Vineyard Rows, from Hill Country Weavers

As it happens, the recent Prairie Bliss collection from Hill Country Weavers included not just one but two of my original patterns. The first was Rockabilly Soft, and the second is Vineyard Rows: so named for the textured horizontal stripes, and because that's exactly the sort of luxurious thing you might wear while touring the vineyards of the Texas Hill Country.

Thanks, Hill Country Weavers!

On a more serious note, those of you keeping one eye on the news will know that the greater Austin area spent much of Labor Day weekend burning. Fortunately, the fires have thus far spared Austin itself, but the surrounding communities have suffered immensely, especially Bastrop. Over 600 homes have been lost.

If you have spare change, please consider donating to the Red Cross of Central Texas - or barring that, your local Red Cross. These are the people who come to help those who find themselves in a terrible place without warning. We should all be good neighbors and help now, when we can.

Help for Haiti donation: thank you!

Thanks to everyone who purchased my pattern in the last two weeks. I don't have an enormous donation - with my own money I'm rounding it up to $12 - but it's $12 that ought to be given.

I am giving the money to Medicine Sans Frontiers/Doctors Without Borders today.

Navajoland: Come for the Unemployment, Stay for the Dust

(Which is not to be disrespectful to the Navajo. I think most Navajo would in fact appreciate the dark humor. And to be fair, there was an awful lot of dust.)

As I mentioned, the other week I went on a volunteer trip to the Navajo Reservation. We worked on the roof of a house that was about ten minutes from town. Behind the house was a view like this:

Next door to the dorm was a trading company with a wall like this:

I accomplished many things.

Happy Point Count: 52. It was significantly higher, but see that picture? These folks are selling Brown Sheep Top of the Lamb for $4.25/skein, and Lamb's Pride for $4.50/skein. Plus I was lonely, and I'd like to point out that some people shoot heroin when they get lonely.

Schuyler

Sometimes, events take away every bit of what little power life grants us.

A member of an active Ravelry group in which I have participated for the past year recently gave birth. The baby died less than an hour later. There was no indication in advance that this would happen.

They named her Schuyler.

In response, several Ravelers in the group and some beyond have knit blanket squares. A big-hearted soul in Toronto will seam them together and send them to Schuyler’s mom.



As I worked on a square, I began to wonder what I was doing it for. Yes, to bring some comfort to Schuyler’s parents. Yet, is there perhaps some bit of superstitious selfishness at work, too? In knitting one, then two, then three squares for this blanket, isn’t there a small part of me that hopes if I knit these squares as best I can, then perhaps this sort of tragedy will pass me by?



But then, on each square as I approached the cast-off, I decided that no, that would not be the reason I made these squares. That would not be why we are all feverishly working to churn out a huge blanket as fast as our fingers and the post office will let us.

Death leaves us with so little ability to say or do anything. Let’s do the very best that we possibly can, and let the universe know.

Schuyler lived. She was loved.

That cannot ever be changed.

Newlywed

We're back!



More to come. Much, much more. :)

Good-bye, Sweet 29

Dang. Thirty? Really?

Oh well!

Today I turn 30. I did it quite well, in fact.

Yesterday, after work, I drove about an hour south of Austin to stay by myself at the Mountain View Lodge, near Wimberley. I got there just after sunset, and I had my priorities in order: first I sat out on my tiny private balcony and read a book* in the fading evening light.

This was the view in one direction:

Then I went inside and knit as I watched My Fair Wedding, which is a guilty pleasure and an insult to one's sophistication and intelligence, because really, David, do you need to have all that drapey white muslin? Again? And are you seriously comparing these hardworking, basically smart and well-focused ladies with a pre-Higgins Eliza Doolittle?

Gratuitous knitting shot of the Whisper Cardigan:

Shrugs look weird when they're only half-done, don't they?

I continued knitting during the Daily Show, then read some more before turning in.

In the morning, I woke up to see the view from my balcony in the morning light:

I love the Texas Hill Country. A playwright whose name escapes me at present once talked about always missing Texas, and always longing for one's "childhood geography." This is mine, and I'll always love looking out over the distance to see the faint outline of more hills on the horizon.

Birds chirped a lot.

I went for a hike on the short nature trail:

Regular readers know how I love the color blue. Perhaps this is why:

I drove back into town, stopping (uh oh!) at the Knitting Nest. It's never in my direct path on an ordinary day, but there I was at the Slaughter Ln. exit, and their lovely supply of Cascade 220 called to me. In my own defense, I totally know what I'm making with it: yes, wedding stuff. (Knitzilla strikes again!)

Now I'm back home, enjoying a day off of work and preparing to hit the town tonight for an Arts the Beatdoctor show. (Did I mention it's SXSW? Batten the hatches, folks, this town's been hit by a storm.)

I'm lucky in many ways. I have good people in my life, and I have things to look forward to. It doesn't get much better than that.


* The book is Guy Gavriel Kay's Sailing to Sarantium, and I don't know how that guy does it, but he writes these rise-above-the-genre fantasies that somehow deal with all of life's evils and brutality and human mortality, and then they leave you feeling a little bit better about all of those things at the end. A serendipitous literary pick for the occasion.

Film Shout-out: Heima

On Friday, my fella insisted that I watch his new DVD of Heima, which is a concert/art film by the Icelandic band Sigur Ròs. All I can say now is, you have no idea.

Heima is different, to say the least. This is not the kind of concert DVD that will wind up in stacks on the shelves of Half-Price Books next to recordings of the Stone Temple Pilots' '95 tour.

In 2007, the members of Sigur Ròs returned from a worldwide tour, exhausted and feeling a little claustrophobic. They decided that they would then tour the small towns and villages of Iceland and play unannounced shows for the people they met. Heima chronicles the places they played -- sometimes for a field full of fans of every age, sometimes to empty ruins and the two sheep wandering by on the hillside, sometimes to a cozy coffeehouse crammed with listeners.

Until their last release, Sigur Ròs played songs with lyrics that were sung in a made-up language -- not English, not Icelandic, just music and sounds. The music is melodic and lovely. Singer Jón þor Birgisson (don't ask me how to say it!) croons in the very upper reaches of his register, and his brow knits so tightly, you could stick a penny in the creases and it would stick. With Heima, they're joined by a string section of ladies who saw away at their instruments with so much gusto that most shots show a few loose hairs on at least one person's bow.

Heima, which means "at home," is more about Iceland than it is about Sigur Ròs. The film intersperses every song with shots of the landscape around them: icy mountains, green sprouts, gray rock, choppy seas. There are clips sometimes of what a village once was, or of the local choir in concert, or the food Sigur Ròs has for dinner with the locals at their community center. Heima gives no explanation in the manner of travel films. It shows without telling, and it's a good choice.

One is left at the end with the sense of a people who have discovered a little something more of themselves, and a profound reminder of what can be drawn from natural landscapes.

And here's the crafty connection: it seemed like everyone in Iceland was wearing the same sweater.



Young, old, hipster, nerd, everybody had a yoked sweater out of the same color palette. I want to make one for my fella, but I don't know where to start. Can you recommend a pattern? A book?

Or failing that, can you recommend a place where I can find directions for a top-down men's yoked sweater? The rest I can fudge from screencaps.

This is all hypothetical, mind you. The fella is a tall, tall man, which means lots and lots of yarn to buy.

Watch the trailer here.

Something Else Is Going On

Those who know me know I vote Democrat almost every time. I believe in what the party stands for, even when its leaders take a seat. Like other Democrats, I'm quite pleased to have not one but two extremely strong candidates duking it out for the nomination.

Some readers might vote differently. I happen to think you're sorely misguided and perhaps not paying enough attention to things like, oh say, the weather. But that's not what this post is about.

I've been leaning in the direction of Obama, because I feel that he strikes a similar chord as JFK, because he seems poised to unify people and reach past differences. Only some of that has to do with his qualifications, which are many. Much of it has to do with image, and all that that implies.

Then I read this post.

I don't know the author personally, but he is a friend of a friend, and he is by all accounts a smart, articulate, thoughtful, interesting, and open-minded person. In no way am I trying to castigate the writer of that blog personally. I've also communicated my objections to him personally, so this isn't a sideswipe.

As you can see if you read the comment I left, however, I am very bothered by his sexist metaphor, which implies that standing up for what one believes in is an inherently masculine trait. Oddly enough, hope itself seems to have been appropriated by male language: "Hope Has a Pair," and Hillary's "castration" as a result of not standing firm to her positions.

It echoes the goofy machismo promoted by Bush and his cronies, the "let's done a flight suit and declare a war over!" mentality, the notion that once on a course one should never turn back.

It isn't so much this writer's particular post that gets me. (And I encourage you to read more of his posts, to give the guy a chance.) This is merely one example of something I'm beginning to notice much more often in the Obama camp.

What truly, deeply bothers me is that even here on the left, where I fall into the complacent illusion that people look past the limits of gender, race, physical ability, etc., the assumptions of male dominance are still present. They are a security blanket to so many-- both male and female, but mostly male. These assumptions are so natural that the writer likely didn't even consider what he was doing as the least bit offensive when he wrote it. (Still waiting to hear from him on that.) Promotions, assertions, legislations and more can't seem to shake so many men free from the notion that they are somehow, inherently, indefinably better. It isn't something they'll assert publicly; it's simply a belief they hold so automatically that it comes as a surprise when anyone raises a hand in protest.

(Yes, we all know wonderful men who are exceptions to that rule (Hi, Dad!), but that isn't the point right now.)

I don't want to vote for Hillary because she's a woman anymore than I want to vote for Obama because his father was black. Yet I find myself looking to Hillary much more now, because in the Obama camp I see snags here and there where people vote not out of hope but of fear and distaste.

How often do we fail to hear what she says, because we're unnerved by the fact that a woman is saying it? And how much is that reaction so natural that we fail to recognize it as such?

"I think it's time we had a really tough broad in charge," my father said when we were discussing the candidates over the holidays. At the time, I shrugged and thought, maybe not this tough broad.

Now I am reconsidering. Let Hillary ruffle feathers. Let her infuriate the right, and the left, and the centrists who are made to feel uneasy. I'm abandoning my argument that it's time for a new generation to take the helm of this nation, because now it's time for a brave woman -- yes, both of those words together -- to run the place.

This begs the questions, of course: what part of female anatomy shall stand for chutzpah? Anyone?

Needle Shortage?!

What do you mean I don't have the right needles to start a pair of socks? What is going on that I can't start those gloves because I don't have any size 5 dpns?

I have an entire beer bucket (Shiner Bock!) full of knitting needles, plus a full set of Boye interchangeable needles. What is going on that I somehow don't have enough and need to go buy more?

Deep breath. Here's a speedy, un-phenomenal FO from last week:

pattern: Square Shawl by Cookie A., from Vogue Knitting winter 2007/08

yarn: Caron Perfect Match (100% acrylic; Blue Teal Ombre). Don't use it.

made for: Aaron's cat, as a favor (to Aaron, not the cat)

needles: size 9

notes: Obviously, a Vogue Knitting shawl is going to be larger and prettier than this. This shawl provided a nice square pattern is all. This blanket is about 15" x 15" (discounting the messy blocking -- I don't think kitty will care!). I did three of the first repeats, and one of the charted repeats.

The variegated acrylic yarn is just hideous, in my opinion, and I really don't like to criticize in a public forum. But it is: it's scratchy and it hurts your fingers and whoever gets a garment made from this stuff won't wear it because it irritates the skin. It was the most durable yarn in my stash, however, and the machine-washableness ought to work well for a pet.

In other news:

1. I've decided that I really like Bill Richardson. What a shame the media isn't even giving him a chance. As an erstwhile newspaper writer, I don't like to criticize the media in general, but it seems like the television networks, newspapers, and co. have prematurely narrowed our choices. Don't you think?

2. I have a 15-minute play going up next Wednesday, and I am mired in rewrites of the last two pages. The reason why I am mired is that I have discovered some accidental depth in a play in which the Seventh Angel arrives to begin the Apocalypse but chooses to share a turkey pot pie with the actors instead.

In other words, this wasn't something I intended to be serious.

However, as I was discussing my writerly confusion with my SM/AD/seamstress/life-saver, I realized that I am in fact saying some rather intense stuff about religious faith, about what we choose to believe in.

Damn it.

FO: Montego Bay

I teach math. Not for a living; it's a part-time thing to earn a little extra cash. However, as part of one of my jobs, I do in fact teach math.*

So I know the difference between mathematics and magic.

This scarf is magic:

I know this because the pattern says you need precisely 440 yards in this gauge, no more no less, to finish this scarf out at 80 inches (6 feet 8 inches), without fringe.

From the 440 yards on the skein, I cut 120 ft. (40 yards) for the fringe before starting, rather than the recommended 200 ft. (66.6 yards). I knit the scarf. It wound up 6 feet long, with fringe. I had no yarn left.

I washed it. I left it to dry on its own without blocking, as it seemed happy doing just that, and... it grew to... you guessed it... 80 inches.

Magic!

pattern: Montego Bay Scarf, from Interweave Knits Summer 2007

yarn: Knit Picks Bare - Merino Wool Fingering Weight (100% merino wool, 440 yards; 1 skein) dyed with 2.5 packets of Black Cherry Kool-Aid, in the colorway "Candy Rose"

made for: Aimee, modeled by me

needles: size 8 circs

This was a terrifically fun pattern to knit: both interesting and repetitive. I always need a pattern like this to take on the bus or on a car ride.

*Now, the other kind of note, known by some as a footnote:

I recently had a few people caution me, some indirectly, about how much information is available about me on the internet. As a journalist, performer, and playwright, a web presence is both unavoidable and useful. However, for those concerned, let me describe the rules I have for this blog:

1. I do not use anyone's full name. I might link to their site, on which they choose to use their full name. That's their choice.

2. I do not blog about work, other than to mention the sketchiest of details (as in, "I teach math"). The exception is the work that I do for myself as an artist. That is self-promotion.

3. I don't show other people's faces, unless I'm given explicit permission.

I'm lucky enough to have come of age at a time which allowed me to make my most idiotic internet mistakes before I began my professional life. I plan to keep it that way!

I'm back.

Many miles to and from, and I'm finally back in Austin. Sincerest thanks to everyone who assisted with the costs of participating in the Four Corners Mission. We did many good things, and I learned so very much.

Out of respect the privacy of the individuals whom we met and with whom we worked, I will only post a few pictures here. Here is a summary of what we accomplished:


1. We replaced the flooring in the living room and kitchen of one house. A couple joists were rotted through in the kitchen, so we also had to replace those.

2. We rewired two houses so the owners could have light in the bathrooms.

3. We repainted the living room in the first house and the stairs in the parsonage.

4. We donated the remainder of our unused budgeted money to the pastor's discretionary fund, which will help people pay their utility bills in coming months; directly to two families who don't have enough to buy groceries and rely on the kindness of neighbors; and to the local day-care center.

5. Our unused groceries from the week went to the Ojo Food Pantry.


A word on stereotypes of Native Americans: While we only worked with Navajo, and only with a select group of individuals, I found that once you approach these people without expectations of nobility, alcoholism, laziness, or some inherent wisdom, then they do in fact emerge simply as people.

The people we met care for their families. They have a wicked sense of humor. They laugh a lot. They speak quietly. They are patriotic Americans (albeit with some justified suspicions of the federal government). There are discarded appliances in the yards, but that's also true in San Francisco. There is trash on the reservation, but there was more on the roadside in West Texas.


Mainstream America has many misconceptions about the many native tribes of this country. It's a shame to dismiss them as undeserving of basic respect.


And, bonus: I found lots of yarn for sale in bulk at the local trading post. All this - a whole pound of wool - for $16.99!!



Dude: if only I'd had more room in my luggage.

The Laughing Buddha

Currently, I'm watching Himalaya, a BBC travel documentary with Michael Palin (of Monty Python fame) as host. It's remarkable, beautiful, and I highly recommend it.

There is one scene in which Palin obtains an audience with the Dalai Lama. The Dalai Lama can barely stop laughing the entire time. He says he knows Palin from watching the BBC, which he does frequently. Every time Palin asks a question, the Dalai Lama starts giggling again.

Before Palin's interview, The Dalai Lama held an audience with some pilgrims from Tibet, who all bowed their heads respectfully. The Dalai Lama would ask them a question like, "How was your journey?" And then he would giggle.

You have to wonder: what would Roman Catholicism be like today if Pope Ratzinger couldn't stop laughing? Better yet, just think how much better off all of us would be if the Ayatollah Komenei had gotten the giggles as a matter of habit.

Click here.

Please click and read:

"Let's Watch a Girl Get Beaten to Death"

Now act.

How strange that a man who feels things are apocalyptic most of the time can restore some of my hope.

what I read

Anne Lamott quotes a friend in her book Grace (Eventually), "We can't forgive. That's the work of the spirit."

Score! I feel like I just hit the jackpot. Now I don't have to do anything about forgiveness, not with my literally insane former roommate who could really use a face rearrangement, not with George Bush, not with that one gal at my last job who did that one thing that one time. I can just back off and let Jesus do it!

That's the neat thing about the Holy Trinity: it's like you get to pick the one you want to deal with on any particular day, thanks to the three-in-one deal. For this, I pick Jesus. He's got the whole human experience thing covered, he's been slammed pretty bad in his day, so he's not gonna be like, "Hey. Chill." Or maybe he is, I don't know. Point is, I'd rather sit at the table with somebody who's had good reason for being really mad in a very human way.

And you know what? This is like when you've got some dirty dishes sitting in the sink, and they've been there forever. Say you baked some buttery fish last week, and you've been letting the pan soak, and you just don't feel like scraping the gunk out of there.

Suddenly, Jesus says, "It's okay, gal. You can get back to your knitting or any of those things you should be doing to better the human condition, and I'll take care of the buttery fish gunk pan."

Thanks, Jesus! Go right ahead. I'm going to work on my sweater and maybe do a little social and environmental activism.

Who knew it was that easy? I sure didn't.

Garter Stitch Therapy

Yesterday, to help focus myself before the show, I put the finishing touches on this rather ordinary garter-stitch scarf.

The scarf is made from Lion's Brand Homespun, and the flowers are out of Knitpicks Crayola. I gave it to my director last night as an opening-night gift.

The flowers are simple little spirals; for the larger one, I cast on four stitches. For the smaller, I cast on three.

It's no testament to superior or challenging knitting. However, the simplicity was desperately needed. The meditative quality of the repeated stitches helped me focus just a bit.

There's this thing about putting yourself out there. It's a thing that many people before me have tried to describe, and if somebody described it accurately, we'd all just quote her rather than keep trying to explain to our non-artist friends why this life is not a good thing, why it in fact sucks really badly.

Just think for a minute about all the people you know who are afraid of public speaking.

Actors are just as scared, in their own way. And actors keep doing it. So do writers, in their own way, and painters, and anyone else who mines the shafts of their brains and experiences for something to present to other people. It's this thing you hate, but it's what you do -- it's your JOB, for crying out loud-- so you take a big breath and go do it again, and again, and again.

So phoo to all those people out there who want to be a Writer, but don't bother to write, or who want to be an Actor, because they think they can do it better than Cameron Diaz. They are looking for a thing that deeply sucks, but they don't have enough of a soul to recognize it.

My show is good. (That's another awful thing about this art thing, that you have to summon the courage to believe in your own fantasies and say good things about them. I don't think accountants or window washers or crossing guards have this problem.) So please come.

And when you come, disregard this entire post. Just try to understand why, even though the show went well last night, all I want to do is run away to a very foreign place with a long international extension on the phone number and not tell anyone where I am until they've forgotten they ever met me.

Only, it's my job.

Knee and knits

Oh, so busy. Oh, those plays. (Buy a ticket!)

A dear friend recently realized her dream to play professional football with the Austin Outlaws, only to trip at work while in a hurry and bang up her knee quite badly, right before practices were to start. She reports that it will require surgery. Unfortunately, healing isn't just a matter of how many people wish you well, but we can pretend like it is, right?

I'm knitting a lot, thanks to various errands for work and life that require sitting in unbearable waiting rooms. I can't wait to show you the pictures when I finish off these hats and gloves and things... Is there a disorder for people who get two seconds away from finishing something and then run off?

A very Austin sort of day

Today, I did three things which I did not expect to do when I woke up at 8 a.m. This makes it the perfect example of a very Austin sort of day.

In the morning, I got stitches. (Don't worry, Mom.)

In the afternoon, I saw Barack Obama.

In the evening, I attended a Lonestar Rollergirls match.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

The stitches were just to remove a couple moles that have a 2 percent chance of turning dangerous. One happened to be a bit deeper than I expected, that's all.

I'd heard Barack Obama was coming to Austin, but I assumed it was a $250 per plate kind of event. Nope! Thanks to the UT Democrats, I (along with 20,000 other people) attended a rally at Riverside and South 1st. In fact, my boss told me to leave work so I could go.

I like Barack Obama. I'm as nervous about his relative inexperience as anyone else, but if you listen to the man speak, he has very sound, intelligent ideas, and he is so great at communicating them. (That alone is worth your vote, after 8 years of Dubya.) He has great international experience, and he's also worked as a community organizer on the South Side of Chicago. IE, he hasn't just heard about poor people on TV.

I' m disturbed that already so many people are refusing to vote for Obama because they say he's a Muslim. For one thing... he's not. He's a member of a big church in Chicago. For another, it's too bad that the simple possibility of someone being Muslim is enough to discount them from holding office. There are non-radical Muslims out there who have good ideas, just as there are non-radical Christians like Obama who have much to offer.




Anyway. At 5:30, my fellah scored two free tickets to the AIGA Awards, thanks to one of the referees for the Lonestar Rollergirls. The Rollergirls (for you non-Austinites, they are among our favorite local celebrities) were the featured entertainment at the advertising and graphic design awards presentation.

Think WWF meets Hooters on rollerskates. Every time they go down in a heap and start pummeling each other, the referees gleefully dive in.

Is it any wonder I was ready for bed by 11:00?

It's just that, well...

I had to create a blog. Everyone else who knits has. (Seriously.)

Call it self-promo, call it simple fun, call it whatever. I knit, I write, I perform, and I sometimes tell funny stories. Now I'm going to share online.

Thanks for visiting. I hope to update at least once a week.