Empire State of Mind

Okay, so it's been a while again since I posted.  But this time I have a great excuse: New York.

Yup, that New York.

I had been invited by the Spinning Study Group of Long Island to come and do my Spinning Superior Socks workshop for them a while back, and I was, well, thrilled to say yes.  I have never been to that part of the world, and was pretty excited to have the opportunity to go.

There were several versions of the trip planned.  In one version, Steve was going to come with me and spend a week in Manhattan.  That fell through.  In the next version, I was going to meet Number One Son to celebrate his 25th birthday in New York.  That fell through.  In yet another version, I was going to fly to New Jersey and take a commuter plane to Long Island.  The airline changed that.  I was beginning to feel like the trip was doomed.

So, in the end, between the airline and the Guild and the crossed wires all around, I wound up on a plane to New York all by myself.  Off into the unknown!

And I arrived here...

at JFK airport, where my driver (I know!), Frank was waiting for me.  He drove me across the island to the lovely home of my host family for the weekend in Stony Brook.

Now, I always build in a cushion day when I travel.  You know, a day to cover airline delays, bad weather, lost baggage--that sort of thing.  This trip was as smooth as glass and that meant I had a day to kill before the workshop.  I was offered a ride into the village of Stony Brook, so I jumped in the car and away we went.

Stony Brook, NY is a lovely little town on the North Shore of Long Island, so I wandered along the harbour and through the town.  Spring had come a little early to New York, so everything was green and scenic, so the shutterbug in me was well-entertained for the day...

The next day was the workshop.  There were 8 intrepid spinners who came out on a warm and sunny Saturday afternoon to play with string...

...while outside, old-timey baseball re-creators were playing ball...

...and sheepies were grazing...

Meanwhile, we explored yarn structure and twist.  And the very talented spinners of the SSGLI had sock yarn by the end of the day.  (Happy Dance!)

That evening, a few of the workshop participants joined me at the guild president's home for a delicious dinner and a few glasses of wine.  And there were bunnies!  Angora bunnies (the very bestest kind of bunnies)....

Sunday dawned grey and wet.  As in raining cats and dogs.  The perfect day to blend fibres and spin more yarns.  We wound down the workshop just as the weather turned blustery and cold and we hunkered down for the night in a warm house with much knitting.

Now, during the course of the workshop, it sorta came out that I had never been to NYC before.  And that I wanted to go to NYC.  And it just so happened that I had a day before my flight.  Suggestions were made, directions given, and, suddenly, Monday morning, I was on a train to Manhattan.

I will admit that I was a little trepidatious about the trip.  I am not fond of concrete, crowds, and traffic and was afraid that the Big Apple would be overwhelming for this Country Mouse.  I could not have been more wrong!  It was love at first sight.

So, I touristed.  I went to the top of the Empire State Building, which was AWESOME. Windy, but awesome.  Even on an overcast day, I could see all of New York stretched out below me and I took way too many pictures of rooftops...

...and traffic...

...and Manhattan in general...

I had my day all mapped out, so, of course, I promptly made a wrong turn as I left the ESB and found myself wandering toward the Flatiron District, which is filled with amazing architecture.  More photos, including the building for which the neighbourhood was named...

...the Flatiron Building.

And, by happy coincidence, this neighbourhood is home to a New York institution that I had heard of from former MSP students...

...the Shake Shack.  Lunch was served...

...and well worth the half-hour wait in line and the elebenty-billion calories.

I took the time over lunch to get re-oriented and headed back toward my goals for the day, Times Square and the Garment District.  There wasn't really much to do at Times Square, so I took some more pictures...

...and mosied on.  I simply wandered the streets, taking a ridiculous number of pictures of buildings, including the New York Public Library...

....and more gargoyles and grotesques than you can shake a stick at...

...until I found myself in the Garment District.  Now, truth be told, this was my goal all along.  You see, nestled in a cozy little eighth-floor nook, just off 7th Avenue, is a tiny fibre paradise.  Habu Textiles.  Silks and stainless steel and wool and paper and linen and cotton and...Who knew so much could be crammed into such a tiny space, inside a nondescript door on West 29th?  Needless to say, yarn was acquired.  The perfect souvenir of my day in the big city.

The train whisked me back out to Long Island and I packed up my treasures.  The next morning, I was back at JFK and then back home.  Where I find myself in an Empire State of Mind...

In Which I Get Political

Okay, I know I've been gone a while.  And I know that this is a blog about fibre and string and artsy-fartsy stuff.  But I'm back, and I'm back with a vengeance.  Let the rant commence!

I am fed up with politics.  More specifically, I am fed up with the disturbing trend in politics towards picking on those perceived to be "different" in our society.  When attacking someone for being different from you happens in a grade school playground, it is called bullying.  When it happens in politics, it is apparently called "free speech".

First of all, for those of you reading this outside of Alberta:   We are in the last week of a provincial election campaign.  This campaign has been marred by extremist rhetoric and the ridiculous antics of a great many of the candidates and their supporters.  The mud slinging that has always made politics a rather dirty sport has been raised to a fine art in this campaign, and the hypocrisy has been mind-boggling.

I've always had a low tolerance for politicians.  And the promises that somehow never get kept.  And the pandering to special interests.  And the tax dollars being spent on big airplanes that never get delivered.  And political partisanship that places greater emphasis on who is in "power" than on the needs of the people who vote.  I think we all pretty much feel that way to some extent or another.  But, in the end, the roads and parks get built and the cities/provinces/nation carries on.

But this election campaign has been very different.  We have a new, untried political party entering the game, bringing us a new approach to politics in Alberta.  Hate and fear as political policy.  Terrible things, and I do mean hateful, cruel, sexist, racist, outright evil things, are being said.  Accusations of bias are being made against members of the media and they are being denied access to the candidates on that basis.  Individual citizens are being attacked for expressing their personal views on their blogs.

Still, I have sat back and watched.  I have my own political views, and yes, they tend to lean a little toward the left-I believe you can judge a society (and it's government) by the way it treats its weakest members.  I think that it is the government's job to provide a reasonable standard of living for every citizen, no matter their race, religion, gender, socio-economic class, sexual orientation, eye colour, or belly button alignment.  This sometimes mean I have to compromise one strongly held belief to accommodate another.  The reality is that we are all different and that we cannot all have everything our way every time.  It is up to a fair and just government to find the most workable middle-ground.

So why am I addressing politics on a string blog?  Because of Allan Hunsperger.

Mr. Hunsperger is a pastor at a church called The House in Tofield, AB.  He is running as a candidate for the Wild Rose Alliance Party in Edmonton-South West.  His official party bio seems innocuous enough, but over this past weekend,  his true stripes were revealed.   A blog post on Mr. Hunsperger's church's website The House Today (nope, not gonna link it!), revealed that Mr. Hunsperger has a rather dim view of our non-heterosexual citizens and that he feels that the Edmonton Public School district's policy protecting students from harassment based upon gender and sexual identification is "profane and wicked".
This Man of God then goes on to tell us that "accepting people the way they are is cruel and not loving".  (The original post has been deleted from the blog, but you can read it here.)

Now, fine.  Mr. Hunsperger is a minister of an Evangelical church, and he is entitled to preach whatever his belief leads him to preach.  But when one uses a public forum--and yes, the internet is a very public forum---to attack duly-elected public officials for protecting marginalized children, well...the shit may just hit the fan.  And hit the fan it did.

But this is still not the part that stirred me to action.

You see, freedom of speech is freedom of speech.  A lot of people say things that I find annoying, or misinformed, or outright abhorrent all the time.  And I probably do the same.  And we choose to ignore or question the things that we disagree with, depending upon our inclination at that moment.  Sometimes vile words fill us with indignation, and we respond.  Other times, we shrug and walk away.

Well, a few fine bloggers and journalists chose to respond.  They linked and reposted Mr. Hunsperger's blog post.  And this is where I got wound up.

Those who commented upon the diatribe of a religious zealot were accused of religious intolerance.  Yep.  The supporters of the Wild Rose Alliance played the God card.  You see, telling someone that they are going to "suffer the rest of eternity in a lake of fire" because they do not conform to the narrow norm set by Mr. Hunsperger's god is free speech and religious freedom.  But disagreeing with that statement, or even repeating it within the context of open debate is persecution.

Telling someone that their statements are hurtful, that public attacks on a group of people based upon sexual orientation are inappropriate if you are running for political office, these things are not religious intolerance.  Telling someone that they are spreading hate by telling children that they will "burn in a lake of fire" because they are attracted to someone of the same gender is not religious intolerance.  Calling hurtful words hurtful is free speech.  We accept your right to say them, but be prepared to accept our right to say we don't like it.

If the WRP had left well enough alone, or even stated that Mr. Hunsperger's views did not reflect those of the party, things probably would have died down a bit.  Instead,  party leader Danielle Smith spoke out in support of Mr. Hunsperger's right to mix a narrow religious interpretation with politics.  And now, Mr. Hunsperger has removed the post that he had every right to write, and claims to "fully support equality for all people, and condemn any intolerance based on sexual orientation or any other personal characteristic," .  If his religious conviction was so pure, and his freedom to state it so unshakable, why is he backing down?

This has added impetus to the attacks upon the bloggers and journalists who have spoken out against the WRP and their rather impressive roster of, er....fringe...candidates and their support of "conscience rights" for government employees.  The culture of bullying, of media favouritism, of policy concealment, and of rhetorical slight-of-hand that pervades this party has given a voice to the angry and disenfranchised across our province, and those angry and disenfranchised individuals are using the airwaves and social media to yell louder and punch harder than ever before.  

Free speech goes both ways, folks.  If you do not agree with someone, you can walk away, as you would like those of us who disagree with you to do.  But the WRP and their supporters are not letting us walk away.  They are tweeting and blogging and phoning our homes.  They are name-calling, spamming, and robo-dialling those who do not agree with them.  They are bullying anyone who is not like them, and   bullying is violence, whether physical, verbal, or virtual via cyber-bullying.

And I do not want a government of bullies running my province.  It's time to stand up to bullies and to say that I have a right to my beliefs, too.  And I believe that politicians who are willing to tell young people that they will burn in hell for being born are people I do not want speaking for me on other matters,  not even the building of roads and parks

So I will make my voice heard.  I will vote.  And I will encourage all Albertans to vote.  For whomever you wish.  But vote.

'Cuz when the bullies start beating up your friends, you'll wish you had said something earlier.

Telling someone that their statements are hurtful, that public attacks on a group of people based upon sexual orientation are inappropriate if you are running for political office, these things are not religious intolerance.  Telling someone that they are spreading hate by telling children that they will "burn in a lake of fire" because they are attracted to someone of the same gender is not religious intolerance.  It is calling

An Act of Shameless Self-Promotion

For those of you in the Vancouver/Lower Mainland region of British Columbia (or those of you who can get there on this short notice), I would like to remind you that Fibres West is coming up next weekend.  Why? Because I will be there, teaching, and my classes still have space.

So, in a blatant act of shameless self-promotion, I am here to say:  COME TAKE A CLASS!

My class sizes are quite small right now, but the organizers have decided to go right ahead and run them anyway.  I love small classes, because I get more one-on-one time with each student, which is great for you, too. And the organizers have agreed to keep registration open right up to the start of class time, so you impulsive types can just show up in the morning and join in!

The classes I will be teaching next weekend are:

Friday, March 16, I will be offering an abridged version of my most popular workshop, Spinning Super Socks.  We will cover fibre selection, worsted-style spinning, spinning to a specific twist per inch, and self-striping socks.  The cost is a low $90 for registration, plus a measly $15 paid to me for materials.

Saturday, March 17, I will teach Simply Elegant Spindle Spinning.  Learn how to spin, or improve your spinning, on a suspended (drop) spindle.  Perfect for yarn lovers who are ready to take the next step, or for those of you who wheel spin and wish your wheel was more portable.  This class is relaxed and gentle, and a lot of fun. (And it will be taking place on St. Paddy's Day, so who knows what shenanigans may ensue!) Registration is $90, and materials are only $10.

Classes both days run 10-4, with a lunch break.

So, if you have some free time on your hands, or were considering taking a class, or really, really want to get your hands into some nice fibre, go to Fibres West's website and check out the details.  And if you don't want to take a class with me, there are several other fine classes with space available, too.  And vendors.  Did I mention that there will be vendors? 

So head on out to Abbotsford.  Take a class.  Shop.  Revel in the fibery goodness. Or just drop by and say hi.

(But, seriously, you should take my class. Really.)

F-Words

Today's post is brought to you by the letter F, as in What The F---?

The prolonged silence since my last post should suggest to you that I've been away, which I have.  I have spent 2 of the last 3 weeks in the US, teaching a Master Spinner Program class in Las Cruces, NM.  But that will not be the subject of today's post.  Today, I am going to get political.  If I step on your toes or offend your personal sensibilites, I apologise, but this is a Big Deal to me.

The first F-Word is Feminism.  Women's rights are under seige.

When the US Congress convened an all male panel to explore whether or not contraception should be covered, I was taken aback, but not really surprised.  President Obama had made changes to the health care act, requiring employers to provided insurance that includes covering the cost of contraception (aka birth control pills).  Religious groups objected on the grounds that their religious freedoms were being overridden by this act. And in the ever more Divided States of America, this was a perfect political opportunity. So, in an election year, what better opportunity to draw attention to our defence of American decency than a panel on the rights to control birth control.

                                           (Image stolen from democraticunderground.com)

The nonsense that has followed would seem ludicrous if not for the fact that there are men vying for the leadership of that great nation who are jumping on the bandwagon.  The media is attacking women who use contraception as "whore" and "sluts", and male commentators are showing their total ignorance of women's bodies and how they function by describing, in excruciatingly incorrect detail, the methods under question.  The misinformation and blatant hate speech that has flowed out of the American media lately has been apalling to those of us watching from the outside.  I cannot imagine how it feels to be an American woman right now.

Surely, 50 years after The Female Eunich and bra-burning, women should be treated as equals by the men in their government.  Given a say in their own health, reproductive and otherwise.  Or, at least, invited to the table and allowed to speak freely. 

Apparently not. 

Our second F-Word is Fibre.  Or Fiber, for those of you south of the 49th who are taking a stand.

You see, a group of fibre artists in the US, led by knitters Donna Druchunas and Annie Modesitt, are embarking on a campaign to deluge their representatives in Congress and the Senate with, well, female naughty bits.  They have formed a Ravelry group called Government Free V-JJ and are providing information to help knitters find patterns for uteruses and vaginas (there are a surprising number of them, too!).  They are helping knitters find the addresses for their government representatives, and some members have even offered to hand deliver loads of uteri.

            (This uterus was knit by designer MK Carroll and the link to her pattern on Knitty is below.)
The very idea of knitters rising up in revolt may seem ludicrous, but it is actually part of a long history of subversive messages appearing in textiles.  Stories have been woven into kilim rugs for centuries-including the modern and rather disturbing War Rugs.  The Bayeux tapestry is alleged to contain coded messages of rebellion. World War II prisoners of war embroidered "Fuck Hitler" in Morse Code around the edges of samplers. 

Never underestimate the power of a woman with knitting needles.

The final F-Word is Freedom.

In North America, it's pretty easy to assume that we are a free society.  But freedom comes with responsibility.  We have freedom of speech, but that does not mean we can say hateful, hurtful things without repercussions.  We have freedom of religion, but that does not mean that we may impose our beliefs on someone who does not share them.  We have freedom, but we must work to ensure that that freedom is equally available for everyone.  We are only free as long as we are prepared to stand up against what we know is wrong.

Like removing a woman's freedom to control her own reproductive health. Or to just be treated with dignity.

If you want to send a uterus, or just knit one in support, you can go to Government Free V-JJ on Ravelry and you can find free patterns at Knitty and The Anti-Craft.

Lend a Puppet a Hand

So, I may have mentioned once or twice that I have three beautiful, clever, and talented children.  And I may have mentioned that one of them is a puppeteer/filmaker, or possibly a filmaker/puppeteer-it's hard to keep these hyphens straight. That would be Number One Son, Brendan.

Anyway, one weekend not long ago, Brendan got the idea to make a short film for entry into the Virgin Radio Fake Film Festival and he gathered together a few of his friends and shot this:

Requiem for A Dream in 60 Seconds (With Puppets)

This is Darren Aronofsky's disturbing story of drug addiction and it's impact on four interconnected people, compacted into a 60-second highlight clip, featuring puppets instead of the original cast of Jared Leto, Marlon Wayans, Jennifer Conelly, and Ellen Burstyn.  Even if you haven't seen the original film, you can pretty much follow its story in this short video.  If you have seen the original, this is almost more disturbing. And/or hilarious.

Brendan's film has made it into the top 24 and is eligible for the grand prize of $10,000 and the People's Choice prize of $1,000.  It would be awesome if you could take a moment and go to Virgin Radio's website and scroll down to the bottom of the page to submit your vote for Requiem for a Dream.  And, while you're there, take a minute or two (or twenty-three) to watch some of the other films entered, too.

But vote for this one, okay?

'cuz a puppet could use a hand every now and then.

Kraken 2.0

Right after I adjusted to the fact that a Kraken lurks in my shoulder and shared that nugget of information with the world here on the blog, I was notified of a pending Kraken upgrade.

You see, the symptoms that sent me to the doctor in the first place seemed to be getting worse instead of better.  Pain was increasing, mobility decreasing.  So doctor sent me up the Kraken expert ladder.  Turns out this was a mixed blessing.

Doctor 1 had "under-diagnosed" my Kraken.  I would seem that instead of the common Kraken tendinitis, I am being visited by the Great Arctic Kraken, also known as Frozen Shoulderus.  Not only that, but he has brought along his little friend Kraken arthritis.

I did not take this as good news, as Arctic Krakens are notoriously stubborn, requiring 2-3 years of diligent effort to tame on average. No one can explain why Artic Krakens choose to move into a specific territory, though several speculate the they are attracted by repetitive movements in the region.  Others go so far as to suggest that they may be attracted to stress, or women in menopause (Who? Me?).  Everyone agrees, however, that they mean business.

So off I go to the mighty Kraken tamer (commonly referred to as "the physiotherapist"), who takes one look at me and says "Oh dear".  Not terribly reassuring, I'll tell you.  Then he set about torturing the Kraken, or rather, me.  It was not fun, and I have been assured that I will be having this not fun twice a week for a year or so.  Not cool.

I was sent home with a couple of ridiculously simple little exercises.  On paper.  I am diligently practicing these exercises and I am absolutely gobsmacked by how much these idiotically simple little movements hurt all of a sudden.

All of that optimism that I was so adamant I possessed just a few short weeks ago flew out the window.  Being told that you will not raise your arm or sleep without pain for two years will do that to a gal.  I will confess to a day of wallowing in the Sea of Oh Poor Me.  Those waters are warm and deep.

Yet, this morning, that same slightly manic determination that figured out how to knit and spin with one hand in a cast from elbow to finger tip has surfaced again.  All things considered, this is a survivable catastrophe.  It will not be pleasant, and there will, no doubt be setbacks.  But I have support from my lovely family.  I also have two doctors and a physiotherapist working with me, and when she gets back from holidays, my RMT will get in on the Kraken taming.  I have a smorgasboard of Kraken-calming nostrums, ranging from herbal to narcotic.  In fact, the local medical community is treating this more diligently than they did the broken wrist.

Last week, my boss told me that his wife has a mantra: "The Universe is in complete and perfect balance".  Then he laughed and said that she only uses it when things are going terribly wrong.

The Universe is in complete and perfect balance.

And we will survive.

In Which We Meet a Kraken

Just as we are gearing up for the busy, busy spring-into-summer teaching whirl, we encounter...

..the Kraken.

The Kraken lurks in quiet, deep places, but occasionally surfaces to snare the unwary.  It is known to devour entire ships whole, and impair spinning progress on an epic scale.  It especially detests the long draw.

Krakens have a nasty habit of travelling about their territory and ...well...pooping.  They leave piles of nastiness throughout their range, little foul pockets of inflammation that can only be worked out with great care.  The problem with Kraken poop is that once you clean it up in one spot, the beastie deposits some in another.

The worst thing about the Kraken, though, is that it is nocturnal.  It will lie dormant during the day, lulling its victim into complacency, then strike as the victim is drifting into sleep.  These attacks are often sudden, and intense, leaving the victim laying awake for hours, waiting for pain-killers to kick in.

This Kraken has been lurking in these waters for some time, but with increased activity in the region, it has been awakened and is angry.  Steps must be taken to tame the Kraken, or defeat it.

After consulting with experts in the field, I have discovered that this Kraken is actually of the genus Shoulder Impingementus, family Rotator Cuff Tendinitisae.  These particular Krakens are, apparently, fond of people who use their arms in overhead arcing motions, or in front-to-to back swinging motions.  People like tennis players, weavers, and long-draw spinners. (Thank goodness I don't play tennis!) Or people who keep their shoulder in one position for extended periods of time, like computer workers, or worsted spinners.

So the Battle of the Kraken begins.  The Kraken has been x-rayed and identified, and is awaiting an MRI to survey any damage it may have done to its territory (besides the pooping).  Meanwhile, we are poisoning it into submission with anti-inflammatory medication and knocking it out with pain-killers for short periods so its victim can sleep.  Now begins the training of the Kraken, with exercises that I suspect will hurt me far more than they will hurt the Kraken. This same approach has tamed the giant lizard that lived under my kneecap for 6 years, so I am optimistic that I can befriend and tame the Kraken as well...

Awwww...see?  It's just a little guy.

I'm gonna kick its butt!