ease of use

The sun is shining this morning and it may reach 50 degrees by afternoon. We hear there's a storm coming - and I do detect a stronger breeze. Our weather changes always arrive on dramatic wings of winds and I just finished picking up a full bag of papers and scraps that were mysteriously disinterred from the trash can by chair-table-tossing winds last week. But so far this season we've had more sun than snow and I fervently hope it continues.
     The craft show continues on in its own way as I receive calls from folks who saw stuff but didn't buy and want it now. Unfortunately, most of what they're requesting is gone. The principle of fear of loss is actually based in fact. As is if you snooze you lose. Take heed. But for one person (I don't do commissions) I am actually making a pair of hand warmers using some of that giant ball of yarn I posted a photo of yesterday. She wants it as a gift for her 96 year old mother. And it has to be lively. After that I'll make a longer, larger pair for her very tall adult son who is so tall that he can't get warm.

I never gave that concept much thought - that really tall people require more heat to warm up. Being 5' 1" myself (possibly less now that I've passed a certain age - and I don't want to know) it's never been my concern. I'm usually too warm and I live with an average sized man who is always cold. Go figure. Soul mates aren't necessarily easy to live with at home (nor geniuses, altho my experience in that area is limited). In any case, I like this woman and for her I will knock out the things she requested. As for the other requests for pink hand warmers and socks and hand knitted acrylic sweaters? Not. Ever.
     In response to several entreaties from super-sensitive-to-wool people (including Ron), I am researching alternative sock yarns. I found a great site called Vegan yarns (great name) with lots of suggestions. Yarns I've tried in the past didn't do it for me and I ended up giving away the unused balls. In my humble opinion, Opal's cotton blends are the best, but they do contain some wool (which is what makes them so nice). I'm close to ordering bamboo and nylon blends. But suppose the above mentioned wool-wussies turn out to be bamboo-balkers? Will keep you informed.

a gaggle of gratitudes

So much to be thankful for

As I sit here on this Monday evening drinking cheap Sauvignon Blanc and eating expensive dark organic chocolate with raspberries and recall all the people I saw this weekend, all the new memories that I hardly have room for. The success of the Yuletide Craft Fair, the first birthday of my darling Dante. So much to mourn for. My dear friend's daughter who lost her husband a week ago.

     Thanksgiving is over. We cooked a full traditional meal for just the two of us and finished off the last of it today at lunch. The family celebrated 2000 miles away but we were close in each others' thoughts. The three day craft fair was especially crowded and lively this year and I'm grateful that so many people appreciated the work I've done with yarn.  It's always such a throw of the dice - will people come? will they buy? the economy is so bad. Taos always lags behind economically. I think, in fact, that gifts are still being bought and there is a growing appreciation for hand made items. Gratitude.

I shared space with poet Leslie Ullman who makes Bead Poem necklaces using incredible ingredients. 

Our energies complement each other and we had a lovely time for three days - although this year there was no free time to share poetry. There was an especially heavy showing of jewelry at the fair this year and we were surrounded. By Sunday we were trading with each other. Now I have a special OM pendant from a designer that cost me a tiny felted purse. She wanted it so much. Energies exchanged. Gratitude.

Hand warmers sold out, socks flew out the door, shawls were treated like treasures, new friends and collectors were made.

     I met a lively attractive woman whose uncle was sculptor Jose de Rivera - well known in the '60s and beyond, died in the '80s. She loaned me a book on her uncle's work and I brought it home for Ron to peruse. As a sculptor himself, he was interested. Catherine also showed me brooches that her uncle created for the special women in his life. He created the one on the right for her when she was a little girl.

All in all, the weekend was busy, exhausting and satisfying. I thank all the people who still love hand crafts and to all of those who keep it alive. And I can't help but feel that craft shows are, after all, the result of people's passions for craft run amuck. Long may they run wild.

     And now, as the night closes in, I am faced with a ball of yarn the size of a melon unearthed from a forgotten box in the garage. It's lovely. What secrets does it hold? What will become of it? What will become of me?

laughter & tears

first you laugh sincerely

It was his first birthday, he wore the hat and mittens I made for him - and his daddy tossed him in the leaves! He actually(according to all biased eyewitnesses) loved it. Someone snapped this cellphone picture for me. We really wanted to be with him on that important day last Friday, but it was not to be. Instead, I'm editing the last papers due for class, watching the video of Dante dancing at his birthday party (dancing!), and knitting in every spare moment in preparation for the craft fair looming. It didn't help my schedule to decide a few days ago that I absolutely needed felted bags and pulled from my overtaxed brain cells the pattern for the drawstring bags I made a couple of years ago. I started in on them immediately and at this moment, the felted pieces of two bags are drying and I'm working on a third.

Poet Leslie Ullman is sharing booth space with me and we're looking forward to spending time visiting, gossiping, maybe even sharing poetry with during the lulls (if there are any). Oh, and uh, eating chocolate in all its forms. Whether it's Xmas M&Ms or good organic dark, we're there.

And so are our socks and necklaces... (baby sock shown)...

life again
what happens when you're making other plans
It's not just the preparations and editing and other stuff that's shadowing my life right now. A few days ago I learned that the husband of an extended family member I've known since she was eight years old, took his life. A handsome robust man in his late 40's with sons, a daughter, a wife he loved. So why? At this time, no one seems to know.An unexpected, unexplained event sends family and friends reeling. This is the fourth suicide to indirectly touch my life since July. I don't know how to wrap my mind around this. Is it a phenomenon? A trend? And, if so, what's it all about? And why do I hear an elderly friend talking euthanasia and someone much younger questioning why he should go on living?

and on it goes
The book Love  & Death Greatest Hits just won the New Mexico Book Award for poetry. A few months ago I highlighted the authors, Renee Gregorio, Joan Logghe (poet laureate of Santa Fe), and Miriam Sagan. They gave a sold out reading for SOMOS. Congratulations to each of them and to Tres Chicas Books. It's a good read, real (reeling) with humor and sadness. Life again.

I want to be perfect for your grief
mourn sixty times less than you do
for you are the widow. As God gave
us honey as a sixtieth of prophecy
sleep as one sixtieth of death.
                                (excerpt from Grief's Entitlement by Joan Logghe)

movin' along

We've been watching the History Channel's series on the Universe. So many of the images that the scientists show us are computer enhanced. It occurs to me that we don't have to enhance the amazing things we see right from the windows of our house. Like dawn this morning. When Taos Mountain looked like Mt. Vesuvius for a few minutes until the sun popped out over the peak. Or last evening before we went out for sushi.

I'd had one of those days that flew by. Wrote, ran a few errands, sent Dante's birthday gifts east and had a nice long coffee shop visit with a new friend. She's 81, looks a young 70, and plans to take an apartment in Florence so that she can draw open the curtains in the morning and see the Duomo! She's lived all over the world and we talked a lot about places and people. Her philosophy ("as a wiser old woman") is to eliminate from her life anyone with a negative point of view. "No time or patience for that anymore". Consequently she embodies what Joan Didion called the concept of "forward momentum". She overcame a serious illness that in 1990 gave her two years to live. So there. Just the inspiration and inspiriting I need at this time. And Greg at the coffee shop presented me with another artistic latte. Ah, the small major pleasures!

knock 'em off!
Still (albeit slower now) finishing items for the show. This latest pair of Knitz Mittz delights me.

My problem is that I've already removed three pairs of mittz from the pile to keep for myself or to gift. I can't knit fast enough to keep up with the disappearances so will have to exert some discipline. That loathsome word that seems to slip into every recent endeavor. But I guess without it I wouldn't finish anything.

If you meet someone whose soul is not aligned with yours,
send them love and move along
                Wayne Dyer

the spirit's own time

A busy time of snow, deadlines, knitting, minor stresses and not much of interest to share - hence the long time between posts. A few days ago we had 8" of snow "down" here and a foot or more up in the Ski Valley (8 miles away) which will open on Thanksgiving Day (you can hear the cheers ring out across the valley).

The snow mostly melted away over the next few days, but today it threatens to start all over again. Sigh! Why do I live here? I've never been a fan of snow. I guess it's for other perks. Awesome landscape, three distinct cultures, and an active community of artists, writers, and every other type of creative endeavor known to humankind such as....

the big read
an initiative of the National Endowment for the Arts in partnership with Arts Midwest "designed to restore reading to the center of American culture." It started in 2004 to address the "critical decline in reading for pleasure among American adults." It's purpose is to bring communities together to read, discuss and celebrate books and writers. Here in Taos, thanks to the work of a few dedicated people, SOMOS received a grant to bring in The Big Read. This year's books are Louise Erdrich's Love Medicine and Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. Early this month the books were distributed free to anyone who wanted to participate. And since it's a month long event, people are still hopping aboard. Last night we had the pleasure of listening to keynote speaker, award-winning Joy Harjo.
     When I first visited Taos in the late 1980s I was greatly influenced by a poetry reading and workshop she gave. Since then she has become internationally known. Her work has evolved into a blend of poetry, saxophone, flute, and song. I wanted to photograph her onstage, but it felt intrusive to do so during her performance (why I'll never be a photojournalist or paparazza).
      Prior to her appearance, the impressive Taos High School Poetry Team performed. The topics they covered were gritty and edgy (no hearts and flowers) and each young poet had a strong stage presence. All in all it was a thoroughly satisfying evening and I'm glad I went even though every cell in my body wanted to settle into the early darkness to knit and watch an old movie. And speaking of knitting (did you think I wouldn't?) a few ufo's are littering my landscape today.

I'm a bit behind in my production schedule but trying not to get obsessive about it. No guilt (well, maybe just a tad). I already have enough for the show which, if I actually sold out, would pay for a ticket to Paris. But, alas, that's not likely and it is necessary to have more than enough for would-be buyers.

The spirit has its own time. Everyone's different.
Without poetry, without song, without dance, 
I would not be alive. Nor would any of us."
          Joy Harjo

of darkness & chocolate

I'm still ruminating over my trip to San Francisco and beyond last month. Especially remembering today the windy day spent in North Beach. Chinatown. City Lights Books. The cafes and shops. I love that neighborhood and over many visits have gotten to know it somewhat. It's as if that piece of the city belongs to me. I wish I could have seen it when it was an Italian neighborhood. The red, white, green stripes of the Italian flag still decorate the telephone poles (left over from Columbus Day?). And there is an Italian bakery where people line up on weekends to buy the best baked goods ever. I read somewhere that when the great earthquake hit and north beach was on fire, the Italians put them out with barrels of red wine! Is it true? Who knows. But it's a nice story. And once when I went into Caffe Trieste, Papa Gianni (founder) was there and insisted we take a picture together. He was in his 80s at the time and a charming flirt who hugged me tight. Legend has it that Francis Ford Coppolla wrote the screenplay for The Godfather at Caffe Trieste. That's another thing I like about San Francisco. Stories lurk in every neighborhood.

darkness visible
A couple of faraway friends are writing about the shortening of days and the inevitable darkness, Ron is popping St. John's Wort, an older friend is writing death poems, and we're expecting snow tonight. I don't usually mind this time of year (the light will return), but it's a challenge to rise above the general gloominess of spirit. So what do I do? Thought you'd never ask.

yarn! wool! 
Received a new skein today. Lorna's Laces November Limited Edition, "Breaking Dawn". Based on the final (I hope) volume of that series of vampire novels (and movies) - which I would just as soon forget. I started reading the books on a friend's recommendation. By the second volume I'd had it but was curious about the outcome which former friend refused to reveal. What a trial that last volume was! Not even close to the sophisticated creepiness of Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire years before. But I love the yarn and can't wait to make something with it as soon as production stuff is on its way.

speaking of chocolate and cherries
knocked off another pair of sock ufo's - merino, hand dyed, slubs of color. Nice. The yarn came from a local shop, hand dyed by a couple of guys in Ohio. And that's all she wrote because the label's gone.

gift of change

What looks like a painting is a real shelf with real teapots and cups on an ochre wall in a cafe called Dragonfly. Long leisurely brunch with a friend as golden sunshine poured through the late afternoon windows on a cold crisp day. Quite different from yesterday's strong winds and horizontally falling snow (no sign of it today). I've experienced many autumn/winter seasons in Taos, but this year feels different and no one dares speculate (with certainty, as they usually do) about the coming winter. There is an eerie feeling afoot of a different kind of weather. Which reminded me of the absurdist novel (which I loved) by Sean Murphy, The Time of New Weather (Delta, 2005). I opened it to the first paragraph introducing us to things out of joint:

It was the time of new weather. Buddy's earliest memories were of gravity storms, of time storms, of plagues of snails and salamanders. Since boyhood, [he] had seen it literally rain cats and dogs, seen wind blow up from the ground and straight down from the sky, seen snow fall in July and tulips bloom in December And he had often watched lightening strike twice in the same place.

body parts

On a calmer note, I finished a few more items. The socks (there are two) are another "lost in the decade" project. 

Fortunately I had more of the yarn and remembered the pattern. They're nice and woolly and a bit thicker than the socks I usually make. They'll be great in January by the fire (unless it's balmy and tulips are blooming). Tonight I hope to knock off a couple more so-nearly completed projects that, hopefully, someone(s) will love and want to own. I refuse to start anything new until this guilt producing lineup of (potential sales) ufo's become fo's.

"This is the wave of the future. We're going to be the first

nation built entirely on consumerist principles. This is 

beyond Democracy, beyond Socialism, beyond even...um, 

Monarchism. We call it...Total Capitalarianism!"

                                                         Sean Murphy

skipping stones

How cool is this old camera. I found it in an antique shop in northern California. Didn't buy it, not sure what I would have done with it, but did take the picture. Another kind of ownership.

Blue Nights
Feeling entirely guilty yet craving rest and recovery from the latest bout of labyrinthitis (vertigo) I spent yesterday reading Joan Didion's new book. As usual, her words are so compelling that I read till midnight to the last page. She writes so directly, almost a Hemingway-esque style. Pre-publication reviews suggested that she is somewhat detached in this book and maybe that's so. It is after all about loss. The daughter, husband, friends,who died. Aging. Ill health. Places from the past that don't exist anymore or are so changed as to be unrecognizable. Rather heavy subjects to delve deeply into and still be able to emerge intact.

varieties of adjustment
I see some of myself in Didion's style of detached writing and maybe that's why her work speaks to me so clearly. I applaud her honesty when she writes about old age and her own infirmities. There is no gentle segue into her woes, just a few punches. She was told by one of her doctors that she was making "an inadequate adjustment to aging." Her response? "In fact I have made no adjustment whatsoever to aging." (except not wearing the 4 inch heel red sandals anymore, although I don't know why she won't wear the gold hoop earrings either). The imperative, she wrote, is to maintain momentum as we age. Yet she's not sure exactly what that means. Nor do I. Her braiding of each person's story throughout the book is masterful. Anyone writing non-fiction will learn a great deal.

Another snowstorm in full sun today and it's cold. I think this is going to be a winter of new unpredictable weather. Forecasters never get Taos right anyway. Accuracy occurs about an hour before the weather changes. Yellow sun still fills the air and turns a tiny vitamin pill into an abstract installation. That much I know.