The international headquarters of the unencumbered woman.

The less you take with you, the less you need.
Sometimes this feels more true and good than other times. Mild weather and Spring in Chicago certainly inspire. Even the weight of a blog post gets to be too much. So I'll follow my own advice: keep it simple, cheap, and light.

Why so weepy? It's only Springfield!

Folks in the family weren't too sure about going to Springfield for the weekend.  I don't know why not. After all, it is the capital of our fine state, plus the home for many years of Abraham Lincoln, location of the Frank Lloyd Wright designed Dana Thomas house and site of our lovely lipstick-tube-style Hilton hotel! A weekend well-spent. Family time aplenty, and some interesting sites to visit.  We'll be back! I might as well admit, right now, that for whatever reason, I was teary practically all weekend.  Let's chalk it up to my fascination with Civil War era history, Lincoln, the first spring break without my dad, and maybe just the angst of dying nineteenth and early twentieth century towns in the american middle-west.  Town is depressed/depressing. 

National Park, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln.  

First stop, Lincoln's home.  It's the only National Park in Illinois, a little neighborhood, preserved only blocks away from the state capital building and our round hotel.  We walked around the sun-splashed parkway on our first afternoon in town, but it wasn't until later that we toured the interior of the Lincoln home.  I wasn't completely sure that we'd want to take this tour, given multiple tourist destinations, but as it turns out, within the interior of the Lincoln home photography was permitted. A splendid opportunity to memorialize the amazing wallpaper!  Our guide explained that Mrs. Lincoln ordered the wallpaper from Paris, and her black horse-hair furniture was near and dear to her heart.

A word on our guide.  A young energetic father of three from Arkansas, who I got to chatting with at the end of our tour (I love a good docent).  A national guardsman today, serving out 18 more months in Illinois.  The only job he could find after eight years of active duty.  I'll admit here and now, I thought his twang was a joke.  It was so strong when he opened his mouth I thought for sure it was an affect he was putting on to entertain the tourists.  Now, I realize not.  And where did he grow up? On a farm, of course.  And we all know how easy it is to go back to farming...so five hundred miles north it is.

wallpaper! Mrs. Lincoln ordered from Paris.

I was enraptured. Bed. Wallpaper. Size of space. 

Our hotel in the background.  Not a sight for Lincoln.

Leaving the Lincoln home through the back door, we all took a look at the privy, which was fascinating to some.  I was sorta weepy, for so many reasons (I love old stuff), but I was also weepy, thinking about at least three things.  One: looking at this monstrous hotel literally blocks from the home where Lincoln lived in the mid 1800's--it's just shocking, in a way.  Two, Lincoln milked his own cows when he lived here.  Just thinking about the profundity of such an act.  Our life today is so removed from this essential connection to the natural world.  We are so incredibly removed, especially lawyers of any station in life, which Lincoln was.  Third, my Dad loved these old-time tours. And I can remember being the age of my children, being dragged on tours and always sort of yawning my way through the thing, thinking ahead to ice cream or the motel pool or whatever.  I kept on thinking, with all the Lincoln stuff, "Dad would love this."  Not because he was a Lincoln guy, but because he liked any sort of tour.

He would have been intrigued by our wanderings around the grand Illinois state capital.  By no measure, he most definitely would have complimented some of the ornate detail, paint, crystal, wood.  He would have also made some glib comparison to Oregon's own state capital, which, in all likelihood, is more simple or cost-controlled, in whatever fashion.  He might have shared my fascination with the statue of Ulysess Grant or maybe even Stephen Douglas.  He would have loved to share the afternoon withe Peter and the girls and I, and he would have hiked all over the place.

The last tour that I remember sharing with my dad was actually the one that I led, right here at the Frank Lloyd Wright Home and Studio, in Oak Park.  It must have been about eight years ago and it was the last time that Mom and Dad flew anywhere, and naturally the last time they visited me.  I think that I led a pretty good tour, I loved sharing one of Oak Park's incredible gems with other people.  I loved spending time in that magnificent home and workplace that Wright built for his own family. Which brings us to the site that I was most impressed by.

Sidewalk quotes from notable Illinoisans

The Dana-Thomas house is owned by the state of Illinois and is open for tours.  This lovely prairie home built by Wright for Susan Lawrence Dana is everything that I had hoped for and more.  No interior photographs allowed, and what a relief.  As beautiful as many photographs are of Wright buildings, the prairie homes, in my opinion, are simply not done justice in print.  The very nature of homes built to create flow between spaces and encourage people to experience space in a particular way is lost in a captured image.  Peter says that I was beaming for the entire tour.  Our interpreter was fantastic and passionate and informative.  The Dana Thomas house was built for entertaining, and it's scope and scale reflect this.  Never feeling like a massive house, it is in fact massive, with it's spaces dedicated to dining, and entertaining.

After the tour.  They look a little sad, can't say why.

Get a shot of me, really close!!!!

And what would a visit to Springfield be without a stop at an old Route 66 service station!  Again, I was completely overcome with weepiness.  The place is so cool, Shea's is a collectible museum.  Right up my alley.  Closed on Easter Sunday, naturally, but we peeked through the fence at all the memorabilia and put it right on top of our list for next time.  So there we have it, Americana packed in a weekend.

But wait! What about the Lincoln Museum?  I dunno.  Already a professed lover of all things old, and a crotchety insistence on believing that those things that are most interesting are the things that are most difficult to read through, well, the multimedia blitz that is the Lincoln Museum didn't suite my own style.  Nonetheless, the floodgates opened and I was crying through the schmaltzy videos and looking at One of Lincoln's own top hats and more, so in that light, I suppose the LM had it's intended effect.  I assumed we were all supposed to be overcome with emotion.  But then I looked around, and nobody was teary, or even particularly intense looking.  I heard one mother try to explain slavery to her kid (that was sorta amusing) and I heard one dad ask his kid "so, what was the Civil War *really* about", which perked my ear up.  Dad would have probably liked the Lincoln Museum, but now that he's gone I get to say what I think.  He, like me, probably would have been more impressed with the actual Lincoln Home, run by the austere National Park Service.  And, not to mention (although Dad wouldn't care about this) the NPS, and not the LMuseum had on hand my favorite Lincoln book by Eric Foner, Fiery Trial, which says it all, in my opinion.  An equitable, well-researched, authoritative view on Lincoln's life work relating to race and slavery in particular.

On the inside, a fabulous drag queen with muscles and flair and sexuality, on the outside, suburban mom/feminista with the coolest kids ever.

The unencumbered woman had a big night,  a visit to the live opening of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.  

With camera in hand and a witty thirteen year old in tow, I figured we'd have no problem creating some glamorous shots.  Unfortunately, everything we took looks like suburban mom's night out mixed with a tour of one of Louis Sullivan's crown jewels.  How I love the Auditorium Theater.  It is beautiful and perfectly composed, in every way that Sullivan imagined.  My breath is taken away, each and every time I visit this amazing Chicago institution.  How lucky we are. 

mama likes Sullivan's repeating geometric patterns. 

You can find this right here in Ol' Oak Park (FLW Home & Studio)

But let's face it, kids, were not getting any younger, and well, we don't really look so glamorous.  Earthy Mama, I suppose, with a little flair, is about all I can muster.  Oh well, here's the rub. This is one of those evenings in which the inner matters so much more than the exterior--sort of funny while experiencing a musical that tells a story of kindness masked by obsession over looks, sexualized imagery and, well, really fabulous, hot looking people moving and grooving in fantabulous costumery and sexy sexy sexy wear.

We sat and enjoyed the crowd for a long time before show's beginning.  There is no way to give any sort of justice, whatsoever to Sullivan's design.  The lights, stencils, repeating geometric patterns and warm colors fill me with utter love and awe each and every time I've visited this theater.

When the show started, phones and cameras were off and we were transported to another time, a sweet time in our minds full of dance, song, great empowering images of the selves that we are on the inside manifested in our exterior charms.  A great visual feast with fabulous dancing and music and color and laughter and uniqueness (if that's even a word), this gives us permission to live big.  Play big. Love big.  It's all too short friends.  One day, dancing at the End Up at 6 in the morning,

 another day, encumbered with mortgage and work and kids and worries.  live and love when you can, friends!  I love this film, I love this Musical. I was that goofy woman in front of you who was grooving and singing along to all my favorite tunes.

Midway through it all, I leaned in close to daughter and said, "with some of the more raunchy content, I'm more embarrassed in front of all these rich old white people than I am embarrassed in front of my daughter."  I think she got it.

Goodbye, winter....we saw so little of you!

click. wake up!

 Last time I checked in, I was in the throes of some serious lack of motivation.  It happens.  Life can simply be exhausting, and I'm so lucky for the beauty and love and abundance in my life.  Here I am, captured by my stealth photographer on some sunny Sunday afternoon.  And this collection of shots, a sort of goodbye perfect winter quiet day walk in the neighborhood.  The sheer beauty of architecture of homes in my surround is breathtaking, particularly with a fresh coat of snow and lung-cleansing blue sky.

these box hedges were once the dominant landscape in this suburb. rarer and rarer today.

this willow grove was planted at the park only a few years ago.  

Gorgeous, well-loved. All year long.  I worship this gardener.

from a beloved yard.

One Day. Prairie meets midcentury. Can't get any better.

And in Chicago.  Touches, everywhere. Wrought iron. Heavy Door. 

This house holds so much mystery.  Unfortunately it backs up to some large traditional homes, removing it's necessary open landscaping.  Nonetheless,  a favorite.

This makes me happy!

Back closer to my own home. I adore the repetitive charm of wood and brick bungalows, altered over the years making every site it's own curious artistic expression.  My neighbors who boldly pot plastic flowers, I'm so in love with this idea. Yes! Year-round flowers! Low maintenance!

Ashby says she likes to look for a house with a porch big enough for a party. Here we are, and it's sublime!

Just around the corner, this sweet mid-century saltbox style bungalow.  Check out the modern door, and the glass door with snow-flake patterns.  ADORE. 

The Unencumbered Woman lives.

And what of this unencumbered business? Am I still working that angle?  Well, heck, yeah!!!! It's all about attitude. Approach and attitude.  Troubles, stress, fear, anger? Let it go.  Take that walk, ask for a hug, go to sleep, enjoy great food.  Don't spend what you don't have.  Live a little, but not too much.

What's next, after the motivation is gone?

So whither the goddess yarn artist within me?  Today, I'm trying to pack for a weekend away with family and friends.  Needless to say, this is an occasion for glorious yarn arts.  While throwing some running clothes and flannel shirts into my overnight bag, I start to mull over what crochet or knit project I'll bring along.  All I can think, unfortunately, is yuck, yuck, yuck.  All of my active projects are feeling roughshod, failed, or just not worth the effort.  I'm looking at a pile of yarn that cost a bundle, I've already thrown a lot of sweat equity this way, and I can't bear the results.  Ugh.
This is what I've got it narrowed down to: Shall I bring my partially finished chick-motif mitten?  Not really, since I'm realizing that my yarn work on the pattern is too tight and slightly off-center.

That's so cute! Will it fit?

 OK, then how about the granny square remnant that I'm converting into a skirt or dress or cape?  Well, since the weight of yarn is hideously light (picture: old school crochet) and I can't really figure out what part of my body this object will adorn, I'm stuck.

table runner? blanket? dress? who knows?

And, perhaps, what about this pink-mesh thing that was supposed to be a snug tank but now it's feeling looser and looser as it works up and the stitch is just plain boring? Yuck, sick of this, and the hot pink attracts too many comments as I plod along.

Oh, my. Nice color!

But there's more! How about the granny square skirt that I've  been slowly working up for the better part of a year?  I harbor no major objections to this project, but after a few nicely designed squares, I feel like it's all filler, now, and I'm not inspired to build onto it, plus, I'm afraid that I don't have enough yarn to make the skirt long enough to wear.

Looks cute to me, can't you just finish it?

And finally, a  beautiful set of soy silk yarn, recently purchased for a truly fabulous Star Trek style dress designed by her highness, Doris Chan.  But alas, reading this pattern has proved elusive for me up until now.  I can't wrap my head around the thing, and it's driving me nuts.  Any communal time while I sit in the corner arguing with a magazine page is simply not pretty.  It also kills my image as a fiber arts goddess myself.

This ol' thing? What's so tough about it?

So there I have it. The equivalent of major craft-blockage.  I don't know what I want to work on, and even more daunting, maybe I don't even want to be working on yarn this weekend.  So, I'll take a deep breath, grab two books, a camera, and maybe even a journal.  Toss in a crossword puzzle book and I'm golden.  Next installment, I might even share the not-so-secret truth that my motivation at training has tanked this season.  Few workouts, lots of sleep, and missed registration deadlines.  A new me?  Quite possibly, but I'll take it easy, follow the energy and see what emerges. After all, this is supposed to be fun, right?

If it isn't attached, it's outta here! Purge Time!!!

Oh, goddesses of the blogs...deliver me from my own purgative cleaning of the house to give words and pictures to some of this joy.  I'm in the middle of that fantabulous New Year ritual of trying to get rid of everything in the house that isn't nailed, stapled, glued or sewed on.  Good luck, you say? Well, sure, it's a tall task, but when it's sunny outside and bitter, bitter, cold, what's a gal to do but load up on highly caffeinated beverages and sift through every piece of arcana that she can lay her eyes on.  Closets, drawers, cabinets, basements, cupboards, fridges, floors, bathrooms, bedrooms, it's all fair game.  If we don't use it anymore and the emotional significance can be touched by another similar object (OK, don't touch the Barbie Camper!), it's on the short list for outta here! Enough is enough, and every single visit to my dear Mother, in her completely ordered universe, automatically provokes a cleaning/purging excursion upon my return to this place.  Halfway through day two and I can see the light...if only the adolescent lets me into her room I'll be really happy.

But it's lunchtime and I'm hungry!!! I swam about  7 hours ago and it's time to stop the insanity.  Cook up some brown rice soaked in a chicken broth that I made the other day, plus fried greens, I'm happy as a Camper!  I take a moment to channel my Dad, who, on some afternoons back in the day, on a day when he was home, working around the yard, usually.  He'd take a beer out and drink it with lunch.

And then she sat down and ate lunch, alone & in the sunshine!

Sometimes, into retirement, Mom would harumph or grumble or something if he did this.  That memory made me laugh today, like, my Dad had my silly mother judging when he might have a beer with a meal.  I feel that I have the judgement of the whole culture upon me... "It's a Friday at 2:00 beer?"  Oh, hell, of course!  Hearty meal plus beer/wine equals complete feast.  So I popped open a Sierra Nevada and enjoyed the first alone weekday in my home that I've experienced in a long long time.

Unencumbered, Indeed!

But actually, I didn't even sit down! I stood at the dining room table and rifled through more files, papers, photos, cards.  I even found a few gift cards for Ashby that amounted to nearly fifty bucks!!!! Are we really those people? We don't have time to count our money, we just collect things and lose them...arg!!!!

Something that Jack Steward would Never have done.  Here's another thing he would not have done: beer instead of wine at lunch.  He would always drink a glass of wine if we opened a bottle for dinner, but lunchtime, and evening, beer all the way.  He wasn't so sure about our fancy brews, but he basically approved.  Mom, on the other hand, was always a martini and cocktail lady.  She told me the story of her first meeting with the Stewards.  They went on a picnic (of course), and, according to Mom, it was required that she drink beer.  Never a beer drinker (then or now) her detailing of this outing tells the hidden tale of an incredibly earnest, respectful woman.  As Mom got older, we didn't always see these sorts of outward approvals of Dad's (or his family's) ways, but it was always there.  Firm, stable, loyal, loving, a model of companionship that carries me forward in this bumpy road that is relational life.

So there we have it!  A great day. Rejuvenated, energized, sunny.  Lucky, awake, and eager for more.

The World's Longest Sock, and the Grooviest Bag

I've said it before and I'll say it again: "I love my man!"  Best friend, loyal follower, clever, devilishly argumentative, ready for a game, and always willing to please. What more could I ask for?  For this photo shoot I don the cartoon bag, created by a company called "Jump from Paper."  Peter supposedly stopped someone on the street he found it so amusing.  One winter holiday later, and he's wondering why I haven't used it yet..."because it's too small to hold all the crap I carry around?!?"  But what sort of response is that, coming from somebody who's trying to be "unencumbered"?  So for our swim meet, I squished some yarn and hook and pattern magazine into it, ready to go.  Besides, I can cram all that other stuff into my Patagonia pockets!

The World's Longest Sock, with the World's grooviest shoulder bag.

Finishing touches, finally, on the World's Longest Socks. Worked up in a quite forgiving Superwash Merino Wool with 10% nylon, these babies are good to go! Love the variegated purple/black and it took all of four skeins to make these long suckers.  Here's to a great year of knitting! Perfect purse stuffer, for monotonous stretches of time where continuous circular knitting fits the bill.

up and over the knee, they are!

 There were times when I wondered where this tattered pattern actually came from. Running and knitting buddy, Kris, in Florence, provided it to me a few years ago, but we don't really know from which book it originated--a search that we might have to pursue in the not-so-distant future.

pattern courtesy of Kris: and what book????

Here they are, boot-worthy, Chicago-worthy, go!

 Yesterday, at a mammoth  youth swim meet, friend Steve wondered aloud, if, in fact, he reads more than one book a week, how much does Karen Steward-Nolan create in the same time?  Sometimes it seems as though I might match the man's proficiency, but heck, let's face it....Steve is a gargantuan novel-reader, and I tend to take on projects that take on the heft of their name, hence titled: The World's Greatest....!

Heel & Toe perfection, I'll say it myself!

Yup, that's about thirty inches, there!!!!