We have to thank god for Jon Stewart. Laugh or cry, at least he is telling it like it is.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
A Whisper and A Shout
Head yourself over to Patti's Purling Place and get glimpse of a gorgeous item she has created using some Wee Ball Yarn. She sent me a picture with a fuller view but since the project in question is a gift, it must needs remain secret. I am thrilled to see my yarn in action. I always wonder what becomes of it and, so far, Patti is the only person who has sent me a finished project photo. A nice sense of the circle coming closed.
We finished our third week of yoga training this weekend and next weekend is off, a welcome rest. The program I am involved with puts a fair emphasis on subjects other than asanas (and appropriately so in my opinion). We spend a lot of time on anatomy, sanskrit, pranayama, vedic chanting, etc.. Much to my surprise, I am enjoying all those things quite a bit, although my ability to memorize seems to have declined in a serious way since the last time I was in a class of any kind.
As someone who was a participant in a yoga class, I always disliked it when teachers spent a lot of time on breathing exercises (pranayama) or chanting - I even felt strange about beginning and ending with "om". Now I am realizing that these two things are, in fact, the meat and potatoes of yoga. Hmmm....that's not such a great analogy....they are the dal and rice of yoga. As these realizations become clearer, I start to have thoughts much like I did during my childbirth educator training. That is, that most people are not ready to hear these things. Most people go to yoga for a workout and maybe that nice time at the end when we get to lay on the mat on our backs and relax.
As a childbirth educator, I was never able to reconcile the urgency I felt that women should be able to experience birth fully because it offers something so profound and life changing that, to miss it, feels like the greatest crime ever perpetrated on womankind. (It was hard not to fall in conspiracy mode, with evil men keeping women from recognizing their incredible power, etc., etc..). So, I was all filled with this passion and then I would teach a class of couples whose primary question was "when do I get my epidural?" If I got too far into things like "owning your power", I could see and feel people shutting me out - I was not giving them what they wanted. They were having a baby, not looking for a path to liberation. Ultimately, I had to stop trying to teach because I couldn't take it. I was starting to get angry at my students for what I perceived as a laziness about knowing themselves.
As my understanding of the potential of yoga has grown, I started to have worries that I would not be able to find people who would want to take a class that included some of the more esoteric (yet vital) aspects of yoga, and the same situation would occur. I was starting to get rather uptight about it, already arguing with imaginary students. Gawd. Then I thought, you idiot! How have I come to this place if not by taking lots of classes, most of which I saw as a nice workout and then you get to lay on the mat and relax at the end. Somehow I managed to figure it out and others will too.
Sometimes a whisper is better than a shout.
We finished our third week of yoga training this weekend and next weekend is off, a welcome rest. The program I am involved with puts a fair emphasis on subjects other than asanas (and appropriately so in my opinion). We spend a lot of time on anatomy, sanskrit, pranayama, vedic chanting, etc.. Much to my surprise, I am enjoying all those things quite a bit, although my ability to memorize seems to have declined in a serious way since the last time I was in a class of any kind.
As someone who was a participant in a yoga class, I always disliked it when teachers spent a lot of time on breathing exercises (pranayama) or chanting - I even felt strange about beginning and ending with "om". Now I am realizing that these two things are, in fact, the meat and potatoes of yoga. Hmmm....that's not such a great analogy....they are the dal and rice of yoga. As these realizations become clearer, I start to have thoughts much like I did during my childbirth educator training. That is, that most people are not ready to hear these things. Most people go to yoga for a workout and maybe that nice time at the end when we get to lay on the mat on our backs and relax.
As a childbirth educator, I was never able to reconcile the urgency I felt that women should be able to experience birth fully because it offers something so profound and life changing that, to miss it, feels like the greatest crime ever perpetrated on womankind. (It was hard not to fall in conspiracy mode, with evil men keeping women from recognizing their incredible power, etc., etc..). So, I was all filled with this passion and then I would teach a class of couples whose primary question was "when do I get my epidural?" If I got too far into things like "owning your power", I could see and feel people shutting me out - I was not giving them what they wanted. They were having a baby, not looking for a path to liberation. Ultimately, I had to stop trying to teach because I couldn't take it. I was starting to get angry at my students for what I perceived as a laziness about knowing themselves.
As my understanding of the potential of yoga has grown, I started to have worries that I would not be able to find people who would want to take a class that included some of the more esoteric (yet vital) aspects of yoga, and the same situation would occur. I was starting to get rather uptight about it, already arguing with imaginary students. Gawd. Then I thought, you idiot! How have I come to this place if not by taking lots of classes, most of which I saw as a nice workout and then you get to lay on the mat and relax at the end. Somehow I managed to figure it out and others will too.
Sometimes a whisper is better than a shout.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
More and more
To follow up on the previous entry about the police in the East Village, I wanted to clarify that I expressed surprise that the police felt ok about physically abusing a middle aged, middle class, white guy, it was not because I thought it is ok to abuse people who are not white, or not middle class and highly educated. I don't think being poor or anything else is a good enough reason to be harassed by the police. In fact, my surprise was that the police felt comfortable enough with their powers (real or perceived) that they are now attacking not just people who have been traditionally disenfranchised but people who have access to lawyers and the media and the knowledge of how to use these resources. To me that is the trickle down effect from our federal policies that have encouraged aggressive behavior on the part of the police while also removing rights for citizens who seek recourse from such abuses.
But on to a cheerier topic...
Regarding the pencil cozy project, it looks like they want to go with the BIG one whereby I make a cozy for a water tower. Is that a cheerier topic? I am not so sure! It means that I need to assemble a crew of people to help crochet this thing and enough yarn. There isn't much time to do either, let alone to actually make this thing. I am thinking treble crochet in the fattest yarn I can find. What do you think?
But on to a cheerier topic...
Regarding the pencil cozy project, it looks like they want to go with the BIG one whereby I make a cozy for a water tower. Is that a cheerier topic? I am not so sure! It means that I need to assemble a crew of people to help crochet this thing and enough yarn. There isn't much time to do either, let alone to actually make this thing. I am thinking treble crochet in the fattest yarn I can find. What do you think?
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Police State?
Yesterday a friend shared a story with me that was so disturbing that I want to share it here so that others may know what is happening in our fair city. I will try to be brief and to the point.
Their teenage son was having an out-of-town friend over for the weekend and his mother drove from upstate NY to the city to deliver him to my friend's house. They live in the East Village. It was Friday evening. The mom double parked her car and unloaded her son and his goods and went inside to say a quick hello to my friend. Almost as soon as she entered the house, my friend's husband called out that the police had pulled up and she had better move her car or get a ticket. He went out to try to stop the police from ticketing. Almost immediately the police officer started screaming at my friend's husband to "get out of the way". He was taken aback by this reaction but the officer was quite aggressive to the point where he said, in jest, "hey don't bother her (the car's driver), arrest me instead." The officer pulled out her handcuffs and made towards him. He ran away (perhaps, in retrospect, this was a mistake but until now this had been a parking dispute). The officer called for back up. Meanwhile the friend had driven away (assuming she was now free to go) but had sirens wailing behind her by the time she reached the end of the block. She pulled over. The police asked her to get out of her car and hand over her keys. She got out and was asking why when the police slammed her up against the car and cuffed her. Back at my friend's house, six police officers entered her house looking for her husband and grabbed him, slammed into the wall (making a dent and breaking a framed picture), cuffed him and literally carried him out by the hand cuffs and threw him into the police car. This might be the time to mention that he is in his late 40s and slightly built - hardly a scary physical presence. When he complained that the handcuffs were too tight, they tightened them further. Three days later, his hands were still swollen and numb.
There were several witnesses to this display of police power, including a neighbor who is a lawyer who volunteered to act on my friend's behalf. As a result, both the car driver and my friend's husband were released a couple of hours later. They still must appear in court and my friend has been advised not to complain since to do so would mean tempting further police harassment. My friend described a moment of illumination during the whole drama when her husband was getting slammed around when she was thinking "I need to call the police!" and realizing: this IS the police.
I find it scary that anyone - and I mean anyone: this was a white, middle class, highly educated, middle aged guy - can end up handcuffed and in jail over double parking in this city. What is perhaps scarier is that, when my friend was telling this story, she set off a whole series of other people's stories about recent episodes of over zealous police actions.
The trickle-down effect of the Patriot Act?
Their teenage son was having an out-of-town friend over for the weekend and his mother drove from upstate NY to the city to deliver him to my friend's house. They live in the East Village. It was Friday evening. The mom double parked her car and unloaded her son and his goods and went inside to say a quick hello to my friend. Almost as soon as she entered the house, my friend's husband called out that the police had pulled up and she had better move her car or get a ticket. He went out to try to stop the police from ticketing. Almost immediately the police officer started screaming at my friend's husband to "get out of the way". He was taken aback by this reaction but the officer was quite aggressive to the point where he said, in jest, "hey don't bother her (the car's driver), arrest me instead." The officer pulled out her handcuffs and made towards him. He ran away (perhaps, in retrospect, this was a mistake but until now this had been a parking dispute). The officer called for back up. Meanwhile the friend had driven away (assuming she was now free to go) but had sirens wailing behind her by the time she reached the end of the block. She pulled over. The police asked her to get out of her car and hand over her keys. She got out and was asking why when the police slammed her up against the car and cuffed her. Back at my friend's house, six police officers entered her house looking for her husband and grabbed him, slammed into the wall (making a dent and breaking a framed picture), cuffed him and literally carried him out by the hand cuffs and threw him into the police car. This might be the time to mention that he is in his late 40s and slightly built - hardly a scary physical presence. When he complained that the handcuffs were too tight, they tightened them further. Three days later, his hands were still swollen and numb.
There were several witnesses to this display of police power, including a neighbor who is a lawyer who volunteered to act on my friend's behalf. As a result, both the car driver and my friend's husband were released a couple of hours later. They still must appear in court and my friend has been advised not to complain since to do so would mean tempting further police harassment. My friend described a moment of illumination during the whole drama when her husband was getting slammed around when she was thinking "I need to call the police!" and realizing: this IS the police.
I find it scary that anyone - and I mean anyone: this was a white, middle class, highly educated, middle aged guy - can end up handcuffed and in jail over double parking in this city. What is perhaps scarier is that, when my friend was telling this story, she set off a whole series of other people's stories about recent episodes of over zealous police actions.
The trickle-down effect of the Patriot Act?
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Guest House
Yoga teacher training is quickly becoming quite intense. We have classes from 11 am to 8 pm on Saturday and Sunday, then we are required to take at least one class/week and meet with our "buddy" to study together and practice teaching. I am loving it but it is a strain on the whole family. That said, they seem to be having a great time without me. I think there is something good to be gained from time without Mom around... and I suppose they are getting a full opportunity to explore that.
The classes themselves are interesting - a combination of asana work, Sanskrit, chanting, anatomy and meditation. Some are easier than others - because I have a basic knowledge of Hindi, Sanskrit is not so unfamiliar and since I have a regular meditation practice, there aren't any big surprises there. As for the asanas, I can get a little harsh on myself but I have to step back and remember that it is silly to compare myself to people who are 1. two decades younger than me, 2. a different gender and 3. professional dancers. Yes, I am the old lady of the group but what I lack in upper body strength I like to think I make up for in maturity. Stop laughing! I have been doing something for those two decades between 20 and 40.
Oh well. Intention is everything.
Here is a poem by Rumi that was recommended to us by our meditation instructor.
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
Some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all.
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
Who violently sweep your house
Empty of its furniture,
Still, treat each guest honorably.
He maybe clearing you out
For some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
Meet them at the door laughing,
And invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
Because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
The classes themselves are interesting - a combination of asana work, Sanskrit, chanting, anatomy and meditation. Some are easier than others - because I have a basic knowledge of Hindi, Sanskrit is not so unfamiliar and since I have a regular meditation practice, there aren't any big surprises there. As for the asanas, I can get a little harsh on myself but I have to step back and remember that it is silly to compare myself to people who are 1. two decades younger than me, 2. a different gender and 3. professional dancers. Yes, I am the old lady of the group but what I lack in upper body strength I like to think I make up for in maturity. Stop laughing! I have been doing something for those two decades between 20 and 40.
Oh well. Intention is everything.
Here is a poem by Rumi that was recommended to us by our meditation instructor.
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
Some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all.
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
Who violently sweep your house
Empty of its furniture,
Still, treat each guest honorably.
He maybe clearing you out
For some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
Meet them at the door laughing,
And invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
Because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
A Shaft of Autumn Light
Our schedule has kicked into full gear this week so I have had to kiss good-bye our slow mornings and the lazy days of summer. Today was our Brooklyn day - Finn and Lucy have several hours at a drop-off day of classes and I am free to do as I please for that time period with only traffic and subway schedules to hem me in.
I came across this phrase today in my peaceful mode of solo activity. I thought it got things about right:
Nothing to choose.
Nothing to discard.
I came across this phrase today in my peaceful mode of solo activity. I thought it got things about right:
Nothing to choose.
Nothing to discard.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Can Someone Please Explain To Me
Why it is ok for the government to buy out not one but now several huge corporations (because that's capitalism)...
and it is NOT ok for the government to make sure everyone in the country has access to adequate health care (because that's socialism)?
and it is NOT ok for the government to make sure everyone in the country has access to adequate health care (because that's socialism)?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
War Bride
Remember Barb Hunt's project for the benefit at the Textile Museum?
The perimeters of the benefit project were that each piece must fit in an 8" x 8" frame. Here is what Barb made with the camoflague yarn:
She titled it "War Bride".
The perimeters of the benefit project were that each piece must fit in an 8" x 8" frame. Here is what Barb made with the camoflague yarn:
She titled it "War Bride".
Monday, September 15, 2008
DFW 1962-2008
Although I can't claim to be his biggest fan or to understand everything he was up to, I will miss David Foster Wallace and his funny/sad writing. This is such a funny/sad time that we need him now more than ever. My heart goes out to his family.
This poem came into my inbox this morning and it seems about right for this moment. It reminds me, at times, of David Foster Wallace. It reminds me, at times, of how much I love the unbridled optimism of some people in this complicated country. It reminds me how sad it is that too many people react from fear far too much in this country. It reminds me that I miss Allen Ginsberg too. I did see him once reciting poetry at Cooper Union. I didn't really understand who he was - this old guy half-singing, playing a squeeze-box, talking about gay sex - but how could you not get caught up in his optimism?
I am so sorry that DFW couldn't find a thread of optimism anymore. I hope some of us will keep looking.
America
by Allen Ginsberg
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
This poem came into my inbox this morning and it seems about right for this moment. It reminds me, at times, of David Foster Wallace. It reminds me, at times, of how much I love the unbridled optimism of some people in this complicated country. It reminds me how sad it is that too many people react from fear far too much in this country. It reminds me that I miss Allen Ginsberg too. I did see him once reciting poetry at Cooper Union. I didn't really understand who he was - this old guy half-singing, playing a squeeze-box, talking about gay sex - but how could you not get caught up in his optimism?
I am so sorry that DFW couldn't find a thread of optimism anymore. I hope some of us will keep looking.
America
by Allen Ginsberg
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
No Problem
Today is the first day of the yoga teacher training. Naturally I am full of doubts about my ability to do it - am I too old? too stiff? not strong enough?
No problem. Just attend to the moment...isn't that what yoga is all about?
By yesterday I was in deep conversation with an ad agency in Toronto about a project to promote a design award given out by an organization in London, UK. Somehow the project has morphed into the possibility of my crocheting a cozy that looks like a pencil for a water tower on a rooftop in Manhattan. By mid-October.
No problem....
Wait! Big problem!
We wait with bated breath for the client's final decision. Is it a good thing that I will be relieved if I "only" have to crochet a pencil cozy for a statue of William Shakespeare in Central Park?
No problem.
No problem. Just attend to the moment...isn't that what yoga is all about?
By yesterday I was in deep conversation with an ad agency in Toronto about a project to promote a design award given out by an organization in London, UK. Somehow the project has morphed into the possibility of my crocheting a cozy that looks like a pencil for a water tower on a rooftop in Manhattan. By mid-October.
No problem....
Wait! Big problem!
We wait with bated breath for the client's final decision. Is it a good thing that I will be relieved if I "only" have to crochet a pencil cozy for a statue of William Shakespeare in Central Park?
No problem.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
How Much is Just Enough?
If there is one topic that comes up among homeschoolers (after rolling our eyes at the non-existent "socialization" question), it is how much is enough. How much activity? How much academics? How much playtime? How much access to outside resources? How much money to spend? How much independence? How much one-on-one time? How much discipline? How much privacy?
These questions are the questions that all parents ask but when you choose not to send your child into the school system, these questions become magnified - there is no strong outside authority answering it for you and your child. Every child gives you their own answer.
Every year we struggle to answer the how much question and it gets more complicated to answer it as Finn and Lucy get older and their interests become more defined and refined and, not to mention, divergent. Gone are the days when, for example, Finn's grade one curriculum consisted mainly of: go to park, dig a large hole. In Finn's case, I should add: put on a suit and tie, go to park, dig a large hole. (He was in a phase where he loved to wear a suit and tie so I had the only six year-old at the playground digging who looked like he could go to a formal affair just afterward.) But digging a hole, or sometimes a trench, was definitely a huge part of Finn's education that year. He would start digging, which attracted other children (boys, mainly) who shared his deep love of digging, and they would create all sorts of stories about why and what they were digging. He really learned a lot that year.
Now, at nearly 12, he still like to dig a good hole now and then but it isn't quite enough. The thing is, we have all these amazing resources at our fingertips here in NYC. There is an urgency to take advantage of them all. It is hard to step back and remind ourselves that some of the greatest thinkers and inventors of our time had access to next to nothing and still thrived. Plus, I am a firm believer in the power of boredom. But how much boredom?
And so it goes.
These questions are the questions that all parents ask but when you choose not to send your child into the school system, these questions become magnified - there is no strong outside authority answering it for you and your child. Every child gives you their own answer.
Every year we struggle to answer the how much question and it gets more complicated to answer it as Finn and Lucy get older and their interests become more defined and refined and, not to mention, divergent. Gone are the days when, for example, Finn's grade one curriculum consisted mainly of: go to park, dig a large hole. In Finn's case, I should add: put on a suit and tie, go to park, dig a large hole. (He was in a phase where he loved to wear a suit and tie so I had the only six year-old at the playground digging who looked like he could go to a formal affair just afterward.) But digging a hole, or sometimes a trench, was definitely a huge part of Finn's education that year. He would start digging, which attracted other children (boys, mainly) who shared his deep love of digging, and they would create all sorts of stories about why and what they were digging. He really learned a lot that year.
Now, at nearly 12, he still like to dig a good hole now and then but it isn't quite enough. The thing is, we have all these amazing resources at our fingertips here in NYC. There is an urgency to take advantage of them all. It is hard to step back and remind ourselves that some of the greatest thinkers and inventors of our time had access to next to nothing and still thrived. Plus, I am a firm believer in the power of boredom. But how much boredom?
And so it goes.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
The Cup Spills Over..and Over...
Every year I anticipate a quiet fall where we reconnect with our homeschooling community of friends and I calmly and quietly make all sorts of lovely things - handspun yarn, knit sweaters for the whole family, bake lots of bread and serve up hot, home-cooked meals. I have no pressing deadlines yet creativity is all around. Everything is appreciated in the moment and we revel in the changing daylight and cooler temperatures. Bliss.
Yup. Every year the same fantasy.
In reality, reconnecting with our wonderful homeschooling community means learning about the zillions of great things to do and struggling to say no to at least some of them in order to preserve at least a small chance at sanity. Add to that a growing interest in Wee Ball Yarns - enough to encourage me to keep at it steadily (read: every day or fall behind). Then a couple of art opportunities have cropped up. And then, in my moment of fantasy when I still believed with all my heart that life would be simple and clear this fall, I signed up for a yoga teacher training program that requires a rather massive time commitment. And so it goes: the cup, filled to the brim, begins to spill over.
Stay focused. Be organized. These are my watch words this season.
As my life is an embarrassment of riches, I am committed to celebrating these opportunities, not grousing about them. Here are a couple of nice thing that have come my way recently:
- an online store that sells fine handmade objects for home and gifts have picked up a selection of Wee Ball Yarns hats. Check them out here.
- a new online community for artists and curators is featuring my work on the homepage for the next two weeks. Have a look!
And will I soon be crocheting a giant commissioned pencil cozy for a NYC landmark on my way to yoga classes? I'll let you know!
Yup. Every year the same fantasy.
In reality, reconnecting with our wonderful homeschooling community means learning about the zillions of great things to do and struggling to say no to at least some of them in order to preserve at least a small chance at sanity. Add to that a growing interest in Wee Ball Yarns - enough to encourage me to keep at it steadily (read: every day or fall behind). Then a couple of art opportunities have cropped up. And then, in my moment of fantasy when I still believed with all my heart that life would be simple and clear this fall, I signed up for a yoga teacher training program that requires a rather massive time commitment. And so it goes: the cup, filled to the brim, begins to spill over.
Stay focused. Be organized. These are my watch words this season.
As my life is an embarrassment of riches, I am committed to celebrating these opportunities, not grousing about them. Here are a couple of nice thing that have come my way recently:
- an online store that sells fine handmade objects for home and gifts have picked up a selection of Wee Ball Yarns hats. Check them out here.
- a new online community for artists and curators is featuring my work on the homepage for the next two weeks. Have a look!
And will I soon be crocheting a giant commissioned pencil cozy for a NYC landmark on my way to yoga classes? I'll let you know!
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Busy Hands Are Happy Hands
It's a bowl!
It's a grapefruit!
It's a bowl AND a grapefruit! A grapefruit bowl!
This is my thank-you gift to Marcia for her generous gift of a copy of The Principles of Uncertainty. Last summer, I had made up a bunch of these bowls as items for the gift shop at The House Museum. Marcia saw one that Colette had selected and fell in love with it. Perhaps this is what made her think that Maira Kalman and I have something in common. It is bowl made from a half of a grapefruit. The key is to paint it before it dries out too much. I had to force feed Finnian three grapefruits before I got one that worked. (The "Why Are You Here?" is the motto of The House Museum, and still one of my favourite questions.)
In between screwing up grapefruit bowls, I have been spinning, that is to say, delighting in my new found wealth of fleece.
A luxurious combo of shetland, merino and yak in soft colours. Yummy.
Ok, so I called this one ADHD. Does that make me a bad person?
This is some more of that wonderful BFL/Icelandic cross along with some shetland, alpaca and even some camel. I added some vintage carved bone skull beads (11 in total). First I was thinking it was an homage to my early days as a wanna-be punk in the East Village of the very early 80s but it looked a little too refined in the end. Then I thought it might be a "Do Not Squander Your Life" skein of yarn but then I worried that it sounded too preachy. Then I decided that the skulls where there to remind us that we all must die. So I called it "Memento Mori".
It's a grapefruit!
It's a bowl AND a grapefruit! A grapefruit bowl!
This is my thank-you gift to Marcia for her generous gift of a copy of The Principles of Uncertainty. Last summer, I had made up a bunch of these bowls as items for the gift shop at The House Museum. Marcia saw one that Colette had selected and fell in love with it. Perhaps this is what made her think that Maira Kalman and I have something in common. It is bowl made from a half of a grapefruit. The key is to paint it before it dries out too much. I had to force feed Finnian three grapefruits before I got one that worked. (The "Why Are You Here?" is the motto of The House Museum, and still one of my favourite questions.)
In between screwing up grapefruit bowls, I have been spinning, that is to say, delighting in my new found wealth of fleece.
A luxurious combo of shetland, merino and yak in soft colours. Yummy.
Ok, so I called this one ADHD. Does that make me a bad person?
This is some more of that wonderful BFL/Icelandic cross along with some shetland, alpaca and even some camel. I added some vintage carved bone skull beads (11 in total). First I was thinking it was an homage to my early days as a wanna-be punk in the East Village of the very early 80s but it looked a little too refined in the end. Then I thought it might be a "Do Not Squander Your Life" skein of yarn but then I worried that it sounded too preachy. Then I decided that the skulls where there to remind us that we all must die. So I called it "Memento Mori".
Monday, September 08, 2008
Twin Spin
Because sometimes repetition makes you love it even more....
(video of Tanya Davis' song "Art" by Andrea Dorfman)
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Art, Art, I Want You
This summer we met Marcia Connolly, who is the cinematographer for the movie about Colette Urban. She did amazing camera work and was always full of energy and enthusiasm and was wonderful with Finn and Lucy. There were two things she was always enthusiastic about when she saw me: The Principle of Uncertainty by Maira Kalman, a book that she felt contained similarities to the aesthetic of The House Museum (I am deeply flattered at that comparison!), and this song by Tanya Davis:
I had heard of neither but now that I know about them, I also feel a lot of enthusiasm. Thank you so much Marcia!
Tanya Davis is a poet who also sings. Here is one of her poems that I especially like:
The neatness that i crave
You keep your room so clean
i wish i was an article on your floor
and you would put me away
your perfect hands
and i would always have a place to go
your house
the neatness that i crave
and you
I had heard of neither but now that I know about them, I also feel a lot of enthusiasm. Thank you so much Marcia!
Tanya Davis is a poet who also sings. Here is one of her poems that I especially like:
The neatness that i crave
You keep your room so clean
i wish i was an article on your floor
and you would put me away
your perfect hands
and i would always have a place to go
your house
the neatness that i crave
and you
Waiting to Exhale
The post from Newfoundland has been very slow this summer. I have had more than one anxious yarn buyer contact me about yarn that hasn't arrived in what one might consider a generous amount of time. The yarn always does arrive, but usually it is a good three to four weeks after shipping. It is frustrating not just because I have to try to placate the understandably anxious buyer but because it means they will likely never buy any more yarn since, as much as they might love it, the whole transaction has became too much trouble. I will likely have to refund money to one buyer this weekend for this very reason and I know the yarn will appear at some point, but the damage is done. Then I have to hope she will be honest if the yarn does arrive. The cost of doing business, I guess.
These experiences made shipping my fleece to NYC from Newfoundland a slightly nerve-wracking proposition. I spent the extra money to insure it since it was hundreds of dollars worth of materials and equipment. The days passed but I expected at least 7 - 10 days. Picture, if you will, the pages of a calendar whipping off in the wind like they sometimes show in old movies...still no fleece. Now I am not only anxious but jonesing for my fleece! You can't spin air, my friends!
Finally, in digging through my stash as part of my destash sale, I found some undyed fleece. I ignored the heat and humidity (what's up with that? I thought fall was already here...) and desperately dyed with kool aid just so I could have something, sweet jesus, anything, to spin.
The good part about hot weather: fleece dries fast.
While we watched John McCain's speech, I carded and spun and felt a little better. Let those Republican chant "drill, baby, drill". Let Sarah Palin charm the hapless. Let the St. Paul police pre-emptively arrest potential protesters. Let the lies and hypocrisy flow over me and rinse away like so much dirty dish water....I am spinning again.
And then, joy of joys, this morning Smokey arrived with pure wooly goodness with my name on it:
Now I can exhale.
These experiences made shipping my fleece to NYC from Newfoundland a slightly nerve-wracking proposition. I spent the extra money to insure it since it was hundreds of dollars worth of materials and equipment. The days passed but I expected at least 7 - 10 days. Picture, if you will, the pages of a calendar whipping off in the wind like they sometimes show in old movies...still no fleece. Now I am not only anxious but jonesing for my fleece! You can't spin air, my friends!
Finally, in digging through my stash as part of my destash sale, I found some undyed fleece. I ignored the heat and humidity (what's up with that? I thought fall was already here...) and desperately dyed with kool aid just so I could have something, sweet jesus, anything, to spin.
The good part about hot weather: fleece dries fast.
While we watched John McCain's speech, I carded and spun and felt a little better. Let those Republican chant "drill, baby, drill". Let Sarah Palin charm the hapless. Let the St. Paul police pre-emptively arrest potential protesters. Let the lies and hypocrisy flow over me and rinse away like so much dirty dish water....I am spinning again.
And then, joy of joys, this morning Smokey arrived with pure wooly goodness with my name on it:
Now I can exhale.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Miscellany
1. The only moment that really caused my jaw to drop during the Republican convention last night was when both Guiliani and Palin openly mocked Obama for his community organizing work. Mocked him! The whole audience was laughing (at, not with). To me, that speaks volumes about Republicans, especially after all their yapping about "service". Shudder
2. I am heavily destashing yarn in my...er...inventory. (One of the things I did this summer was meet with a financial advisor regarding some of the subtle tax-related aspects of having Canadian permanent residency. Along the way we talked about Wee Ball Yarns and how to organize the bookkeeping, etc. At one point, the advisor asked me if I had any collections, like stamps, coins, etc. I answered, "well, I have a lot of wool....yarn, fleece...a lot of it." She said, "That's not a collection, that's inventory." I love you wonderful financial advisor! This is another reason why I could never be a Republican - it was a revelation to me that you can, you know, plan your finances. Golly, who thought up that?) In any case, I am putting the destash yarn in my etsy shop under the label "destash" so if you are looking for some good stuff cheap, then click away! I am trying to add things every day or so as I am clean out my bins so feel free to check back now and then as the "inventory" will change.
3. One of the highlights of the whole Knitted Mile project was being put in touch with Carol Sommers, an artist and knitter living in Santa Fe. She is a friend of a friend but I now count her among my friends. This week, we received a book Carol wrote and illustrated in the mail. It is a delight! Funny and quirky. It is called Birds For All Ages.
Here is one of my favourite pages, about the Kookaburra named Kent:
She is selling them, along with her gorgeous notecards, on her new website. So, after you finish clicking up destash yarn, click up some of Carol's books and cards!
2. I am heavily destashing yarn in my...er...inventory. (One of the things I did this summer was meet with a financial advisor regarding some of the subtle tax-related aspects of having Canadian permanent residency. Along the way we talked about Wee Ball Yarns and how to organize the bookkeeping, etc. At one point, the advisor asked me if I had any collections, like stamps, coins, etc. I answered, "well, I have a lot of wool....yarn, fleece...a lot of it." She said, "That's not a collection, that's inventory." I love you wonderful financial advisor! This is another reason why I could never be a Republican - it was a revelation to me that you can, you know, plan your finances. Golly, who thought up that?) In any case, I am putting the destash yarn in my etsy shop under the label "destash" so if you are looking for some good stuff cheap, then click away! I am trying to add things every day or so as I am clean out my bins so feel free to check back now and then as the "inventory" will change.
3. One of the highlights of the whole Knitted Mile project was being put in touch with Carol Sommers, an artist and knitter living in Santa Fe. She is a friend of a friend but I now count her among my friends. This week, we received a book Carol wrote and illustrated in the mail. It is a delight! Funny and quirky. It is called Birds For All Ages.
Here is one of my favourite pages, about the Kookaburra named Kent:
She is selling them, along with her gorgeous notecards, on her new website. So, after you finish clicking up destash yarn, click up some of Carol's books and cards!
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Yarn Will Keep Us Together
One nice thing about etsy is that they encourage their sellers to form teams based on similar interests to help promote each other's work. I am a member of the Fibre Arts Street Team or estyFAST. Recently a new team started called etsy craftivists and I was invited to join, although I think it was because of my artwork not my etsy work. In any case, the team is just get started and we had our first challenge, in which members of the team make something in response to a chosen theme. The theme was (Un)conventional Wisdom and it was designed to play on topics that have been coming out during the Democratic and Republican conventions. Since most of my fleece is still in transit, I didn't have a lot to work with, but I spun up a red single ply yarn, adding pieces of white merino along with vintage fabric strips and painted wooden beads that I found at my favourite store in Corner Brook - Leisure World (can there be a better name for a store?).
Here is the yarn, which I call Citizens Unite. You can read all about in my etsy shop.
And to get all that red, white and blue out of my system, I also spun up some of what may be the most gorgeous fleece I have ever encountered. It came from a one-year old ewe that is a BFL/Icelandic cross. Talk about the best of both worlds! I bought it directly from the shepherd in its raw state, so I have been scouring bits of it as I have time. I could hardly bear to card it, so I only carded enough to help make the uncarded locks stay together in a stable way. Very funky and wild but I love it.
Here is the yarn, which I call Citizens Unite. You can read all about in my etsy shop.
And to get all that red, white and blue out of my system, I also spun up some of what may be the most gorgeous fleece I have ever encountered. It came from a one-year old ewe that is a BFL/Icelandic cross. Talk about the best of both worlds! I bought it directly from the shepherd in its raw state, so I have been scouring bits of it as I have time. I could hardly bear to card it, so I only carded enough to help make the uncarded locks stay together in a stable way. Very funky and wild but I love it.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Memo to the McCain Campaign
Re: Selecting Sarah Palin for VP
Just because Sarah Palin has a vagina and I have a vagina does not mean I will automatically vote for her. But thanks for trying.
Just because Sarah Palin has a vagina and I have a vagina does not mean I will automatically vote for her. But thanks for trying.
Monday, September 01, 2008
This is for the 72 labours
We have been enjoying all the typical fun of Labour Day weekend - or I suppose I should say, as they do in the US - Labor Day weekend: the requisite BBQs and get togethers and even, later this morning, a visit to the beach (Rock, Rock, Rockaway Beach).
But of course there is more to consider. We in the West are often so far away from the labours that bring us our goods and so it seems worthy to take a moment to remember the work that people put in to keep us in clothing and shoes and furniture and computers and even, yes, fleece and yarn.
Here is one of my favourite gathas especially because of that very first line about the 72 labours. The first time I heard it, I thought "at last! someone is remembering the people who actually work to bring the food to the table and the meal into being!" I try to incorporate into our meal times at home but I usually get rolled eyes and heavy sighs from certain two hungry people sitting with me, so I have to just think it silently to myself.
Here it is for you - I hope you enjoy it and enjoy your respite from your usual labours today!
First, seventy-two labors brought us this food, we should know how it comes to us.
Second, as we receive this offering, we should consider whether our virtue and practice deserve it.
Third, as we desire the natural order of mind to be free from clinging, we must be free from greed.
Fourth, to support our life we take this food.
Fifth, to attain our way we take this food.
First, this food is for the three treasures.
Second, it is for our teachers, parents, nation, and all sentient beings.
Third, it is for all beings in the six worlds.
Thus we eat this food with everyone
We eat to stop all evil
To practice good
To save all sentient beings
And to accomplish our Buddha Way.
But of course there is more to consider. We in the West are often so far away from the labours that bring us our goods and so it seems worthy to take a moment to remember the work that people put in to keep us in clothing and shoes and furniture and computers and even, yes, fleece and yarn.
Here is one of my favourite gathas especially because of that very first line about the 72 labours. The first time I heard it, I thought "at last! someone is remembering the people who actually work to bring the food to the table and the meal into being!" I try to incorporate into our meal times at home but I usually get rolled eyes and heavy sighs from certain two hungry people sitting with me, so I have to just think it silently to myself.
Here it is for you - I hope you enjoy it and enjoy your respite from your usual labours today!
First, seventy-two labors brought us this food, we should know how it comes to us.
Second, as we receive this offering, we should consider whether our virtue and practice deserve it.
Third, as we desire the natural order of mind to be free from clinging, we must be free from greed.
Fourth, to support our life we take this food.
Fifth, to attain our way we take this food.
First, this food is for the three treasures.
Second, it is for our teachers, parents, nation, and all sentient beings.
Third, it is for all beings in the six worlds.
Thus we eat this food with everyone
We eat to stop all evil
To practice good
To save all sentient beings
And to accomplish our Buddha Way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)