bee creative

take it outside

"I thought about lines-the lines we draw, the lines we write, the lines we cross, the lines we cross out.  An actor's lines, deadlines, headlines, borderlines-lines drawn in the sand; lines we never forget, the lines we leave behind. A circle is a line touching."  Terry Tempest Williams, The Hour of Land

The take it outside basket.

Knitting, sewing, reading. 

I am reading Mary Oliver's Upstream, and listening to Terry Tempest Williams. It's a kind of conversation to move back and forth between the two. A pairing.

After spending about a hour stitching the sleeves on to a shirt by hand, I spent less than 5 minutes cutting them off. 

(I loved the way the pink seam showed through though.)

That's how it goes sometimes.

 

pulling a green thread

From Teju Cole’s book, Known and Strange Things:

“There is another possible book that contains all that is not in this one.”

I put myself on the wait list for a few of Teju Cole's books after listening to his interview on On Being.

I've read a few of the essay's, enough to know I want to find a copy to keep, to take time with.

Counting stitches for a sleeve.

Stitching with plant dyed fabric, some printed silk that I've had for a long time.   

It's May and the first rose is blooming and I may be absorbed into the garden...

journaling, part two

I am still working on my field note blanket, not however, as a daily project. Two years are documented this way, the rest is more a documentation of a moment, an observation.  The blanket will be done when it is done.  It is a kind of journal.  A journal in that I have recorded an observation about a day, a moment, an experience.

I've gathered more thoughts about journal keeping, in particular a response to Grace who wondered about the difference between a journal and a field note:

• A journal or diary might document anything. A thought, an experience, an emotion, a reaction.  It may start from any experience.
• A field note starts with place specifically, with documentation of the environment.  Field notes haven't remained objective for me as a journal with a strictly scientific perspective would have because my emotions and responses are reflected. In this way they have become a field note about human emotion too.
• A field note is a type of journal entry.
• The perspective that humanity is separate from the environment and the environment is a resource for us to use doesn't feel true to me. I am part of the field note. I am part of the moment.
• There are so many ways to journal. We can write, record, photograph, stitch, draw.  A journal need not be paper, it's the act of recording and documenting in a continuous manner. A record of time passing.
• Journal keeping may fit some people's learning styles better than others. For myself, I need to gather thoughts and ideas and express them somehow as part of the process of integrating knowledge. In this way it is a tool.  There is research about this but I'm not looking for it right now.
• I have rarely looked back on my journals and yet when I do I am struck by how consistent I am in my thinking. There is something worth considering here.
• When I do look back at journal entries, it is usually to revisit important moments in my life that I have documented...my trip to Italy for example. Still thinking about why we keep the things we do.
• When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams.  Her mother's journals were blank, unwritten in...  Thinking about the subtitle, "Fifty-four Variations on Voice."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

assignment #2 March, reading list

Assignment #2 is to finish 12 books that were picked out at the beginning of January.

Book number one finished:  Wanderlust, A History of Walking by Rebecca Solnit.

Where my mind wandered...walking puts us directly into the world in a way that encourages, among other things, wonder. We look closer, we see more.

Walking encourages community and conversation. Community helps builds resilience. We need that.

Having a safe place to walk is a privilege.  There are limits and boundaries in our world. Where do I fell safe walking and why? How are we shaped when we live in places where it is unsafe to walk? Considering vulnerability.

I spent a lot of time thinking about Solnit's writing about streets as part of city as part of forming citizenship. About the act of having space to gather, spaces to walk and space to protest.

We have a growing problem of homelessness where I live and they walk. They walk to stay warm, walk so that they won't be labeled as loitering, walk so that they don't take up space.

Considering what it means to be out of step.

 

 

silent worlds

Silence In the Age of Noise  by Erling Kagge (a rabbit hole Nancy, Pomegranate trail, sent me down). Book

Movie: "In Pursuit of Silence"

Gordon Hempton Interview

From my journal, when I feel/have felt silence: 

1. September 11th… Seattle, in the garden, the planes grounded.
2. Boulevard park, sitting on a rock, rainy day when I was in college.    
3. In Venice, Italy. Walking alone into a silent neighborhood, a little lost.
4. At the beach.
5. Early in the morning…like now.
6. Snow
7. Out on the boat, anchored up for night.
8. In Alaska, up the Stikine River, at a glacier (childhood memories)
9. When the power is out.
10. Vising the cathedral in Florence Italy.

Words to consider: quiet, noise, volume.

Thought:  Silence isn't always an absence of sound.

Question:  What does silence inspire? 

What I've been stitching on both in silence and while listening to things about silence.

Loving that this piece has become a blending of things learned from multiple people/sources.

 

 

 

assignment #5 and an update

Assignment #5 is to make or mend each week, with the idea that a project is finished. It was not accomplished during the first full week of the month but if I hurry it will be for the second. Tomorrow I hope to finish the edges on this jumper (dyed in walnut) and attach pockets (maybe the original color?).

An update on the rest of the assignments...

Assignment #1

A collage is happening everyday. 

Yesterday while looking at a photo of water lilies I was inspired to make my own.  I've been thinking about how there is an essential shape to anything that the human eye identifies and labels. 

Assignment #2:  January's dye jar is brewing away happily.  I occasionally tip it and wonder what color is being absorbed into the fabric.  The water is a lovely golden tea color. 

Assignment #3 I am on track to finish Wanderlust by Rebecca Solnit by the end of January. A friend (Nancy at pomegranate trail) recommended Silence by Earling Kagge which I checked out as an audio book and have been knitting to.  There is much that I like about this book including the following definition: "Wonder is the engine of life."  

Assignment #4 The sweaters.

Sweater number one is at about 8 or 9 inches. At 15ninches I'll start the sleeves. This will be a short cardigan intended to wear with dresses and tunics. The length is based on a favorite sweater.

A lot of the knitting on this one is happening on the bus or on lunch break. It's mindless knitting...knit one way and then purl the other. 

Sweater number two is cast on and moving forward. Right now it is my "at home project," for when it is quiet and I can concentrate. There is another new skill with this one that was not considered...reading a chart for the color pattern (yes I had to start twice).  Once the yoke is finished it will pretty much turn in to around and around we go and will take the place of sweater number one as the on the go project. 

The colors of this one make me think of sunlight moving through the forest. 

At first I thought the goal of 4 sweaters might be ambitious but it really seems doable.  Part of this is choosing the right project for the right time of day.  Which is really the truth for all of these assignments I've given myself...

assignment #3

I am an unfaithful reader. 

Sometimes dipping in to a book for a few chapters. Stopping and then starting another and then returning.  Sometimes it takes me awhile to return.

This is no reflection on how much I like a book.

I've read parts of at least 6 of these books.  My intent of this year is to read them all, to finish them all.  They probably won't be the only books I read (or listen to, I've started listening to recorded books while knitting and sewing) but these are the books I want to finish.

cooking with quince

Those of us that have cooked with quince will appreciate this trick (I realize we are few). 

Cut quince into chunks and place in water, bring to a boil and simmer until a fork can pierce the fruit but not so long that it gets mushy.

Cool.  Strain and reserve cooking water. Peel and Core, save all parts.

Add peeled fruit back to the cooking water and continue.

In my case, I was making quince paste. This is the tiny bit I scrapped out of the pot to put on a piece of french bread toasted with cheddar cheese. 

What happened to the peels and cores? They went back in the pot with more water and were cooked until the water thickened due to the remaining pectin and turned pinkish.  Quince are very high in pectin.  The fluid was strained from the pulp and reserved as a "nectar." I added a bit of honey for sweetener.  Perfect for a sore throat. The tip about making nectar is from Deborah Madison's cookbook, Local Flavors. 

hope filled day

7:06 AM, just about sunrise, out opening the hatch for the chickens.

It's icy. 

Forecast is 4 days of sunshine and then rain, rain, rain. 

Today I will make sure there is nothing holding water or that can gather winter rain.  I tend to forget to empty things before a freeze and then they crack. 

I will plant garlic and a few bulbs.

I will mulch things...especially the mini bog garden. 

I will clean the leaves off the deck and tidy up.

I will strain off the water, smash the cones to see if I can find some seeds, add the cones back to the water and then heat to see if a deeper color will result.

Inspiration from this photo by Sasha Duerr. 

I will think of Grace wandering among the animals that need love. How beautifully she shares a tragic situation.  Of the word "empathy."

I will read some more and plant paper whites.

The first sentence... "I am stockpiling antibiotics for the apocalypse, even as I await the blossoming of paperwhites on the windowsill in the kitchen."

Along with approximately 1500 other people (a sold out venue), I listened to Anne Lamott read from her book, talk and answer audience questions.  She is funny in the smartest way, in the saddest way.  I have yet to finish any of her books completely but know that I want to read many of them. Her TED talk is here.

It was a beautiful night.

I will also knit some more.  This is my current, bus-lunch break-middle of the night when I can't sleep knitting.

And I will go to the farmer's market because that's what I do on Saturday's. 

7:57 AM, the sun is coming up now over the horizon. 

silence

I fell into silence again.

Maybe it's the darkness. The days are definitely shorter.  I am very aware this time round that we are in the dark of the moon. 

There is a small garbage can full of walnuts fermenting away on the back deck.  Lid tightly closed to keep the squirrels out. 

Silk shirt (purchased at thrift store for 5 dollars) dyed in sumac. 

I also found a pair of white jeans that promptly went into a not working so well indigo vat, followed by a dip in the walnuts, and then after drying out a bit; is now back in the walnut vat. 

On the left is a tank top that I made, dyed in the indigo vat (with better results but splotchy) that also took a dip in the walnuts.  It's still drying on the line and will be washed soon. 

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Several years ago I bought a copy of A Book of Silence by Sara Maitland.  I've dived in and out of it but haven't read the whole thing yet.  I think it's time to start.  A part that caught my attention...

"But the horizon line of the hills abided...  Whenever I sat to meditate, there was the clear, clean line that divides earth and sky and also unites them.  That line was constant.  It emerged out of the dark in the first dawn light and was swallowed back into the dark at nightfall.  Above the line, infinity, below the line, mortality.  But the line itself was both and held them both, and the wind blew along it, fresh and free like the passage of the spirit." 

This wasn't the quote that I went looking for this morning, but after seeing Jude's post today, seemed most appropriate.