Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Tomorrow's supposed to be be the start of a new era, however the realist in me knows that it's just another day. Each day I wake, hoping to see beginnings of the changes in motion. I wait, still, as without hope I have nothing.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Not having read any knitting mysteries, I'm trying to figure out their appeal. Do I, the reader, have to solve the usual mystery of someone's death or is it something more juicy like a lost stitch, yarn without a ball band, or the secret lives of disappearing stitch markers?
Anyhow, the current mini-series that I'm producing includes the following episodes: Where in the Universe is My Denise Case Hiding Out? and What Will Become of My Massive Bunny Stash?
Monday, October 27, 2008
The other day my mom called to read me the inscription on the birthday card she was sending to Mary Jane Hogan. On November 7th Mary Jane will spend her 83rd birthday in a nursing home in
Mary Jane was to more to me when I was growing up than just my babysitter; she was a crafting genius. Their apartment was a makeshift craft store, not just of purchased supplies, but of gathered bits and pieces, found objects, and recycled parts that could one day become projects. She was constantly learning new crafts and techniques (on her own) and each year for Christmas she would make all of her dozens of cards using a different technique, using watercolors, acrylics, or even needlepointed plastic canvas. I didn’t just go there when Mom needed a babysitter; I went there for fun. Why go out and play when I could decoupage, paint, cross stitch, bead, cut, glue, and sew? The irony is that the only crafts I can think of that she didn’t partake in were knitting and crochet (also she didn’t own a sewing machine at that time of her life). If I were about to undertake an ambitious new craft or school project, I would run down to Mary Jane’s for some tea and guidance. Even in college she attempted to guide me through a beaded silk dress and a 5’ vinyl cheeseburger in the style of Claes Oldenburg. I miss those days and I’ll bet she does too. There are crafts in the nursing home; however she doesn’t bother to participate because she says that she’s better than the teacher.
Mom called again today after opening a letter from Mary Jane’s niece in