spinningwheel.net

Auction dress slideshow. 

Hi Everyone! 

I’m looking for help knitting samples for Norwegian Knitting Design. 

I need people who can knit a mitten, stocking, or hat, with limited involvement.  All I have is the chart and an old photo, and I need you to reproduce what you see.  I will not be writing detailed patterns, since they won’t be in the book.  You need to know how to make a mitten or stocking or hat, and be able to hack together a sample suitable for photography.   I can offer advice, but you won’t get a pattern.  Yes, you can do this.

Yarn will be provided, and payment will be in the form of several books - one to keep, a few to sell. :)

Takers, anyone?

Started like this

and ended like this.

School auction.  It’s kind of a big deal.  I got dressed up.  Details later.  :)

When we signed Heather up for Catholic school, it was for the school.  I didn’t expect the church to become a part of my life, but it did.

On these mornings when my anxiety overwhelms me again, it is such … well, a blessing, really… to be able to walk her to the classroom and then slip inside the church for a moment of peace for myself.

I started going to morning mass when Traci died, two years ago next month.  It was the only place I could let go and cry.  Brian was no comfort, Heather was too small to take such a load.  But I could sit in the back, in the dark, and find respite in god.  

This morning another mom I know slipped in and sat next to me.  I knew in an instant what was wrong; the much anticipated adoption from China was put off for yet another year.  When the tears started to flow I gave her a handkerchief, put my arms around her, and just held on and let her cry.

Only moments before I heard news from another mom friend - a friend of hers had died on Wednesday, leaving behind a wife and eleven-year old child.  And again, all I could do was hold her, stroke her hair, kiss her cheek, and be a stable presence for her to lean on.

I’m a hugger.  I like to hug.  I like to touch people, and be touched, and feel not just in my head or heart, but in my body, that someone is there.  Living all alone every other week is torture.  I hug indiscriminately, everyone I know.  The moms and the dads, the children, the grandparents.  The neighbors.  The pets.  Pass me the baby so I can get a good squeeze.

Everyone knows that humans need affection to survive.  We’re social animals.  Babies die if they’re not held.  Hugging is good.  Hugging is necessary.

Something has been nagging at me since my trip to Salt Lake City. 

I’ve been online-friends with Miriam Felton for several years, but it was the first chance for us to meet in person.  We decided to meet for lunch and a tour of downtown on Friday, and I have to tell you, we hit it off like we’d been friends all our lives.  She is a wonderful person, so talented and smart and loving.  After lunch we were walking around Temple Square, and without even thinking about it, I slipped my arm into hers so we could be closer to talk.

In a split second, every head on the plaza turned to stare at us.

And when I felt her tense up, it occurred to me that perhaps in Salt Lake City, two women cannot walk down the street together with linked arms. 

And to me?  That’s just weird.  Not only weird.  Wrong.

What would make people so uncomfortable about linked arms?  Was this some unspoken symbol that maybe, perhaps, these two women, because they touched each other in public, that maybe we were having sex with each other?

Is affection automatically indicative of sex?  Have we become so attuned to vice that we no longer recognize virtue?

I love our school.  I love the fact that we can be affectionate, that we can give and receive love - freely, openly, indiscriminately.  I wouldn’t change it for the world.  I am grateful for the love and affection I have received when I was at the end of my rope, and the opportunity to share it when it’s my turn to be the strong one.  And the next time someone needs a shoulder to cry on, I’ll consider it a privilege to get drenched.

Faith.  Hope.  Love.  The greatest of these is Love.

I was talking with a school mom/dev yesterday, and she told me about this show.  I think I need to see it…

Roses & Pomegranates is still in progress; I’m busy with several projects.  Look for a Big Announcement later this week!

Fiber Gathering: Knit, Crochet, Spin, and Dye More than 20 Projects Inspired by America’s Festivals

Hi, visitors! I’m Terri Shea, and I’m so glad you stopped by. I got hit by a nasty hacker last month, and haven’t fully recovered.  Sorry about the sawdust.

I’ve known Joanne for a few years; we belong to a private, intimate online group, and she has always been one of my favorite voices. Maybe because we agree on so many subjects. :) At any rate, I was thrilled when she invited me to design for Fiber Gatherings, and overwhelmed when she said my design would be related to Black Sheep Gathering.

This is an interesting time for me to write about Black Sheep; this is one of the times when life and art intersect, feed on and nourish the other. I’m a bit maudlin tonight, so forgive me if I get mushy. Or my sentences make no sense.

It was the same when I attended my first Gathering in 1992. My father had died just a month before. My beloved sister wasn’t speaking to me. My fiancé was cheating on me. My business was stagnating in the depressed Oregon economy. I lived about a quarter mile from the Lane County Fairgrounds, and it was a lovely spring day, so I walked over to see what this thing was all about.

At this time the vendors filled one room of the main building. (Now they fill three or more.) Right in front of the door stood a small, elderly man and a collection of glossy wheels trimmed in brass. Wallace Van Eaton made them in his garage in Yakima, WA; his wife said he needed a hobby after retirement as a chiropractor. They were all beautiful, all unique, but my eye went to the one with the subtle patchwork of mahogany tones in the wheel. I asked if I could sit and try it out, having never spun on a wheel before, and Mr Van Eaton graciously handed me a bit of merino he’d been teasing by hand.

I must have played at that wheel for an hour before I realized I was being rude and thanked him. I walked the show, not buying anything because I really was broke. Like, baloney and ramen for lunch every day for months broke. I kept drifting back to those beautiful wheels, and my favorite one, stroking it, treadling it, trying another handful of teased merino.

Eventually it was time for the show to close. I was back at the door, looking longingly, and Mr Van Eaton approached me. “You know,” he says, “I”d rather sell this thing than pack it back home again. It’’s different from the others, got that patchwork look, which I like but customers dont’’s seem to like it as much. I”ll sell it to you for $200 just to unload it.”

Mind you, his wheels are worth at least a thousand.

This kind, gentle man took not one but two post dated checks, each one hundred dollars, and let me carry that precious thing home with me. And the matching lazy kate.

So that’’s the spot right there. Right There. That spot of floor is holy ground; that is where my life as a fiber artist began.

I already knew spindle spinning, and the wheel was an easy transition for me. In many ways I am a process spinner. I can spin to produce a specified yarn, very technically, but I prefer a relaxed, wabi-sabi approach. My yarns are even and balanced, fine or heavy, but I don’t work hard to remove the hand-spun feeling. If I want millspun yarn I’ll buy it. Lord knows I have enough already.

The wheel became my refuge while my world collapsed. It took nearly two years for me to get out of a very bad living situtation, and I think I spent the entire time pulling yarn from the pile of fluff. Turning chaos into order. When I did finally get the strength, courage, and financial ability to move, I headed straight for Seattle and never looked back.

I met Brian almost immediately. He was a manager at the company where I got my first job up here. It was a crappy job, but it paid my rent. I kept spinning; the piles of fluff were replaced with piles of yarn. In 1997 I worked at one of Seattle’s leading web development studios with Liz Clouthier, who taught me how to cast on and form my first stitches. Knitting would use up some of that yarn, and it provided a welcome retreat from the sixty and seventy hour work weeks.

Little did I know how much my yarn stash would grow, rather than shrink! By 2002 I was a stay-at-home mom with nothing to show at the end of the day. My career as a knitwear designer began when I needed some projects to keep me motivated; something outside my own head, with deliverables and expectations. I submitted original designs to magazines and yarn companies, and they actually bought them!

I interned at the Nordic Heritage Museum in 2005, and my book Selbuvotter was conceived. I had hoped that my reputation designing single patterns would help me finding a publisher.  No dice.   ”Sounds great, doesn’t fit into our marketing schedule!”  I heard some variation of this over and over.

That June I went to Black Sheep Gathering with Karen Campbell. It was the first time I’d been back to Eugene since leaving eleven years earlier. The festival had grown, filling the whole building and spilling into the parking lot. I bought several fleeces, all ribbon winners.

Karen asked about my mitten project on the drive home, and I told her my status; that I had charts and patterns written, samples were in progress, I was finishing my historical research, but the publishers weren’t biting.

“Have you thought about self publishing?” she asked.

And I had, but I had serious reservations. I knew that I had the technical skills to pull off the desktop publishing side, but the printing side, the marketing, distribution… it seemed daunting. And I didn’t want to be one of those kooks with a garage full of books no one wants, on some obscure topic like, say, Norwegian mittens.  And I began to argue for my obstacles.

“Well, yeah, I suppose I could. But I don’t know anything about printing. And it would take a long time. And I’d have to do everything myself. I’m sure a real photographer would get much better shots. And it would cost a lot.”

Karen drove silently, ocassionally nodding. “Do you have the money?”

“Well, yeah. I have some money left over from my dot.com days. But I’m not sure I want to sink everything I’ve got. I just don’t know.”

We sat silently again. Then Karen started rummaging around her car. “I don’t usually listen to this music. It’s my daughter’s CD. But, Oh, I’m just in the mood for this song.” She popped in the CD. It was bubblegum pop, not what I expected, but I hadn’t heard it before, so I listened more carefully than I might have otherwise.

And then I heard the chorus. “Take a chance you stupid whore!” This was definitely not what I expected from Karen Campbell. (Those of you who know her are probably rolling on the floor. Karen is a lovely, warm, wonderful woman. With impeccable manners. She was a high school English teacher. You watch yourself when she’s around. In the nicest way.)

And it wasn’t until I got home that I realized she’d been giving me a hint!

So there. Two stories where Black Sheep Gathering changed the course of my life.

As an Epilogue, let me tell you a third story. I posted the first tale after the BSG with Karen, and Someone Out There forwarded the URL to Mr. Van Eaton himself. I wasn’t even sure if he was still living, so the email he sent me was pure pleasure! I thanked him again, effusively, and he’s put me on his email list.

And last year, just after I finalized my divorce, he sent me another note. He was working on his last batch of wheels, getting ready to retire again, and offered me first call. I actually thought about turning it down, and then I realized that this was the Gift I was looking for. The “Yay! My Divorce Is Over!” gift. I ordered a folding wheel in black walnut. And it’s my favorite wheel ever.

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Ok. Contest time.

Rules: I’ve been depressed lately. Leave a comment with your favorite joke. The one that makes me pee my pants wins a bag of Jo Sharp DK Wool in color “Embers”, a rich heathered rust. It should be enough to make a vest, and I have a pattern in mind.

I’ll email and announce the winner on April 15th. Winner, you need to give me a good email addy and respond with your mailing address. If I don’t hear back from you within a week, it will go to the next funniest joke.

That’s It. If you have a few minutes, please take a look at my own book, Selbuvotter :: Biography of a Knitting Tradition. It’s about Norwegian Mittens. Seriously.

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Next on the BlogTour

March 31st        Joanne Seiff, author - http://www.joanneseiff.blogspot.com/
April 1st         Kim Guzman, designer  - http://kimguzman.wordpress.com/
April 2nd          Rosemary Hill, designer - http://www.rosemarygoround.blogspot.com/
April 3rd          Donna Druchunas, tech editor  - http://www.sheeptoshawl.com/blog
April 4th         Cathy Adair-Clark, designer  - http://www.catena.typepad.com
April 5th          Terri Shea, designer  -  http://www.spinningwheel.net/
April 6th           Chrissy Gardiner,designer  - http://knittinmom.blogspot.com/
April 7th           Jeff Marcus, photographer   - http://www.joanneseiff.blogspot.com
April 8th           JoLene Treace,designer - http://jolenetreace.wordpress.com/
April 9th           Cindy Moore, designer  - http://fitterknitter.livejournal.com/