Cocoons

I finally figured out how to weave and construct a cocoon, a very simple jacket/wrap made from two rectangles of handwoven cloth to be worn over a T-shirt, turtleneck, or simple dress. Without having an actual cocoon in hand, I relied on photos of the design that made it appear much more complicated than it is. Here are photos of my weaving experiments from this past week. These cocoons were woven on a mixed rayon/cotton warp. The wefts are cottons and synthetics from yarns I purchased in a "grab bag". I love the tweed-like effects. All three fabrics washed and dried beautifully. I added a few beads, either glass or wooden, on the cocoons' lapels for fun. Because they're experiments and the yarn was a bargain, I'm offering them for only $85 each.

Excitement

It's been an exciting week: my daughter Katie's book arrived in the mail (ALEUT IDENTITIES by Katherine Reedy-Maschner). The Preface is a fun read, has lots of our Croner family lore regarding her grandfather's (my father's) sailing escapades in Alaska and other Pacific Rim locations.

I also received a great picture book, photos of International/Historical textiles. The book documents beautiful blankets, clothing, headdresses, shoes, decorative tent bags from a variety of cultures around the world.

And second best to Katie's book, a huge box of yarn arrived, a grab bag of textures in reds, pinks and purples. I immediately measured a warp to weave a cocoon, a comfortable jacket/shawl fashioned from rectangles. I'll be putting the warp on the loom this afternoon, after visiting with a financial advisor to further see how this retirement business is going to work out.

My other loom is warped in 5 shades of green and I'm weaving another batch of tea towels/bread cloths. A cone of variegated, slub, cotton yarn arrived just in time for experimentation. The plethora of colors blend quite well over the random greens. I think I'll weave several of them as well as use the green yarns to create irregular plaid, Irish-green effects.

A recent NPR program discussed depression; a writer/guest described a peculiar ceremony he took part in in Kenya that was designed to cure depression. The ceremony required being stripped naked and being covered in mud; there was western music and African drumming, and eventually he was wrapped in the intestines of a sacrificial animal which he and the supportive crowd roasted and consumed together. And what amazed him is that he felt better when it was all over having been shaken from the trap in which he'd allowed his mind and western culture to envelop him.

Years ago, I read somewhere, one of those tidbits that lingers in the mind, that Jewish Rabbis are required to take up some kind of craft in which they must use their hands, things like woodworking, gardening, playing a musical instrument, etc., in order to keep them grounded in reality so that inquisitive minds don't run amok into the abstract. At least that's how I interpreted the demand. It makes sense to me. I find I'm most content when I'm involved in hands-on projects. There's much talk about eye/hand coordination, but there is also an important body/mind connection that much of our post-industrial lifestyle has erased. Perhaps too many things are done for us, and as a result, we fail to reap satisfaction from the simple tasks of yore like chopping wood, growing our own food, baking bread and even grinding our own grains. Spinning and weaving clothing and useful household textiles easily fits into this scenario.

As a child I read about Bedouin women spinning and weaving the tents they lived in, weaving the blankets they slept under, the rugs they slept on, the bags they stored their things in, making each item both for the sake of utility and beauty. Making things is a significant element of human nature; it's not by accident that engaging in crafts is relevant therapy in our culture's many mental health facilities . . .

"Keep on keeping on"

Well, I guess it's official. I'm formally retired, the silver pen and pencil set has arrived from the university along with a certificate of appreciation. Kinda cheesy, but OK. It's kind of an odd retirement since I will return in the fall to teach part-time. With this quasi-forced arrangement, I gain lots of personal time, but lose my health insurance. There's no way I can continue to pay for it, and I don't qualify for Medicare for two more years.

Somehow this isn't how I envisioned retirement. First of all, I never expected to retire at all since I returned to the workforce so late in life. And secondly, "retirement" really means I slip back into pre-master's degree poverty, holding my heart in my mouth every time a bill arrives in the mail or I feel a twinge of pain. But I'm not surprised; I knew the bottom would fall out of things once I reached this age. I'm a baby-boomer of course, that generation that gets blamed for all the country's ills of the moment due to no fault of our own.

There are too many of us, babies born in celebration of the end of a devastating world war. Our numbers are sucking Social Security dry, and young people resent having to pay for our menial survival. However, few care to mention that we paid into the system too for this past half century and might deserve some of the benefits as well.

World cruises, sailboats, travel to exotic places, time on the beach won't be what my retirement is all about. I'll be lucky if I can maintain a roof over my head. These unexpected circumstances will certainly force me to keep busy, "busy" apparently being a respected American value since if you ask nearly anyone how they are, their response is "busy."

In the wake of my concern, my oldest daughter said, "You've always been very resourceful," and I guess she's right. I have been, and I'm quite proud of having fed and cared for my kids seeing them safely into adulthood. I'm proud of returning to the university later in live to complete my degrees, and I've enjoyed my years working as a newspaper reporter and college English instructor. I've worked hard and made use of the many disparate things I've learned along the way from farming/gardening/butchering chickens, to running a literary magazine, to writing/reporting, teaching, spinning wool, weaving, playing piano. Some activities that many would dismiss as mere hobbies, have turned into somewhat lucrative projects.

Generally, I enjoy my life. My children are close at hand. My grandsons are wonderful people

So, I guess I'll take songwriter Bob Dylan's words to heart and "keep on keeping on."

Gypsy Caravan Bread Cloths

Crank up your favorite Gogol Bordello CD and cover your bowl of rising bread with one of these bread cloths; wrap a loaf in a cloth as a gift for a new neighbor.

I've always been fond of gypsy fashion and art. As a child in the western Washington woods of the 1950s, Gypsy was my Halloween costume choice. I loved colorful scarves, long skirts and dangling earrings -- still do. Recently a group of dear friends and I watched the 2009 film THE IMAGINARIUM OF DOCTOR PARNASSUS starring Christopher Plummer in which a traveling troupe of colorful magicians seek love and adventure and answers to the age-old riddles of life.

Costumes in the film are ethereal, glittery, bleeding color and sparkle. The film once again brought out my love for color, music, mysticism, fortune telling. . . I loved the film, even though it is not a box-office hit, but then I rarely agree with critics or the tastes of mass audiences.

Gypsies, Romani, have been either romanticized or vilified over the centuries. Hitler put them in death camps and eastern European governments forbade them their free, wandering lifestyle and forced them into mean camps/villages without decent means of support. According to recent news reports, they are still a controversial ethnic group in Europe and America.

Maybe I was a gypsy in a past life. Who knows?

Adaptation and Adjustment

I am good at adapting to my surroundings. In general, I believe this is a good thing, but there are times when adapting may not be to my benefit. For instance, my "new/used" LeClerc jackloom has developed a glitch in its ratchet system. Every so often, it releases and will not grab back. I examined the device, but haven't been able to understand what is making it misfire. So, I have adapted to the problem. When it occurs, I simply lean over and roll the back beam back until it's firm. This is not a comfortable action.

I've also become aware that when driving I adapt/adjust my speed to the car ahead of me even when the person is traveling several miles below the speed limit. It takes me a long time to realize I'm doing this and decide whether to pass, or merely wait until I get to my turn.

My youngest son is very aware of this trait in his mother. When he was helping me warp one time, he said, "Mom, if there was suddenly no electricity, I know you would figure out how to live without it." "Yes," I said. "While I," he said, "would figure out how to make my own."

Which attitude is the most creative? Both contribute to human survival. It's widely accepted that when change comes about in a human environment -- when people experience of lack of food, climate change, destruction of shelter, war -- humans either adapt, move on or die. But according to my son, changing the environment is also an option. Is this merely another form of adaption/adjustment? Or is it something more creative, actions that are made possible through education and a mechanical mindset and that elusive thing we call "hope".

Today I'm going to ask for help. I want to fix my loom so my weaving time will continue to be comfortable and prolific.

Festive Bread Cloths

Hot off the loom: Festive all cotton breadcloths/tea towels. I use them to wrap a loaf of freshly baked bread as a gift or to cover the bowl the bread rises in. They're also handy for drying crystal glassware. Some people use them under a centerpiece on a holiday table. They are completely machine washable and dryable. They've already been washed once to relax and soften the fibers.

I enjoy making these simple utilitarian household products. I believe that even a humble dishtowel can be special, a work of art. Every one of these towels is unique. I rarely, if ever, make any two items exactly alike. We live in a world of replication, of machine-made copies of copies from mountains identical paper forms to mounds of idential T-shirts. I take pleasure in knowing that I own handwoven fabrics exactly like no others in the entire world.

Stay tuned for my experiments in black.

This is a photo of one of my favorite handwoven shawls. I no longer own it, but recently came across it draped over a chair at a friend's house. It felt good meeting up with an old friend, and I was glad the shawl had found an appreciative home.

And familiar textiles do indeed become friends; they enrich our lives in many ways. I'd bet most of us have a favorite towel, blanket, or wrap. Babies become attached to the comfort their "blankies" provide. When we come across a swatch of fabric from a forgotten dress or shirt, we are flooded with memories of ancient family picnics, days on the beach with beloved friends, berry picking in the Cascades, our grandmother's capable hands tying colorful apron strings as she prepares the Thanksgiving turkey for the last time. . .

Late last night I finished warping one of my looms with a gold rayon yarn that I will cover completely with intense, jewel-colored chenille yarns that arrived UPS this week: ruby, earthy sapphire, shale, emerald, amethyst. . .

These cones and others are sitting about my living room in groups. Before beginning a weaving project, I spend several days admiring yarns' colors and textures, moving the cones about to discover the most pleasing combinations. I'm often surprised at what "works" and what doesn't. Unlike a painter's palette, unless I dye my own yarns (which I do with my handspun wools), I must work with the colors as they come to me, and it should come as no surprise to other artists that I enjoy the creativity this limitation provides.

So, for the next couple of weeks, I will be weaving luxurious textiles, and I will become attached to each, and with luck, I'll find good homes for them.