Ahead of My Own Time

As we are experiencing yet another "snowpocalypse"  I had the rare opportunity to stay home and  watch some morning TV and see what was going on in the world. For some reason local Boston TV stations tend to carry the coverage all freakin' day long, advising us over and over that SHRIEK there is snow (!) and yes, traffic is SNARLED, and OMG -  TRUCKS ARE NEEDED TO PLOW THIS SUBSTANCE, and  SHOCK AND AWE  schools are CLOSED (!) (BTW, it's 10:30 AM  on January 27th and while we're all pretty much aware of how this stuff rolls,  that does not stop them - evidently  what passes for urgent news these days  continues to be the appearance of this mysterious white substance that threatens our very existence.)

[caption id="attachment_1548" align="alignleft" width="200" caption="Makes a GINORMOUS corsage!"][/caption]

I flipped over to a channel with a show about home decorating on a budget. I have learned it is all the rage to go to thrift shops and buy junk, spray it with high gloss black paint and call it innovative design.  Excuse me?  This is a new concept?  I've been doing this since I left home after high school. Back then  we called it "getting stuff for the apartment."  We shopped the thrift stores because we HAD to, not because it was vogue and innovative.  We bought everything there - apartment stuff, clothing, and fake plastic gladioli.  (Long story  - we needed tacky corsages for a party.) We just called it "used" and we were fine with that.

For a long time I lived with 3 other women who were roughly the same size and height as I was.

[caption id="attachment_1554" align="alignright" width="115" caption="You can see what I mean about the dress"][/caption]

(The important word here being "WAS." )  Consequently we traded a lot of clothes, enabling us to expand our wardrobes without expanding our spending.  Two items were heavily traded, a dress nicknamed Eleanor and a skirt we referred to as  THE SKIRT.  Eleanor was a lovely blue print dress that had an encased,  drawstring waist that enabled the wearer to cinch it in and create a nice blouson effect.  Once you untied the drawstring the dress dropped waaay down low, and you looked like a circa 1939 Eleanor Roosevelt (hence the nickname of the dress.)   "I need Eleanor on Friday" and "Who has THE SKIRT?" were frequently heard during the early morning scrambles to get ready for work. (PS - no disrespect to Eleanor Roosevelt, she was brilliant.)

In some ways I'm delighted that many are discovering the joys of taking (I can't bring myself to say "re-purposing" ) old objects and finding new uses for them.  It is not only good for the environment but it proves that older things are frequently better made than new stuff.  They also have more character and generally endure longer.  What saddens me is how many people overlook what they already have - or what their parents or grandparents have.  One woman in today's show spent $30 on china plates to arrange as a grouping on the dining room wall.  Nice idea - I did it about 20 years ago (seriously) to our dining room wall. The difference was  I used china that belonged to Joe's mother.  (She had a bit of a dish fetish so there were plenty to choose from.)   The ones I put up were from a set she bought to celebrate my husband's baptism.  They were never used again,  but have beautifully adorned  the walls of our dining room for all these many years.  I am happy that  not only are they beautiful to look at,  but they have such a special meaning for both of us. That is important to me.  I want everything in my home to have that kind of attachment or significance.

That, to me, is the best part of using old things. Before you go out to find some innovative design objects,  (see,  I can spew that  BS too) take a look around your own home, a parent or a relative's house.  The older we get the more stuff we need to weed out or give it to someone, find it a new home or new use.  Arranging 15   pieces of plain white china with a gold rim on a wall isn't near as satisfying (or beautiful) as using the ones that belonged to your mother, grandmother or aunt.  Recovering chair cushions with vintage fabric purchased at exorbitant prices doesn't look half as cool as cutting up those funky 60's curtains of your cousin's and doing the same.   It will look beautiful, cost you next to nothing, you will think of them every time you see it, and hopefully smile with good memories.

A White Ribbon Vanquished

I have been to the mountain and I have been redeemed.

Really.  The mountains of New Hampshire to be concise.  This past weekend was my introduction to paste paper and box making.  Serious stuff, not at all a "krafty with a K" kind of thing.  I was not only lucky enough to have Polly Allen as an instructor, but also as hostess - I drove up with her sister and we stayed in her stunningly beautiful mountain side home. It was a simple matter of walking down the hall from my beautiful guest room to the most thoroughly tricked-up,  decked-out studio I'd ever seen in my life.  The class was challenging, overwhelming, scary and exhilarating - all at the same time.

Day one was spent learning the fundamentals and techniques used in making paste paper.  By the end of the day I had three large sheets of my very own creation.  The class ended at 4PM  but if left to my own devices I would have been neck-deep in paint until about 3AM.  We were presented with a seemingly endless supply of inks, stamps, custom rollers, altered squeegees, combs and other tools to use to swirl the paint around and make all kinds of different designs.  The sponge paintbrush (AKA the "do-over" brush) would immediately smooth out and erase any bad decisions and enable endless second chances.  The release from the  "you are stuck with this"  law enabled me to try things I never would have attempted (without good drugs).  While that layer of paint dried you grabbed an earlier sheet and put the next layer on top of that - and the process continued.

Day two was box making day.  After varnishing our chosen paper, we went on to cut out different sized areas to adhere to a (mercifully) pre-cut series of bookboard templates. The process was lengthy but let me sum it up in a few words:  WE USED A SCALPEL.  Not a fakie one, or a less lethal Exacto knife, but a real thow-it-down, hand- me-the -number- 3- scalpel- yes -Dr. -Kildaire- scalpel.  It was kind of like cutting up a very intricate snowflake and unfolding it to see what you made - but on steroids.  I look at my finished box and I can't believe I made it - any of it.  The paper, the box, the whole enchilada.  Choosing the button combination for the lid was another experience unto itself.  Among her many other talents Polly is a button whisperer.  She came up with a combo that said, "oh SNAP!" and I just nodded in wordless assent.  Here is my finished creation:

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Tres fabu, huh.  Those  little flecks of gold metallic paint really pop!   (Oh - that little beauty in the middle was a celebratory pear martini at the Simon Pearce restaurant in Quechee, Vermont. MMmmmmmmmmm.)

So the grade school 4H project has been permanently vanquished from my hall of shame.  Back then, contact paper was the new Jerusalem - the kewelest thing ever and no surface in the home was safe from being permanently altered by a sheet of  faux wood grain vinyl adhesive crap.  I survived that to experience the most creative thing I've ever done in my life.  IT ROCKED.

Classes are out there.  Start by contacting your area league of craftsmen - if you live in New England, the League of New Hampshire Craftsmen is a great place to start.  This can be applied to anything you are interested in, but it is best if you do something totally outside your comfort zone.  I can't tell you what this has done for me, both  creatively and spiritually. My approach to fabric and quilting has also been changed for the better.  I urge you to try something way out of your usual scope and jump-start your creative spirit and soul.

EDIT:  I'm not sure why Wordpress is sticking my title wordle in the gallery with the pictures of the box.  I'm not going to worry about it.  I've learned to let go and let the universe take you places!

Workshop Phobic

Well, tomorrow is the big day.

I'm leaving for a weekend workshop in New Hampshire where I am going to attempt something I have never done before.  I have never participated in any kind of "artsy" workshop.  I took a one day class in calligraphy about 15 years ago, and that was it.  Whassup with that, you ask?  Plenty.

I had the misfortune of being one year younger than my sister who actually did have some artistic talent.  I marched through junior high and high school art classes one year behind the "talented sister."   Every year  I was greeted with the same thing:  "Oh, are you Pat's sister?  Are you as talented as she is?"  And every year the teacher(s) found out the answer was "NO,"  not even close.  It's hard to shake that off.  (If you are reading this, Pat - I don't hold you responsible, but would it kill you to dust off that Bernina and get back to creating?)

At the tender age of 16 I spent a year in a walking body cast.  Consequently I am terribly self conscious and building self-esteem was not a big part of my parent's agenda.  I got through life by staying under the radar and keeping the peace.  Can you tell I am a middle child?  Once, in a grade school 4H project, I had to cover a box with contact paper.  I would have had an easier time constructing a cold fusion machine.  My mother, completely exasperated, gave up on me and let me finish the damn thing myself.  It looked horrible.  To compound my shame, I got a white ribbon on it and it was displayed at the county fair for all  to see.  There is no shame like the shame of a 4H white ribbon.  It kneecapped me.

So what is the workshop?  We are going to paint on paper, cover, then embellish, a box.  I kid you not.  I can't believe I am doing this.  So what has changed?  Not much,  other than there is a little voice inside me now that says, "why the hell not?"  I have mercifully matured to the age where I don't really care what other people think.  I  really don't need the  affirmation of strangers.  I may make a total mess of this project but it is something I want to try.  I'm happy to have reached this point in my life.  If I'd had this awareness in my 20's I'd be running Apple by now.

Of course it helps that I'm taking this with a friend who, like myself, shoots from the hip and appreciates strong adult beverages.  We're staying at her sister's house so it should be a remarkably comfortable and relaxing get-away.  What's not to love?  I will even promise to post a picture of the result, even if it does belong in my "white ribbon" gallery.  Life is short.  Let's all get out of our comfort zone and see what happens.

Resolving to Not Resolve

Beginning week 2 of the furlough from work.  I had no overwhelming plans for what to do or  make, finish or start but I think I have set a new record......low.   Since the Bernina is still in a different repair shop,  I'm left with way too much time on my hands to ponder the purchase of a 2nd, used machine.  I feel guilty just writing it about it - it seems like such an extravagance. But as to the long list of other things I could be doing?  Aside from cleaning out my closets and delivering an overstuffed car load of clothing and miscellaneous household goods to the local food pantry thrift shop.... nadda.

The one thing I have accomplished during this unpaid, stress filled furlough is epic sleep. Maybe it is a reflection of the exhausted state that most of us function in year round, or it could be a symptom of depression.  Probably an unhealthy combination of both but I flat out refuse to guilt myself about sleeping.  Sleep is wonderful, blissful, and free -  and I feel it so deep in my sore bones. Before he left for work this morning, my husband came in to our bedroom to kiss me goodbye.  He leaned over and saw that my electric blanket had timed  off, and flicked it back ON.  What a stellar guy.  I rolled over on my side and just faded off for another hour or so, and it was bliss.

I have also had time to read blogs and admire what others are working on, doing, or surviving.  The woman over at Toddler Planet has my heart in the palm of her hand.  Go over and visit, send her your very best energy, love and light.   The older I get the more I seem to know people who are suffering and  struggling with health issues.  If you do not know about Caring Bridge free websites go and find out now.  You will probably need one someday for someone you know. They are a marvelous and  remarkable way to keep family and friends updated and  involved without causing stress to the one who is ill.  We have a CaringBridge page for my Dad and it warms my heart to see my cousins and aunts and uncles leaving him little notes of love and support, telling him what they are doing, etc.  I'm not sure that Dad comprehends it when we read him the entries but I can tell you that we,  his children,  have taken such comfort in reading those guest book entries.  It is a wonderful thing.

I have one week of furlough left and I have resolved to resolve.....nothing.  I live with enough demands on my time, my pocket, my sore bones and my spirit. I'm going to watch Downton Abbey every  time it is on television.  I am going to read and doze and take a couple of obscenely long showers and use some French soap I've been saving up for something special.  I am special.  I am using that lovely soap on my tired body and I will  inhale the fragrance and I will allow myself the pleasure of rest with no demands.