Okay. I think that if I'm going to share my stories with you, it's only fair that I offer you some perspective on what these stories are about.
One of the first things that I learned about Rheumatoid Arthritis is that most people don't actually know what it is. There are misconceptions, even within the medical community, and confusion with other forms of arthritis and even with other diseases. So, to get us started off, I offer a basic primer on Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA).
RA is a chronic, systemic auto-immune disease. What this fancy phrase means, basically, is that the immune system goes haywire and starts attacking healthy body tissues as if they were disease agents like bacteria or viruses. This happens most frequently in the fluids that serve as cushions between the bones in our joints, but can happen to other tissues in our bodies, including our heart, lungs, eyes, and digestive organs. It is not just a few achey joints, it is a disease of the whole body. And once your immune system goes awry, it never goes back. The primary result of this malfunction of the immune system is inflammation, typified by swelling, heat, and pain in the affected area. Or areas. RA very rarely hits just one spot, but rather goes after multiple joints and organs.
Other body functions are affected, too. Most people with RA have malformed red blood cells, or far to few of them, leading to anemia. This, along with the chronic pain and the fact that your body is basically expending all its energy fighting the invasion of an enemy that doesn't exist, leads to chronic fatigue. The swelling of the joints also means that our body movements are thrown way out of whack. leading to all sorts of muscle aches and pains. Some RA sufferers also have other illnesses that piggyback with the RA, such as fibromyalgia, chronic tendinitis, Crohn's disease, or Sjogren's syndrome (the inflammation of salivary glands and tear ducts), which compound the pain and fatigue.
This is a lifelong disease. There is no cure.
It is estimated that between .5% and 1% of the population have this disease, making it relatively rare, but RA can attack anyone, at any time. The usual age of diagnosis is between 20 and 50, but children (including my own daughter) can have it and I recently met a woman who was first diagnosed at 72. This disease strikes predominantly women, but men get it, too. There is no known cause, though there have been recent studies that suggest a combination of genetic and environmental factors as the trigger. The symptoms of RA vary from person to person, and from day to day in each individual. There are days that I feel pretty good, then I wake up the next morning unable to bend my fingers without crying.
This is the biggest problem with having RA-the unpredictability of the thing. No one knows who will get it, when they will get it, which of the symptoms they will have, or when and where those symptoms will strike. This unpredictability makes treatment more or less and experimental process. There is no cure, but there are treatments that can reduce the symptoms and slow the progress of the disease and mitigate the damage done. Sadly, though, there is no way of knowing which treatments will work for who until the treatment is given. And all of the treatments come with problems of their own. All of the know treatments for RA focus on suppressing the immune system, which opens a whole other can of worms. Then we add in the side-effects that come with strong medicine, from dry skin to nausea to death.
In other words, this ain't no picnic.
For me, RA has shown up as inflammation in 57 of the 60 joints counted for assessment. (My elbows and my left knee were inflammation free and have stayed that way for almost a year.) I have inflammatory tendinitis in my shoulders, hips, wrists, and ankles. I am battling costochondritis, the inflammation of the cartilage in my rib cage. I also have Sjogren's, which means my eyes are constantly dry and red and my mouth is so dry that my lips stick to my teeth.
So, now you know what I'm facing. I lived for 50 years with relatively few major health issues, then, WHAMMO! This thing hit me like a freight train. I had a life I liked, making things and teaching others to make things. Travelling and gardening and eating good food. Good friends, wonderful family. A good life. A life I do not want to give up. As I said in my last post, I am weaving the ends of that life into a new cloth, building a different life on the foundations of that old one.
The first step, in every journey, is acceptance.
For more information about RA, you can go to:
http://www.arthritis.ca/page.aspx?pid=982
http://www.hopkinsarthritis.org/arthritis-info/rheumatoid-arthritis/
http://www.arthritistoday.org/about-arthritis/types-of-arthritis/rheumatoid-arthritis/
Friday, September 26, 2014
Thursday, September 25, 2014
New Stories
It's been a while again.
I know I haven't been the most consistent or prolific blogger, but, even for me, four months is a long time. It's not that I haven't had plenty of adventures, or that I don't have long, rambling stories to tell. In fact, I've had a wonderful summer, filled with travel and gardening and family and friends. I even sat down to write several times, but I stopped.
Why?
You see, when I started this blog, I wanted to write about my journey as a fibre artist. To show off finished objects. To share my travels and adventures at fibre events. To teach and inform. This was, to me, a place for fibre and art and ideas. I know I strayed a bit here and there, but my focus always returned to my true love, the fibre stories.
Over the past year, my stories started to change. They were no longer stories of fibre and spinning and making things. As I tried to write this past year, so many of the stories changed into stories of pain, of frustration, or of anger. There was no longer spinning to share, or finished objects to show.
So, I stopped telling stories. I stopped sending out proposals to magazines, I stopped working on the book, I neglected this blog. I had no story to tell. Not anymore.
But this past month I have realized that I do have stories. Just not the ones I am used to telling. New stories. Scary stories. Stories of despair and hope and redemption. Stories of recovery and reclamation. Stories of set-backs and defeats. Stories far more interesting and revealing than those simple stories about making yarn and knitting sweaters.
I had put my stories in a box. They were safe stories. Stories about things outside of me. It's time now to set my stories free. There will be stories of spinning and pain and knitting and adaptation and growth and learning.
I am slowly weaving the threads of my old life through those of my new one. This is no longer just a blog about my journey as a fibre artist. This is a blog about my journey as a fibre artist with Rheumatoid Arthritis.
This is a blog about me, as I learn to bring my two worlds together. That old world of fibre and teaching and travel and my new world of disease and doctors. Each world has its stories, and I am the place where those stories intersect.
I know I haven't been the most consistent or prolific blogger, but, even for me, four months is a long time. It's not that I haven't had plenty of adventures, or that I don't have long, rambling stories to tell. In fact, I've had a wonderful summer, filled with travel and gardening and family and friends. I even sat down to write several times, but I stopped.
Why?
You see, when I started this blog, I wanted to write about my journey as a fibre artist. To show off finished objects. To share my travels and adventures at fibre events. To teach and inform. This was, to me, a place for fibre and art and ideas. I know I strayed a bit here and there, but my focus always returned to my true love, the fibre stories.
Over the past year, my stories started to change. They were no longer stories of fibre and spinning and making things. As I tried to write this past year, so many of the stories changed into stories of pain, of frustration, or of anger. There was no longer spinning to share, or finished objects to show.
So, I stopped telling stories. I stopped sending out proposals to magazines, I stopped working on the book, I neglected this blog. I had no story to tell. Not anymore.
But this past month I have realized that I do have stories. Just not the ones I am used to telling. New stories. Scary stories. Stories of despair and hope and redemption. Stories of recovery and reclamation. Stories of set-backs and defeats. Stories far more interesting and revealing than those simple stories about making yarn and knitting sweaters.
I had put my stories in a box. They were safe stories. Stories about things outside of me. It's time now to set my stories free. There will be stories of spinning and pain and knitting and adaptation and growth and learning.
I am slowly weaving the threads of my old life through those of my new one. This is no longer just a blog about my journey as a fibre artist. This is a blog about my journey as a fibre artist with Rheumatoid Arthritis.
This is a blog about me, as I learn to bring my two worlds together. That old world of fibre and teaching and travel and my new world of disease and doctors. Each world has its stories, and I am the place where those stories intersect.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Here Comes the Sun
Well, hi there!
Yes, it's me. I know it's been a while, but...
It was a long and cold winter, with a lot of bad news, sad stories, and personal and professional struggles. For so many I know, this past winter has been a season of loss, of change, of confusion. For me, it's been six months of medical visits, conflicting information, side effects, pain and frustration. I have sat down to write hundreds of times, only to find that all I had to express was fear and anger.
Even after the deepest darkness, there is light. My medical team has finally found a combination of drugs that are easing the pain and inflammation. I am able to use my hands again, though only for short times before they get fatigued. I can sleep again-and I seem to be making up for lost time in that department! I am eating and exercising and, most importantly, spinning.
I must admit, it's been hard work to get here. And there is still a long way to go. But I am optimistic. I can share my stories again without becoming angry, or sliding into self-pity. I am softer, slower, and more in the moment than I have ever been.
I'm not sure where life is going to take me yet. I'm still learning my new limits and limitations. I'm weighing which aspects of my life to release, which to modify, and which to hold on to. But I'm moving forward and feeling optimistic for the first time in months.
Spring has finally arrived here in Fort McMurray, and with it has come sunshine and a parting of the dark clouds over my health and heart. The hurt that was keeping me from pursuing my passions is melting under the sun's rays. I've made string, I've finished projects that have languished in the studio since last fall, I've started writing again. I've dug in the garden and walked my dog every day. I'm up and around and ALIVE.
Yes, it's me. I know it's been a while, but...
Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter.
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here.
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun...
And I say it's all right.
Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces.
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here.
I must admit, it's been hard work to get here. And there is still a long way to go. But I am optimistic. I can share my stories again without becoming angry, or sliding into self-pity. I am softer, slower, and more in the moment than I have ever been.
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun…
And I say it's all right.
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.
I'm not sure where life is going to take me yet. I'm still learning my new limits and limitations. I'm weighing which aspects of my life to release, which to modify, and which to hold on to. But I'm moving forward and feeling optimistic for the first time in months.
Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting.
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear.
Spring has finally arrived here in Fort McMurray, and with it has come sunshine and a parting of the dark clouds over my health and heart. The hurt that was keeping me from pursuing my passions is melting under the sun's rays. I've made string, I've finished projects that have languished in the studio since last fall, I've started writing again. I've dug in the garden and walked my dog every day. I'm up and around and ALIVE.
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun…
And I day it's all right.
~Lyrics to "Here Come the Sun" by George Harrison. Thank you, George, you've given me my new mantra.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Mastery
I am a Master Spinner.
What does that mean? Well, on the surface, it means that I took 5 years of classroom teaching and followed each class up with a year of home study. It means that I spent a week of intensive testing, making yarns to specification. I means I wrote an In-Depth Study, examining how to make a yarn and how that yarn will perform in use for socks. It means I fulfilled the requirements of a college continuing education course.
But it also means so much more.
It means that I have taken the time to think not only about how to make yarn, but why to do it that way. It means that I have read and studied the works of others, drawing lessons from their work, then applying it to my own. It means I have made mistakes and learned how to correct them. It means I have learned to think critically and independently.
I do not blindly accept that we do things as spinners because that is "tradition". I do not mindlessly follow gurus or trends. I have the means and the skills to set trends, if I feel the need. I take risks and make yarns that I know I will never use, just to see if I can make them. I read and think and analyze, and I draw my own conclusions. I understand my craft intimately.
There is a school of thought, made popular by Malcolm Gladwell, that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to achieve mastery of a skill. That, with enough practice, anyone can become great at the task they have set out to learn. While I agree that time and repeated practice will make you more proficient at a task, I do not agree that repetition alone will make you a master.
I recently stumbled across this post about the 10,000 hour rule. I highly suggest you read it, but in a nutshell, it says that new research has shown that it is not only the amount of time that you spend perfecting your skill, but how you use that time to analyze and improve those skills as you practice them. Doing scales, reviewing technique, problem-solving when you make mistakes. It takes an understanding of the skill that you are trying to perfect. It also means that many, no matter how long they practice or how dedicated they are, will become true masters.
My friend Margaret tells of her early spinning experience. She had been merrily spinning yarn for twenty years, but when she took her first level of the Master Spinner Program, she says she realized that she had been "spinning for one year, twenty times". She did not know that she was repeating the same patterns over and over, doing the same things right and the same things wrong again and again. She was not analyzing her work, understanding only the how, but not the why.
I am often asked what it takes to succeed in the Master Spinner Program, and my answer is always the same. It takes practice and patience and humility. That last one is a big one for most people. Humility, admitting that we do not know everything, the willingness to make mistakes and learn from them, are rare commodities today. Modern media makes us all believe that we should be instant experts in everything we try, that we all deserve greatness in our chosen fields.
The terrible reality is that this does not happen in real life. To learn any skill, be it spinning or baking bread or tightrope walking, takes practice, conscious thought, and the horrible realization that you will never be as good as you want to be. A true master is always seeking to improve, to learn more, to understand more deeply. Stopping our practicing after 10,000 hours, assuming that we are now masters, stunts our mastery and limits us. For others, even 10,000 hours of practice will not overcome a hurdle placed by a skill or an assignment.
Instead of assuming that the learning has ended and the practice has made you better, continue to learn and experiment. Guys, we have 40,000 years of spinning history to explore! New fibres, new techniques, new concepts await every one of us. Push out of your comfort zone, take risks, make mistakes. And learn. Always learn.
That is truly the road to mastery.
What does that mean? Well, on the surface, it means that I took 5 years of classroom teaching and followed each class up with a year of home study. It means that I spent a week of intensive testing, making yarns to specification. I means I wrote an In-Depth Study, examining how to make a yarn and how that yarn will perform in use for socks. It means I fulfilled the requirements of a college continuing education course.
But it also means so much more.
It means that I have taken the time to think not only about how to make yarn, but why to do it that way. It means that I have read and studied the works of others, drawing lessons from their work, then applying it to my own. It means I have made mistakes and learned how to correct them. It means I have learned to think critically and independently.
I do not blindly accept that we do things as spinners because that is "tradition". I do not mindlessly follow gurus or trends. I have the means and the skills to set trends, if I feel the need. I take risks and make yarns that I know I will never use, just to see if I can make them. I read and think and analyze, and I draw my own conclusions. I understand my craft intimately.
There is a school of thought, made popular by Malcolm Gladwell, that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to achieve mastery of a skill. That, with enough practice, anyone can become great at the task they have set out to learn. While I agree that time and repeated practice will make you more proficient at a task, I do not agree that repetition alone will make you a master.
I recently stumbled across this post about the 10,000 hour rule. I highly suggest you read it, but in a nutshell, it says that new research has shown that it is not only the amount of time that you spend perfecting your skill, but how you use that time to analyze and improve those skills as you practice them. Doing scales, reviewing technique, problem-solving when you make mistakes. It takes an understanding of the skill that you are trying to perfect. It also means that many, no matter how long they practice or how dedicated they are, will become true masters.
My friend Margaret tells of her early spinning experience. She had been merrily spinning yarn for twenty years, but when she took her first level of the Master Spinner Program, she says she realized that she had been "spinning for one year, twenty times". She did not know that she was repeating the same patterns over and over, doing the same things right and the same things wrong again and again. She was not analyzing her work, understanding only the how, but not the why.
I am often asked what it takes to succeed in the Master Spinner Program, and my answer is always the same. It takes practice and patience and humility. That last one is a big one for most people. Humility, admitting that we do not know everything, the willingness to make mistakes and learn from them, are rare commodities today. Modern media makes us all believe that we should be instant experts in everything we try, that we all deserve greatness in our chosen fields.
The terrible reality is that this does not happen in real life. To learn any skill, be it spinning or baking bread or tightrope walking, takes practice, conscious thought, and the horrible realization that you will never be as good as you want to be. A true master is always seeking to improve, to learn more, to understand more deeply. Stopping our practicing after 10,000 hours, assuming that we are now masters, stunts our mastery and limits us. For others, even 10,000 hours of practice will not overcome a hurdle placed by a skill or an assignment.
Instead of assuming that the learning has ended and the practice has made you better, continue to learn and experiment. Guys, we have 40,000 years of spinning history to explore! New fibres, new techniques, new concepts await every one of us. Push out of your comfort zone, take risks, make mistakes. And learn. Always learn.
That is truly the road to mastery.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Back in the Saddle Again
Yep, Pardners, I'm back in the saddle again. Back to teaching for the Olds College Master Spinner Program, back to good ole Level 3.
I spent last weekend in Las Cruces, New Mexico, teaching TPI formulas and the spinning of cotton and silk. I had had the pleasure of teaching a lot of the people in this class their Level 1 as well, so going back to Las Cruces was a lot like going home.
The city of Las Cruces is beautiful, and while it is in the desert, it is not hot-hot this time of year. In fact, there were a couple of mornings where the temperature was warmer in Edmonton, Alberta that in Las Cruces. However, once that bright sun started to shine, Las Cruces warmed up and it was glorious in the afternoons. Most of my too-short visit was spent in the classroom space at My Place Jewell, but I did get out for a few walks in the area.
The classroom was a busy place. We did the math, we counted our treadles, we spun the cotton, we made silk mawatas, we dyed. We managed to get the 25 colours from 1 dye bath exercise done with minimal confusion, in spite of the fact that we had 250 skeins on the go all day long!
We also had the luxury of spinning locally-grown cotton from Ric's garden. Ric is the MSP coordinator for the Las Cruces class, along with being very active in the local arts community. And, he grew cotton in his backyard garden!
(This is very exciting and exotic to someone who lives in the land of ice and snow! Not only that, but it turns out there was an experimental cotton field right across the road from my hotel. Good thing I didn't find out about that until I was leaving, or I may have been shot for trespassing. Fortunately for me, Ric used his connections in the community to get a bag of the cotton from that field to share with us!)
It was a long, hectic 5-day weekend, and by the end, the students seemed brain-weary but satisfied, and I felt the same way.
I will confess that I had had my moments of trepidation about getting back into teaching before I had my RA fully under control, and I will also confess that I was in bed, sound asleep, by 8 p.m. each night. I think that I managed rather well, though. By the end of the week, I was feeling pretty battered and my hands refused to cooperate with me on our last day of class, but all in all, it was good. It felt like stepping back into a comfortable pair of shoes, and I am happy to be back.
And, as a wee reward to myself for getting back into the saddle again, I made a slight detour on my way home. I went to Disneyland, where, to carry on the cowboy metaphor, I met up with Woody and Jessie from the Toy Story movies…
I am home now, weary and aching, but happy to be back teaching. I have another class for the Master Spinner Program coming up at Fibre Week in June, and I am looking forward to it more than I can say.
Yeehaw!
I spent last weekend in Las Cruces, New Mexico, teaching TPI formulas and the spinning of cotton and silk. I had had the pleasure of teaching a lot of the people in this class their Level 1 as well, so going back to Las Cruces was a lot like going home.
The city of Las Cruces is beautiful, and while it is in the desert, it is not hot-hot this time of year. In fact, there were a couple of mornings where the temperature was warmer in Edmonton, Alberta that in Las Cruces. However, once that bright sun started to shine, Las Cruces warmed up and it was glorious in the afternoons. Most of my too-short visit was spent in the classroom space at My Place Jewell, but I did get out for a few walks in the area.
The classroom was a busy place. We did the math, we counted our treadles, we spun the cotton, we made silk mawatas, we dyed. We managed to get the 25 colours from 1 dye bath exercise done with minimal confusion, in spite of the fact that we had 250 skeins on the go all day long!
We also had the luxury of spinning locally-grown cotton from Ric's garden. Ric is the MSP coordinator for the Las Cruces class, along with being very active in the local arts community. And, he grew cotton in his backyard garden!
(This is very exciting and exotic to someone who lives in the land of ice and snow! Not only that, but it turns out there was an experimental cotton field right across the road from my hotel. Good thing I didn't find out about that until I was leaving, or I may have been shot for trespassing. Fortunately for me, Ric used his connections in the community to get a bag of the cotton from that field to share with us!)
It was a long, hectic 5-day weekend, and by the end, the students seemed brain-weary but satisfied, and I felt the same way.
I will confess that I had had my moments of trepidation about getting back into teaching before I had my RA fully under control, and I will also confess that I was in bed, sound asleep, by 8 p.m. each night. I think that I managed rather well, though. By the end of the week, I was feeling pretty battered and my hands refused to cooperate with me on our last day of class, but all in all, it was good. It felt like stepping back into a comfortable pair of shoes, and I am happy to be back.
And, as a wee reward to myself for getting back into the saddle again, I made a slight detour on my way home. I went to Disneyland, where, to carry on the cowboy metaphor, I met up with Woody and Jessie from the Toy Story movies…
I am home now, weary and aching, but happy to be back teaching. I have another class for the Master Spinner Program coming up at Fibre Week in June, and I am looking forward to it more than I can say.
Yeehaw!
Thursday, January 02, 2014
The Power of Negative Thinking
Happy New Year!
Yes, it's a new year, full of hope and promise, as every new year is. And we are all making resolutions to be better people and do better things. Because that's what you do in the new year. And, to that end, my social media feeds have filled up with all sorts of diet ads and inspirational memes.
You know, those little memes that show up every day on social media, telling you to embrace the joy. Positive thinking leads to positive results. Love yourself and the world will love you. Chirpy little cliches in a swirly font over a background of hearts or "nature". You know the ones.
Now, there is nothing wrong with having a positive outlook. I have one myself. I believe that the world is good and kind and generous, and that things will always work out in the end (though not always the way I want). I see beauty in every day, no matter how grey and bleak. I encourage those around me to stay positive, because I really do believe that we make our own reality with our perceptions. If we perceive goodness and abundance, we see it in our lives. It's just there.
I also believe that there are a lot of people out there who need to be reminded of the good in the world. That there is kindness and joy and sunshine. Depression is a real thing, and so are fear and loneliness and pain. Sometimes those things are huge and overwhelming to the point where the person loses perspective and they become the only reality they know. I have been there myself over the last few months, when the pain in my joints has been the only thing that I was aware of. Food doesn't taste the same, colours look different, sound hurts.
Most of the time, I think those chirpy little cliches are a way to remind ourselves that the sun will come out tomorrow, that we are stronger than we think we are, that others have recovered and we can, too. But, when they are flung around carelessly in place of active concern and the acknowledgement of the reality of suffering, they are more like a slap in the face to those who hurt.
I have looked at life very long and very hard lately, as one does when one is facing some enormous changes, and I have come to this conclusion: Stop accentuating the positive.
Because there is a dark side to life. Everybody has bad days. Flat tires, the stomach flu, a car accident, a death, a cheating spouse, a scary medical diagnosis. Shit happens. To all of us. Laying a veneer of false cheerfulness over the way that that crap makes us feel is denying our natural response to crisis. And to deny us our natural response to crisis is wrong.
When something terrible happens, big or small, we need to accept our rage, our pain, our frustration, our disappointment. We need to name it and to release it, vent it out. If we do not vent it, it builds up inside us, like steam, until something breaks. Yet we are taught from infancy that it is not appropriate to be openly angry or frustrated or disappointed. Those are negative behaviours and nobody wants to see them. Be nice, smile, stay positive and it will all go away. Everything happens for a reason. The sun will come out tomorrow.
Painters understand the importance of the negative. The space around the focus of any visual artwork is called negative space and is as vital as the actual subject itself. It is the negative space that focuses the viewer's eye on what they really need to see. It is the negative space that highlights the beauty of the subject of the work. It is the negative space that gives the work meaning.
As knitters, we know the power of negative space, too. The holes and loops me make when we knit lace are what makes the fabric special. Without the holes, all we have cloth. When we add holes, emptiness, negative space, we make a thing of beauty.
When we look into the negative space, it helps us illuminate what is good and beautiful and positive. We see life from a different perspective again. We accept the darkness and the emptiness and the pain, because it shows us what is real, and what is good. We become more positive when we embrace the negative.
When we live our lives by those chirpy cliches, when we lay them over our darkness to hide it from ourselves and others, we deny the balance of art, of life. We need to visit our dark places, our negative space, from time to time. Oh, I'm not saying move in and live there, just drop by every now and then. Acknowledge the negative space and the role it has in making our lives beautiful.
So, though I do not make resolutions, I am going to state an intent for 2014. I am going to embrace the Power of Negative Thinking. And I am going to continue to love my life and find beauty in every day because of it.
Yes, it's a new year, full of hope and promise, as every new year is. And we are all making resolutions to be better people and do better things. Because that's what you do in the new year. And, to that end, my social media feeds have filled up with all sorts of diet ads and inspirational memes.
You know, those little memes that show up every day on social media, telling you to embrace the joy. Positive thinking leads to positive results. Love yourself and the world will love you. Chirpy little cliches in a swirly font over a background of hearts or "nature". You know the ones.
Now, there is nothing wrong with having a positive outlook. I have one myself. I believe that the world is good and kind and generous, and that things will always work out in the end (though not always the way I want). I see beauty in every day, no matter how grey and bleak. I encourage those around me to stay positive, because I really do believe that we make our own reality with our perceptions. If we perceive goodness and abundance, we see it in our lives. It's just there.
I also believe that there are a lot of people out there who need to be reminded of the good in the world. That there is kindness and joy and sunshine. Depression is a real thing, and so are fear and loneliness and pain. Sometimes those things are huge and overwhelming to the point where the person loses perspective and they become the only reality they know. I have been there myself over the last few months, when the pain in my joints has been the only thing that I was aware of. Food doesn't taste the same, colours look different, sound hurts.
Most of the time, I think those chirpy little cliches are a way to remind ourselves that the sun will come out tomorrow, that we are stronger than we think we are, that others have recovered and we can, too. But, when they are flung around carelessly in place of active concern and the acknowledgement of the reality of suffering, they are more like a slap in the face to those who hurt.
I have looked at life very long and very hard lately, as one does when one is facing some enormous changes, and I have come to this conclusion: Stop accentuating the positive.
Because there is a dark side to life. Everybody has bad days. Flat tires, the stomach flu, a car accident, a death, a cheating spouse, a scary medical diagnosis. Shit happens. To all of us. Laying a veneer of false cheerfulness over the way that that crap makes us feel is denying our natural response to crisis. And to deny us our natural response to crisis is wrong.
When something terrible happens, big or small, we need to accept our rage, our pain, our frustration, our disappointment. We need to name it and to release it, vent it out. If we do not vent it, it builds up inside us, like steam, until something breaks. Yet we are taught from infancy that it is not appropriate to be openly angry or frustrated or disappointed. Those are negative behaviours and nobody wants to see them. Be nice, smile, stay positive and it will all go away. Everything happens for a reason. The sun will come out tomorrow.
Painters understand the importance of the negative. The space around the focus of any visual artwork is called negative space and is as vital as the actual subject itself. It is the negative space that focuses the viewer's eye on what they really need to see. It is the negative space that highlights the beauty of the subject of the work. It is the negative space that gives the work meaning.
As knitters, we know the power of negative space, too. The holes and loops me make when we knit lace are what makes the fabric special. Without the holes, all we have cloth. When we add holes, emptiness, negative space, we make a thing of beauty.
When we look into the negative space, it helps us illuminate what is good and beautiful and positive. We see life from a different perspective again. We accept the darkness and the emptiness and the pain, because it shows us what is real, and what is good. We become more positive when we embrace the negative.
When we live our lives by those chirpy cliches, when we lay them over our darkness to hide it from ourselves and others, we deny the balance of art, of life. We need to visit our dark places, our negative space, from time to time. Oh, I'm not saying move in and live there, just drop by every now and then. Acknowledge the negative space and the role it has in making our lives beautiful.
So, though I do not make resolutions, I am going to state an intent for 2014. I am going to embrace the Power of Negative Thinking. And I am going to continue to love my life and find beauty in every day because of it.
Thursday, December 05, 2013
Make Do and Mend
I have a favourite sweater. It is a grey handspun Merino/silk pullover, knit in a travelling cable pattern and I designed it and made it almost 8 years ago. It is that go-to sweater that I pull over everything. Warm enough to fend off our 40 below winter days, light enough to toss on over a t-shirt on a cooler summer evening. Sturdy enough to wear as winter outerwear, soft enough to wear against bare skin. I love this sweater.
I love this sweater not only because it is practical and pretty and I made it with my own two little hands. I love this sweater for what it represents.
I bought the fibre for this sweater, roving in a blend of "Oreo" Merino and Tussah silk from Silver Valley Fibres, as my reward for completing Level 6 of the Olds Master Spinner Program in 2005. It was a difficult year, fraught with personality conflicts and teacher drama, and I deserved a treat. I packed up my lovely fibre and brought it home, intending to use it as my reward spinning as I produced each sample for my In-Depth Study.
Meanwhile, life moved on. I gardened and hiked and enjoyed the rest of the summer. After all, spinning wool, in my mind, was a winter thing, anyway. I joined the cast of a student-directed production of The Rez Sisters and had a wonderful time learning the role Annie, the aspiring country singer. And, yes, I was learning to sing. Then, on our first rehearsal on stage, disaster struck. While rehearsing a house exit, I was tripped by another actor while we dashed down a concrete ramp. I bounced off my right knee and I whacked my left wrist on a metal railing as I went down. Torn ligaments and cartilage in my knee, but, far worse, I had broken the scaphoid in my left wrist and there was a possible hairline fracture in the radius.
I was in a cast for almost 3 months, with my knee bandaged and supported. I spent most of the fall of 2005 on the couch, heavily drugged and fearing that my life as a spinner was over. I was in pain and scared and depressed. And then, when the cast came off, my worst fears were confirmed. My wrist was locked and there was incredible pain and inflammation in the joints of my wrist and thumb. I was referred for an MRI, which showed an inexplicable inflammation of the tendon. The surgeon decided that the best option was to simply slit the tendon sheath and allow the tendon to move more freely, assuming that the inflammation would then resolve itself.
It took 2 surgeries to eventually correct the issue, which left me in casts for nearly another 4 months, off and on. I was going stir crazy and I was certainly not about to give up the craft that not only had become my source of income, but was often my only tenuous link to sanity in a busy house full of teens. I managed to teach myself to knit while holding the left-hand needle tucked between the exposed fingertips at the end of my cast and letting the right hand do all the work. And I decided to try an unsupported long draw. At first, I was not very good, mostly because I spin left-handed. My right hand was not as attuned to the feel of the fibre, the tug of the twist. I struggled and fought. But, pretty soon, I got the hang of it, and that was when I went looking for more roving to spin. I found my reward fibre.
I spun the yarn for the sweater using a completely unsupported long draw with the hand less accustomed to spinning while in a cast. This is something of an accomplishment, as any spinner can tell you. And, once I was out of casts, I used knitting as my physiotherapy to recover. Doctors and physiotherapists comment often on how great the range of motion is in that thumb, and I give all the credit to this sweater. I called the sweater Phoenix, because it chronicles my rise out of the ashes of injury and my renewed flight as a maker and teacher. The story of the sweater is a great one, and a reminder to me that there is no obstacle that cannot be overcome.
However, over the past few months, I have met a new obstacle. The pain and stiffness of RA make the frustration of spending months in a cast pale by comparison. Side effects from medications are making day-to-day living challenging. And this week, I had a full physio assessment that has shown me exactly how bad this flare is. I not only have inflammation in my hands and feet, but in my jaw, shoulder, spine, hips, knees. I even have inflammation at the points where my ribs meet my sternum. I am a mass of messed up joints, and some of the joints in my hands are showing signs of permanent damage. The headaches, the sore neck, the shortness of breath, the lower back pain--all of which I had attributed to being out of shape and lazy--are all disease. I am actually ill. I am wallowing in frustration and fear and pain, with little hope of a speedy resolution to the mess. I am, once again, facing the fear of losing the thing that defines me as an individual, my craft, my career.
So, in this state of mind, I pulled out the Phoenix sweater to warm my achey joints on a very cold Northern Alberta morning. As I pulled it over my head, I noticed a spot where there was light shining through. A hole. In my precious sweater. The sweater had survived the Great M*th Attack of ought-twelve. It has been washed and worn and stuffed in the bottom of gym bags. It has ridden around on the floor of the car. And now, after sitting in the closet for a few months, it has a hole.
I will freely admit that I cried. I stood staring at this hole and cried.
Then I remembered that I still had a tiny ball of that precious yarn that I had fought so hard to make. I had kept it because it reminded me that I could. I could find a way around the problems. I could make things, even under adverse conditions. I could persevere and recover. And I could mend my sweater.
The mend is not pretty. The hole was in the spot between the reverse stockinette stitch and the knit stitches of the cable pattern, plus the hands doing the stitching are stiff and clumsy these days. But the hole is gone. The patch will make the sweater last another 6 years, or more.
Sometimes, when a thing gets damaged, we are quick to discard it. It is easier to just get another one, or do without. But, sometimes, something is worth mending. It will not be perfect anymore. It may not look the same as it used to, and it may even be totally different, but we still have it. We just have to take the time to make do and mend.
___________________________________________________
As a tiny footnote to this story, I would like to share this with you: The physiotherapists were amazed that with the amount of inflammation and joint damage that exists in my hands that I still had better than average range of motion. They attribute that to the fact that, in spite of the pain and the slowness of the process with swollen fingers, I am continuing to knit and spin. And they encouraged me to keep it up.
I love this sweater not only because it is practical and pretty and I made it with my own two little hands. I love this sweater for what it represents.
I bought the fibre for this sweater, roving in a blend of "Oreo" Merino and Tussah silk from Silver Valley Fibres, as my reward for completing Level 6 of the Olds Master Spinner Program in 2005. It was a difficult year, fraught with personality conflicts and teacher drama, and I deserved a treat. I packed up my lovely fibre and brought it home, intending to use it as my reward spinning as I produced each sample for my In-Depth Study.
Meanwhile, life moved on. I gardened and hiked and enjoyed the rest of the summer. After all, spinning wool, in my mind, was a winter thing, anyway. I joined the cast of a student-directed production of The Rez Sisters and had a wonderful time learning the role Annie, the aspiring country singer. And, yes, I was learning to sing. Then, on our first rehearsal on stage, disaster struck. While rehearsing a house exit, I was tripped by another actor while we dashed down a concrete ramp. I bounced off my right knee and I whacked my left wrist on a metal railing as I went down. Torn ligaments and cartilage in my knee, but, far worse, I had broken the scaphoid in my left wrist and there was a possible hairline fracture in the radius.
I was in a cast for almost 3 months, with my knee bandaged and supported. I spent most of the fall of 2005 on the couch, heavily drugged and fearing that my life as a spinner was over. I was in pain and scared and depressed. And then, when the cast came off, my worst fears were confirmed. My wrist was locked and there was incredible pain and inflammation in the joints of my wrist and thumb. I was referred for an MRI, which showed an inexplicable inflammation of the tendon. The surgeon decided that the best option was to simply slit the tendon sheath and allow the tendon to move more freely, assuming that the inflammation would then resolve itself.
It took 2 surgeries to eventually correct the issue, which left me in casts for nearly another 4 months, off and on. I was going stir crazy and I was certainly not about to give up the craft that not only had become my source of income, but was often my only tenuous link to sanity in a busy house full of teens. I managed to teach myself to knit while holding the left-hand needle tucked between the exposed fingertips at the end of my cast and letting the right hand do all the work. And I decided to try an unsupported long draw. At first, I was not very good, mostly because I spin left-handed. My right hand was not as attuned to the feel of the fibre, the tug of the twist. I struggled and fought. But, pretty soon, I got the hang of it, and that was when I went looking for more roving to spin. I found my reward fibre.
I spun the yarn for the sweater using a completely unsupported long draw with the hand less accustomed to spinning while in a cast. This is something of an accomplishment, as any spinner can tell you. And, once I was out of casts, I used knitting as my physiotherapy to recover. Doctors and physiotherapists comment often on how great the range of motion is in that thumb, and I give all the credit to this sweater. I called the sweater Phoenix, because it chronicles my rise out of the ashes of injury and my renewed flight as a maker and teacher. The story of the sweater is a great one, and a reminder to me that there is no obstacle that cannot be overcome.
However, over the past few months, I have met a new obstacle. The pain and stiffness of RA make the frustration of spending months in a cast pale by comparison. Side effects from medications are making day-to-day living challenging. And this week, I had a full physio assessment that has shown me exactly how bad this flare is. I not only have inflammation in my hands and feet, but in my jaw, shoulder, spine, hips, knees. I even have inflammation at the points where my ribs meet my sternum. I am a mass of messed up joints, and some of the joints in my hands are showing signs of permanent damage. The headaches, the sore neck, the shortness of breath, the lower back pain--all of which I had attributed to being out of shape and lazy--are all disease. I am actually ill. I am wallowing in frustration and fear and pain, with little hope of a speedy resolution to the mess. I am, once again, facing the fear of losing the thing that defines me as an individual, my craft, my career.
So, in this state of mind, I pulled out the Phoenix sweater to warm my achey joints on a very cold Northern Alberta morning. As I pulled it over my head, I noticed a spot where there was light shining through. A hole. In my precious sweater. The sweater had survived the Great M*th Attack of ought-twelve. It has been washed and worn and stuffed in the bottom of gym bags. It has ridden around on the floor of the car. And now, after sitting in the closet for a few months, it has a hole.
I will freely admit that I cried. I stood staring at this hole and cried.
Then I remembered that I still had a tiny ball of that precious yarn that I had fought so hard to make. I had kept it because it reminded me that I could. I could find a way around the problems. I could make things, even under adverse conditions. I could persevere and recover. And I could mend my sweater.
The mend is not pretty. The hole was in the spot between the reverse stockinette stitch and the knit stitches of the cable pattern, plus the hands doing the stitching are stiff and clumsy these days. But the hole is gone. The patch will make the sweater last another 6 years, or more.
Sometimes, when a thing gets damaged, we are quick to discard it. It is easier to just get another one, or do without. But, sometimes, something is worth mending. It will not be perfect anymore. It may not look the same as it used to, and it may even be totally different, but we still have it. We just have to take the time to make do and mend.
___________________________________________________
As a tiny footnote to this story, I would like to share this with you: The physiotherapists were amazed that with the amount of inflammation and joint damage that exists in my hands that I still had better than average range of motion. They attribute that to the fact that, in spite of the pain and the slowness of the process with swollen fingers, I am continuing to knit and spin. And they encouraged me to keep it up.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)