my own Shangri-La

On the Mora trip a couple of weeks ago, I came upon this pretty weathered fence across the road from the spinning mill. Today it made me think again about the miracle of yarn and the sheep, alpacas, other warm blooded creatures who supply us and aren't harmed in the process, and the hand spinners and mills. I understand a little bit more now why my mother was so proud of her one and only outside job as a wool winder in a knitting factory.

We watched the old old movie Lost Horizon recently - and had the usual discussion about whether we'd stay in Shangri-La or not. I'm never sure. How would it feel to not be able to leave for years - maybe never - I'd stay young but what would I do? And then I remember that in the town there were flocks of sheep! Wool! Where there is wool there is yarn. I'd have needles with me (I always take interchangeable needles when I travel) and in that mythical place they make their own electricity and I could take pictures and print them and have my own gallery and the work would be appreciated for itself and not about money because they don't use money and no one is poor and life is perfect in Shangri-La.
             So much for the run on sentence. Actually what I love most about the story (apart from all the sheep and wool) are the flutes attached to the tails of pigeons that make a haunting humming sound when the birds fly and the wind sings through the tiny wooden tubes.

And speaking of wind, it's quite forceful and noisy again today, but it is spring in the park at last.

to blossoming cherries,
we recite Buddha's blessing
most gratefully
                               Basho

artists, sheesh!

Artists have a habit of doing things that those around them do not necessarily agree with. At least around this homestead. Last year at this time Ron unearthed all the stored canvasses in his studio and decided to cull. Twenty-five pieces were assigned to the landfull. I was horrified - especially as he handed me a box cutter and asked me to do the deed. Destroy the canvas, stack up the stretchers. He said he was too busy working on new stuff. I agreed because I thought I'd be able to rescue a couple. But he was vigilant and nothing was saved. I felt like a murderer. A serial murderer.

He stacked the stretchers in the truck and planned to toss them too.

A friend came by. He was new to painting and scooped up all the stretchers. This year his paintings are hanging in the local cultural arts gallery he opened - and one of his sheep theme paintings is in my workroom. Some of the stretchers still have Ron's name scrawled on them, but no one but me seems to be bothered by it. And it's not my business after all.

the rich and famous are crazy too
It reminds me of a story I heard recently about Agnes Martin who painted in Taos for several years until she died. She was already famous when she arrived, and here she developed her very minimalist style. She was one of the Moderns and was known to destroy her paintings when she grew tired of them or moved on to a new phase (not a new concept among creative types). One day, her friend and fellow painter (and competitor) Beatrice Mandelman came in and asked for one of the canvasses being thrown away. According to the story, Agnes assumed that Bea would paint over it and gave it to her. Not so. She painted on the back and had it restretched! So now there are two paintings on that one piece of canvas. It was recently tracked down in a New York gallery and will be on display next March during a special exhibition at the Harwood Gallery. I can't wait to see it. There are lots of stories about Agnes and I may be interviewing a couple of her cohorts for an essay. One of them involves a restaurant owner and a lot of wine. We're already calling it "300 Glasses of Wine with Agnes"!

imperious nature

I'm so desperate for real spring that I'm photographing dandelions in my driveway! We had a couple of days of much longed-for rain and it was lovely, but the acequias are running low and there is a general feeling of underlying worry. Last year at this time Ron's studio got flooded because there was so much water that it overflowed and, water being water, found its angle of repose under his door. It flowed in steadily like a sweet little stream with ripples and all. He was running around saying he was going to sue someone, I was dragging paintings and books outside, mumbling oh my god! oh my god! and our neighbor, who had been cleaning the ditch, came over and calmly ordered us to get brooms and mops. But that was last year. And nothing ever stays the same around here except impermanence. Nature reigns, and now that we're mountain people, I guess that's the deal. And then yesterday. Did I tell you about yesterday? This is what greeted our bleary eyes as we stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen!

I hate this picture because it's all too familiar, but there you are. Today is another story. The snow is gone and I'm photographing yellow flowers in the sun.

anthology report
Meanwhile, weather or not, my week has been taken up with work on this year's edition of Chokecherries coming out in July. I've been to meetings, cafes - and a morning spent at the Harwood museum in their fine new "vault" area (I don't know if they call it that, but it (pleasantly) felt like one). It's all temperature controlled and filled with art from Taos Moderns and other legendary greats. The written material I've gathered from authors is outstanding (look for a celebrity). But I can't open the curtain yet. You know what they say about creative energy. If revealed too early, it goes away.

After the tight frozen winter and the dusty winds of spring, 
to hear the water flow again! It has come all the way from 
Blue Lake, up in the mountains behind the Sacred Mountain; 
it has fallen six thousand feet through canyons where its sides 
were bordered with pine and aspen trees; it has come down 
through the scrub oak and the mountain elders..."
                       Mabel Dodge Luhan

feathers of hope plucked?

Well, not really. But after all my words and pictures yesterday about blossoms and hope and spring, wind of mythical proportions blew in, stayed, brought more rain (a good thing), shut down the view of the mountains and made us feel temporarily cosy and secure with our cups of tea and Easter eggs. When it cleared off today we saw the snow!

Wind is still with us. Our house has sustained some minor damage with the constant beating it's getting. So far wind has blown down an ancient TV antenna that we were unable to remove from on our tall roof when we bought the house (thanks, wind) and one quite long gutter that ran along the west side (not so great but it could be worse). What will be left when the winds recede? I mean, really, how much abuse can a nearly 30 year old house with 51 windows take?
     Instead of obsessing and worrying over it, I painted my toenails an outlandish color and noticed that they matched the shawlette I recently finished. I'll spare you the close up of my toes. But they're blue.

book report
I'm finishing up Vanilla by Tom Ecott and have been surprised at what I've learned about the world of vanilla growing, buying, selling, its myriad uses. I had no idea of what that process involved nor, frankly, had I given it a thought until the book found its way into my hands from a friend who assured me that I'd like it. Ecott did exhaustive research, interviews, and traveled to remote parts of the globe to gather material. The first third of the book was packed with facts and written so densely that I didn't think I'd stick with it. Then it got interesting. Turns out the vanilla trade is akin to the drug trade! There are murders, robberies, armed guards, dirty doings, secrets, cheating, power plays. sheesh! who knew? Or that it takes 18 months for an exacting process that produces that expensive shriveled brown thing called a vanilla bean. Apparently the world is as greedy for vanilla as it is for oil and coffee. Chanel No.5 contains vanilla! It's a good read.

"Everything moves so suddenly in the spring. The sun will be shining some sweet afternoon, and in an hour the cloud full of rain rolls over the mountains. It turns to hail and comes down in white lines of ice, threatening the young shoots in the field."
(Mabel Dodge Luhan wrote those words in Taos in 1935. I guess some things don't change).

the thing with feathers

The blogs I'm reading these days are all about blossoms and tulips, daffodils and hope. It seems that the winter was long and harsh in many places and the burgeoning spring is being celebrated as enthusiastically as when the ancients welcomed Persephone back from the underworld. Although I'm sans daffs, tulips and pomegranate seeds, I'm celebrating too. After a night and morning of welcome rain (scary-dry here) I walked out into our small adobe-bricked courtyard I dare not even call a garden (it's more like the disheveled, overgrown Secret Garden before the kids discovered it) and noticed a few things (in spite of neglect and low moisture) getting ready to bloom.

 dwarf Asian apple

 lilacs (one of two bushes - the other is sparse with tiny buds - only 3 feet away - what's with them?

apricot (blooms early, usually zapped by a last freeze or two, but we hope) 

Due to the belief that spring may actually arrive soon in full regalia and that I'm unthinkingly humming random lyrics from old songs that mention spring...

"I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm..."

"the barnyard is busy, in a regular tizzy..."

"those April showers, bring May flowers..."

...I put aside the verdigris (dull) Colonnade shawl and took up Lorna's Laces cheerful "catalpa" yarn.

How daffy is this! makes up for the missing daffodils (I swear we had some real ones for a few years, but they disappeared). Buds, blossoms, new yarn projects, it's all about hope for the future, isn't it?

Hope is the thing with feathers
      That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all
                              Emily Dickinson

easter hues

It's almost Easter and as I drove down my dirt road I spotted balloons that resembled Easter eggs. For years after we'd moved to New Mexico and there were no longer any children or grandchildren around to share it with, I continued to color eggs every year and make glazed Easter breads with brown eggs nestled within the braids. In the 1980s in the Naragansett cottage I turned out stunning Easter breads and traditional ricotta cakes from an inadequate kitchen and old oven. It all seemed so easy and right back then - something we did without question. I abandoned the traditions a few years ago and it was okay. But this year I'm considering that bread thing again. It was/is delicious and I'm feeling a bit nostalgic today. My grandmother's name was Pasquarosa (Easter rose) and, if for no other reason, I feel connected to the holiday. I didn't know her very well, she died when I was five years old, but if I haul myself out the door for the ingredients today, I will do it it in her honor. Meanwhile, for those of you who celebrate in your own way, HAPPY EASTER!

As it happens, today is the first anniversary of this blog. One whole year - 4600 readers! Thank you and enjoy the beauty and promise of this season.

royal wedding?

Most Americans I speak to are pretty blase abut the royal wedding coming up soon. I suspect that most Brits are too. A friend wrote me that her London friends are planning a party featuring tiaras, champagne and the televised wedding. She's not sure if she's going. As for me, I just like the color of the limited edition Lorna's Laces yarn called "Royal Wedding". I finished the Little Colonnade shawlette with it. It was a quick knit and I enjoyed it. The size is neither shawl nor scarf but the yarn is soft, the color striking and I know it will find its niche a couple of seasons from now. I immediately started another using MadelineTosh something-or-other (label disappeared). The color is a sort of verdigris (grey with tiny splotches of sage and pink). I've always loved the color but tried several triangle lace patterns and didn't like any of them - lots of ripping occurred. I've complained often about my dislike (or self-imposed dyslexia) for most lace patterns so I put this one aside after completing the stockinette triangle that precedes the lace. Pulled it out when the Royals was finished and lo and behold, the stitch count and basics were the same. I immediately started in on the colonnade pattern and I think it may survive. In any case, it isn't taxing my patience.

That's my report for today. I'm uber busy again. Writing my final UNM paper, finalizing the content of the SOMOS anthology (there is some excitement surrounding it this year (more later), planning the trip east, getting acquainted with my brand new netbook (delivered today) which is soooo portable. Cafes, here I come! No lugging involved. Slight madness from constant strong winds, but surviving. Haven't committed murder yet - even when the wind blew during the  full moon!

The moon, still alone.
Ten thousand whirling galaxies
and, simply, the moon.
                            Sam Hamill

go with the flow

What's better than traveling in a sports car with the top down on a warm spring afternoon? For me, it would have to be pretty spectacular. The car, a Miata, is my husband's great love and although I drive it sometimes too, I'm short petite,  so it's not as comfortable for me to drive as it is for him - that clutch sometimes seems sooo far away. We had to drive to Santa Fe again today so I could pick up the small, lightweight netbook I need for traveling (I do not like lugging my heavy (to me) laptop through airports and security zones - I'm always crashing into things and absolutely neurotic about losing or dropping it).
          It is quite warm today and we drove home with the top down. Lovely! I couldn't resist snapping pictures of the tops of mountains in the canyon outside of Taos as we zoomed by. The tops are only visible as we pass if there is no car roof to block the view! By the time I got the camera out of my bag we'd passed the most spectacular of the mountaintops, but I like this one - a stark and stoney pinnacle against a blue/white fleecy sky.
          Stopped at the post office on the way home and found the package of yarn from Jimmy Beans Wool.

From left to right: Lorna's Laced Limited Edition Shepherd Sock yarn "Royal Wedding" (for Little Colonnade shawlette by Stephen West), LLSSY in "catalpa" (socks?), and Madelinetosh Tosh Merino Light in "corsage" (lace socks). Of course my plans for these yarns could change instantly, but I've started the Colonnade pattern and I think it's going to work.
          My ultra busy week-plus hasn't simmered down yet but I seem to have retained some of the energy it generated - I hope it carries me through another busy week ahead.

searching for spring all day
I think I found it in the Rio Grande
flowing fast between promises
of tree buds tight and green

poetic winds

As I am about to enter the fifth and last afternoon of a poetry marathon in honor of Poetry Month, I am amazed that I've managed to get through this super-busy week. Lists and lists of lists are stuffed into my bag along with pens, notebooks, loose poems and the all important appointment book. And the wind is driving us all crazy! Everyone I encounter is talking about it (not that it's anything new). We have winds. But especially so in early spring and this year.
          When the new winds slammed in a few days ago they brought much colder air. It has been relentless since then and I noticed this morning when I left for town on errands, that gardens that had been watered yesterday afternoon in the warming sun, were encased in glass-like crystals today. Dramatic as they looked as the early sun shone through icey beauty, it was a detriment to recently blooming daffodils. But survival is the key word in northern NM and what survives at all tends to grow hardier each year and with each new blast from nature.

Most amazing of all, however, is that this week I managed to finish the green hat I'd been working on. In fact, no matter what time I arrived home at night (and some nights it was late) I picked up my needles and worked a few rows. Sometimes those rows were accompanied by a glass of wine or hot tea. A couple of times I was so tired, but not sleepy, that I found myself ripping out the few rows I'd managed to knit. Then suddenly, late last night, I realized it was finished! Hooray! This weekend I hope to drive down to Santa Fe for more yarn in a new array of colors. That's part of the fun - same hat but a different color each time.

So for now, I have to get back to writing today's poem. Forget yarn and other stuff. Just write. Write. Write. And hope it's not the worst junk ever. And, by the way, if it is - it doesn't really matter. It's the doing, the getting into the groove that really matters. And the lovely group of people I've gotten to know through their work. And the incredible hospitality of host Lise Goett - poet extraordinaire!

culture vultures

In spite of a busy schedule I drove down to Santa Fe yesterday to meet up with Connecticut friends who were visiting for a few days. They referred to themselves as "culture vultures" and so after lunch we all trooped over to Museum Hill and went to the International Folk Art Museum (they'd already been to every museum and art gallery in Santa Fe). What a great place it is! The collection is mind-bogglingly extensive. They were also having a textile show and, of course, I was drawn to it -  particularly the Norwegian nalbinding mittens and mitts.

According to "A History of Hand Knitting" by Richard Rutt (whose research and conclusions have sometimes been questioned), nalbinding preceded today's knitting with two needles and is described as "a looped fabric using an eyed needle loaded with a relatively short length of yarn." It started either in the mid-east or Norway. Hmm.

I loved this Mexican 1820 sampler made with linen and silk. It was quite large and this is merely a corner.

Also intriguing is a large collection of Victorian dollhouses beautifully displayed. I couldn't resist photographing a couple (there are hand made lace curtains in the upstairs windows of the two matching houses). By the way, the museum encourages visitors to take photos. Nice, eh?

Everything displayed in the museum is hand made and there are surprises around every corner. It is a friendly and playful place. From retablos and ex votos, sugar skulls, a dolls tea party, depictions of heaven and hell and war, castles and legends, farmers' markets, masks...so much to see. There was a small girl there with her grandparents and we kept hearing her say, "oh my god!" as she encountered yet another surprise. The collections come from all over the world and it's a joy to see how imagination manifests itself in craft and tradition.

Nobody sees it happening, but the architecture of our time
Is becoming the architecture of the next time.
                                          Mark Strand (from The Next Time)

for the love of it

Today I visited the Mora Valley Spinning Mill as part of a writing project. I do not spin with spindle or wheel and have been deliberately ignorant about the process (I don't need another fiber obsession). As long as I can buy already spun yarns I haven't given the methods by which they're achieved much thought. Until today. I interviewed Carla Gomez, the founder and director of the mill and had a fine time walking around the huge factory building taking pictures and learning how fleece is mill spun into yarn.

The Mora Valley Mill is a non-profit enterprise that turns out quality yarns from raw fleece provided by clients all over the southwest and beyond. They take the fleece from picking and washing to the final finished product. It is a process with numerous steps and lots of big noisy machinery. At the moment they're a "worsted" mill producing yarns from all types of sheep, goats, alpacas, and will soon be adding an adjacent mill to spin merino and other short hair fibers - apparently these latter fibers require different types of machinery to produce high quality yarn. Attached to the factory is a gallery selling skeins of dyed yarns ranging from churro to merino/mohair blends. And here's an insider tip for those of you who live nearby or plan to visit northern NM - if you buy directly from the factory, the prices are 40% off!!!!! whoooeee!

Also shown in the gallery is some local pottery and photo art and there are plans afoot to add an espresso cafe by summer. I took dozens of pictures but will only post a handful here. I was fascinated as much by the machinery as the product. Huge noisy colorful gears and pistons and spinners and carders and dryers and steamers.

I loved the spools of laceweight alpaca (sigh) that will eventually become 3-ply sport weight alpaca.

Everywhere were cartons, desks, bags, cones, filled with or waiting for fiber in various stages of production - and I photographed them all! I'll share more over the next few days but will spare you the entire slide show!

I fell in love with the carding gears!

Let's just say that I had a wonderful time driving through the mountains on a gorgeous blue sky, evergreen, snowpatch day - for the love of yarn!

too much of a good thing?

fate of knitter with more than a lifetime of stash?
The day after I wrote the post about that yarn, I stopped at the Des Montes Gallery on my way into town. In the front room was a new fiber art installation by Twilight Kallisti. I'd featured a photograph of one of her other knitted pieces in last year's Chokecherries anthology because it caught my attention with its edginess as an art form. When it comes to knitting, most of us operate within pretty traditional parameters of clothing, accessories, home decor. I certainly do. This piece, called Purl, shocks - and then you smile. I photographed it (with the artist's permission) against a busy background in the gallery so you'll have to try to see it as a whole without distractions.

Parts of Purl were constructed using recycled yarns unraveled from tossed-away old and moth eaten sweaters acquired at the Taos Recycle Center. Still useful to the discerning eye they now have a new life. Look at those long graceful fingers! Twilight is an accomplished knitter with a great imagination and a big talent. Needless to say, she now owns that rather large box of yarn. Remember I called it slightly spooky? Well situations change as fast as the weather around here and another coincidence emerges... spooky... skeleton...a sunny windy day...latte at the local coffee shop. I can't wait to see how that yarn will be transformed. Something beyond my imagining no doubt - or what the original Las Vegas craftswomen imagined.

Women in silkworm room
all dressed simply - like women
in antiquity
                        Sora   
                                (Basho's traveling companion, 17th.c)

hodgepodging again

temporarily grounded
A few months ago when I saw the movie, Eat, Pray, Love, I was quite taken with the landscapes and Javier Bardem. We watched it on TV last night and I was just as impressed. I did some research on Bardem and learned that he, along with a great cast, appeared in a Woody Allen movie, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, a couple of years ago. I rented it on my way home. The scenes in Spain are astounding (so is Bardem) and the story for which Allen won a screenwriters award is complicated, but fascinating so far. Unfortunately the DVD is damaged and I didn't get more than 30 minutes or so into it. I'll exchange it tomorrow. I watched it just long enough to make me nostalgic for Spain where I've never been. And to start thinking again about the trip we did take to London and Paris nearly two years ago. This last year has been pretty routine in the travel department which makes faraway places seem more desirable. Wouldn't it be nice to sit in a London park and write or read or snooze the way the Brits do on spring days. My English friends tell me that spring is in full bloom there. All those empty chairs.

Or telephone ahead for a reservation at a lively pub. Maybe a Thames boat trip.

But that sort of journey is not planned at this time. Instead, I'll be heading east in a few weeks and west a few weeks after that. But not crossing the pond this time.
And then I went to the post office.

a stupifying stash
It was a routine trip to pick up the mail. I'm expecting a couple of books and when I found the yellow slip in my box I thought they'd arrived. Instead, it was a huge box (26"x20"x10") from the Las Vegas, Nevada nursing home where my son is Food Services Director. Yikes! The box was stuffed with acrylic yarns, aluminum knitting needles, partially finished projects (predominantly pink and orange) and a variety of crochet hooks. Scott said they didn't know what to do with the accumulation of yarn and thought of me. I promptly text messaged him back that I think I'm going to have to kill him!

I've never had so much acrylic in my house and I've never seen that much outside of Walmart's shelves. I made some phone calls and found a taker.  Tomorrow all the yarn will be going to the Taos Ancianos Senior Center where knitters and crocheters (who aren't yarn snobs like me) will turn it into afghans, hats, and novelty items. Some of it may even turn up at church craft fairs this summer.
          It's not just that the yarn isn't what I'd normally use. It's that I wonder what happened to the crafters who acquired the yarns and started their projects with hope and plans. The only way I could be separated from my stash and projects would be:
               1) I no longer remember they exist
               2) I'm deceased.
          It's a sad stash. When I dumped out the box to take the picture, I felt it. The seniors at the center in town are lively, very much alive and productive. They won't know where the yarn originated and they'll have no preconceived spooky notions about it. Like, will some crocheter's spirit be following her yarn? For my part, I'll be happy to let go of it. And then there were the feathers. Tiny canary or parakeet feathers that floated out of one of the bags. OMG. It's outta here!

coincidence or destiny?

After yesterday's 72 degrees, now it's windy and cold with dust and smoke obliterating mountains and turning the sky white. Too windy and gritty to walk in park this morning so I feel sort of sluggish. As in slug.

hat report
Still knitting Ali Caps. The latest is a deep (darker than shown) olive. I had concerns that the patterns wouldn't show up well in the dark yarn, but it's looking good. A bit difficult to work on at night watching movies though, so it gets picked up for a few rows at my desk, the breakfast table, other down times. This one may be my favorite so far - and take the longest to finish.

a worthy sacrifice
There is an attractive woman in my UNM writing class who has long dark hair and is an appreciator of hand knits. She owns some of the socks, hats, and scarves that I've knitted. She recently shaved off that hair to raise funds for breast cancer research. She was the lone woman among a group of male firefighters and others (including her husband) who did the same. She is also fond of turtles and told us she was planning a turtle tattoo for her 50th birthday. She told us this after we'd discussed an essay by Edward Hoagland called, The Courage of Turtles. It seemed to me that the coincidence was just too great. I've set aside a hat of her choice to keep her head warm on these chilly windy days - along with the carved wooden turtle that came with the pattern. It seems there is a plan emerging for serial hat knitting after all! With her permission I will include a photo of her wearing the hat in a future post. Meanwhile, I love placing the finished ones next to each other on my desk while I'm working on other non-knitting stuff. In the essay Hoagland tells us that turtles see the same colors we do and they seem to see just as well. Well.

Freud said there is no such thing as coincidence. So what would he call it if he were here with me now? Tapping into some intuitive force? Prescience? Does the work of the hands connect with the work of the Universe? Am I getting too woo-woo? Probably. It's the wind - bringing mysteries and serendipities.