in their fields, and I got to sit in and converse with them each evening.  Sheer bliss!

Then, I got to meet the Master Spinner Level 3 Class of 2010.  I could not have had a better group if I had gone out and handpicked from the entire spinning population.  Smart, funny, and fearless, these nine women soaked up all that I had to give and came back for more each day.  And one of them actually said that she loved tpi and would never spin without it again!  My work here is done...

...MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Okay, there was a little bit of stash enhancement done, too.  Seriously, where else are you going to find cashmere,  and cashmere blended with alpaca, and quiviut blended with bison, merino, and silk?  Oh, and a wee bit of handpainted merino yarn from Ellie at Rabbitworks Fibre Studio.   And a little handpainted silk.  And that Viking Santa spindle that I picked up at the Silent Auction.  And the Dukhobor flax tools.  And...you get the picture...

Yep, that's worth a thousand words.  And several hundred dollars.  It's a darn good thing they pay me to go to Fibre Week, but, apparently, most of that money gets left there!

So, all in all, I had a wonderful time, came home broke and brain-dead, then turned around and went back to Edmonton for medical appointments.  This weekend is finally a chance to try and recover.

And make some string.

Goodness knows, there's some fibre around!

P.S  I am scheduled to teach a class in spinning flax out at Gibson's Landing, but it is in danger of cancellation due to low enrollment.  If you will be in the vicinity of the Sunshine Coast around August 21 and want to find out how fun and friendly flax can be, go to http://www.gibsonslandingfibrearts.com and register a.s.a.p.! 

Bliss

bliss (blis) n. 1. great happiness, perfect joy

 

Not so very long ago, I was a stay-at-home mom with small children and a husband who worked weird hours.  Like many women in that position, I watched a lot of Oprah.  There was one hour set aside in every day to sit and knit and listen to somebody talk about something, anything, besides Barney The Purple Dinosaur.  And Oprah kept telling me to "find my bliss."

Well, at the time, my bliss consisted of finding two matching socks in a load of laundry, or someone actually flushing the toilet after they used it, so I really couldn't figure out what Oprah was talking about.  But it sounded good.

As my children got a little older and started school, I had more free time to knit.  Then I learned to spin. 

At first, it was hard.  I couldn't make the spindle do what I wanted it to do and my yarns were over-twisted and lumpy.  But I really wanted to do this, so I kept practicing, and pretty soon I was making a smooth yarn that was actually usable.  Then I started the Master Spinner Program and found out how much I didn't know.  Back to square one, with lots of practice and lots of frustration.  If someone had asked me then if I had found my bliss, I probably would have punched them in the throat.

I managed to struggle through the hundreds of sample skeins that we were assigned at school, and I must admit, there was little to no joy in spinning for me during those years.  I fought the idea of specific tpi for a specific use.  I hated counting those treadles!  It was Serious Work.  No fun at all.  Joyless.  But, I was determined to be a Master.  I made specific skeins out of specific fibres, whether I wanted to or not.  When I wasn't making assigned skeins, I was practicing my drafting.  I took workshops whenever I could afford to.  I worked and worked to be a good spinner.

Then one day, I sat down to spin.  And I was a good spinner.  I still had a couple of levels left in the Master Spinner Program, but I knew what I was doing and I could handle it.  I really enjoyed spinning to a specific tpi for my in-depth study.  I really enjoyed spinning.  Period.

Then I broke my wrist.  I was in and out of casts for the larger part of a year after that, and I learned something.  Spinning was the thing that made me complete.  I have been blessed with a wonderful husband,  three beautiful, clever, healthy children, a home, and a good life.  But spinning was mine alone.  The thing that made me, well, feel like me.

I had found my bliss.

Since then, I have been teaching spinning on a fairly regular basis.  This gives me an excuse to continue spinning, but it also gives me an opportunity to share that thing that brings me such joy with others.  I have seen others struggle the way I did, and I can offer a way around that thing that is blocking their bliss.

I am a member of a far-flung community of string lovers.  We gather every now and then, such as at the HWSDA's conference in Edmonton a couple of weeks ago.  When we gather, the bliss is multiplied.  It's good to know that playing with string affects others as deeply as it does me.  And sometimes, there is an unexpected bonus.  Like these two lovely young people...

Laura and Daniel were not members of the HWSDA.  They attend the college where the conference was held,  but Laura has always loved the idea of spinning.  Her mother was a spinner and Laura did not appreciate it until she moved away from home, and was asking a lot of questions.  So we sat her down and gave her a quick lesson.   Daniel wanted to try, too, so we got him going on another wheel.  Soon, both of them where spinning a fair-to-middlin' yarn.  Look at the expressions on their faces.  Pure joy at their accomplishments.

Bliss.

I will also confess that a glass or two of wine has been known to contribute to my bliss.  Which leads me to this photo from that conference...

...wine under lock and key.  In case your computer's resolution is preventing you from reading the sign, here is a close-up.

Bwahahahaha!  Apparently. they know us too well!  And they are taunting us!  "Look inside", indeed!

So, now I'm preparing for another Fibre Week.  I will be teaching Level 3 once again, inflicting tpi stress upon another class.  I try very hard to remember my own anxiety about those very specific skeins when I teach this level.  And I remember the day I said "ah-ha!" and it ceased to be work.  And I try to share how the struggle to learn proper technical skills actually set me free to spin.  Spinning the right yarn for the right job ceased to be Serious Work.

And became Bliss.