Chunky Skirt? Check. Ready for a Few More Cold Days.

Cover thy Ass!  Okay West Coast friends, time to fess up.  We still have patches of snow. In fact, it snowed, again, last night (well into March).  I'm not terribly bothered by it, but there it is, seventy degrees yesterday, thirty tomorrow.  Somewhere in the dark cold this season I came very close to purchasing one of those full length down parkas that many women wear around these parts.  Aside from not wanting to part with my money, and not being able to make a decision (color/brand/pricepoint/shape), I just recommitted to making enough warm bottom coverers that I'd do just fine with a wool skirt over leggings or pants until the weather breaks.






And here we are, a quick breath away from warmer temps and longer days.  The pleasure found in creating this skirt, along with the functionality, is that the chunky yarn works up like a dream.  Within days, or even hours, I've got a product that I can wear.

 This skirt possesses a rare trait of my creations.  If I were to build and sell this skirt, I could price it for less than a fortune, since labor time is gouged.  For those of you craving one of my designs, this might be the place to start!

And so, we're off on another adventure.  Have yarn, have car, have friends in hip places.  I'll take it, grey skies or no.   Now, let me see if I can track down those kids.

The Lavender Capelet, Why do such a thing?

child-photographer, the best.

bedroom photo shoot.

And what have I been doing, lately?  Loyal follower, you might ask such a thing, you might also chalk it up to another blogger blown asunder by the realities of life and other distractions.  One of my greatest distractions of 2015 is this delightful doozy.  I've learned how to crochet thread in the fashion called "FILET".  It's fine, it's gorgeous, and I started with a graphed pattern that could teach me how to read the chart, follow the stitches, find my tension and go!

An example of a FILET pattern.

Needless to say, the capelet took days and weeks of fine work.  It requires the smallest of crochet hook (size1.7mm) and the tiniest of thread (lace thread, size ).  I won't bore you with the intricacies of how it's worked up, but let it be known that concentration, eyesight, and repetition are necessary. The link to my Ravelry page can give you a bit more info for the crafty-curious.  The tiny little leaves that were strung with beads around the whole thing was a crowning achievement for this obsessive.

Bead leafs that surround caplet

One might wonder what I'm accomplishing by creating this shrug.   I've always made things. Creation is a form of survival for me, but this particular moment of obsessiveness  highlights a few particular bits of my process.  First, the endeavor to puzzle something out is one of my greatest loves.  I'm a famous puzzler (of any sort) so the mere challenge of figuring out a new pattern is a delight and mental thrill. My mind is awake, my body is in flow, life is good when I'm puzzling.

Second, (and this is only as I've listened to my friend Donna discuss Occupational Therapy) is concerning the very concept and import of occupations--things that we do with our hands, repetitively and carefully.  As our lives are more and more mechanized and digitized, how is it that we fail to perform the very essential hand-eye functions that make us higher beings?  Donna was explaining to me that the origin of Occupational Therapy was from work that was practiced with vets as they returned home from wartime and were suffering from stress. Almost everything I make, I make with renewed vigor, embracing its utilitarian, and spiritual function.  My heart literally hurts for the many people who don't or can't do anything with their hands.  We're losing such a potent part of occupying this planet.  my heart also hurts for those who make things with great detail under strict work codes, with great boredom and awful work setting.

The third thing I consider in my process is message.  Simply writing and thinking about the decline of occupational work makes me frustrated and mad and passionate.  I have a strong opinion on just about everything.  As 2015 washes in, just as chaotic as 2014, I'd rather not tuck into my suburban home and go to sleep, quietly knitting until my kids go to school, then get old and die.  I'm always trying to figure out how to make my mark on the greater world.  I'm not much of a politician, nor even an activist I wish I was, but I believe that my comments, questions, conversation, and collected wit and wisdom offer a tremendous gift to anyone who comes into contact with me (yeah, I know, I like myself that much).
 So the capelet is finished, and I've been thinking quite a lot about what I'd like to do next, in Filet in the way of message, after all, a lavender cape just isn't very risky. When I began FILET it occurred to me that if I mastered the style I could quite easily print designs of my choice into the grid.  Really, anything that fits onto a graph paper.  I've been brainstorming words for the better part of a month and I've finally stumbled upon a simple phrase but I sorta like how it's as rambunctious as it wants to be.

Sexy Jock: iteration #1

I wasn't sure what I wanted to print.  When I finally stumbled upon sexy mama I sort of veered away from it, and there were some other sexys that when I googled, I didn't like what came up.  I was raring for a swear word or two, but then I thought better of that….after all, I will wear it just about anywhere, and the words are going to be on the rear. Kid number two quickly pointed out that the words will be illegible with only one color thread in use, but then we are arguing over the subtleties of art form. May switch that out with another project.

Beginning work on stem green wraparound skirt

Today's progress: we'll nail this thing.

one might, naturally wonder what Sexy Jock means, but here's my permission.  I don't have to get into it, especially since it might not turn out that way. For now, this will do.  I'm working, I'm creating, I'm brainstorming, and I'm laughing about this and just about everything else, so that's a good thing.

Unencumbered Woman breathes life into 2015

  Alas, the weight of it all brings the most active of us down to our knees.  Although I don't try to wash this blog with upbeat truisms, I do try to utilize my own adventurous spirit in designing tales about working at the process of making life a bit lighter in it's experience (ok, blah blah blah).  So I  try to take wacky times, sometimes awesome times, and inspired creations, and document as time blasts forward.

So what happens when the Unencumbered Woman literally takes to bed and plays sick for a month?  Although I've been tempted, blogging about my bedroom is almost (OK, not really) but almost off limits.  How many photos of myself doing crosswords in my PJ's can the world sustain, let alone this quiet little blog of liberation and freedom.  So, I put the brainstorms on the back burner and stuck to some of the domestic arts for which I have achieved little to modest amounts of notoriety for.  

Getting back in the saddle must require some application of the basic principles of the site, and so, I offer this, a study in the adventures and dreams that we find in our own comfortable home, while nursing illness, fear of cold and ice, and the inertia and ineptitude that only the greyest of Chicagoland winters can deliver.

James Garner in Rockford Files

So let us begin at the very beginning.  The very beginning, oh children of the 1970's, is Jim Rockford  (James Garner 1928-2014).  I spent so many weekends as a child stuck in a mobile home in the misty rainforest of the Oregon Coast.  We had one or two channels at our weekend getaway, and I always had some nifty craft or jigsaw puzzle to pore over.  Rockford was one of the higher quality standards that you could find on TV ca. 1980.

Rockford's home/office

And what's an Unencumbered care for?  It's just amazing, to think how far we've come in the intervening years.  Here's the lead character, always playing fair, never carrying a gun, tolerating pushy clients, living in a quiet trailer, parked right on the shore of the Pacific in Southern CA.  Look at how ratty the trailer is!  This, of course, was a symbol of his liberation.  The guy had served time, and now was in companionship, mainly, with his father, eats hotdogs at a stand by the water, and quietly pursues a life as a self-employed PI, "two hundred a day, plus expenses."

 For those of us who dare, or try to experiment with alternate life paths, trying to balance, family, health, values, interests, sleep and circumstances, Rockford's story is all too compelling.  To quote Sarah Silverman, "How do you even make money??"(on In Bed with Joan, episode 1).  The more I think about this question, the more often the response is, "live cheap."  What's cheaper than Rockford's setup? I'm also obsessed with all of the quickly LA ladies he works along side and with as clients.

defense lawyer friend, Beth, played by Gretchen Corbett

 It's easy to find sexism in this dated show, but looking at the "lady lawyer" "lady hippy" "rich lady murderess/theif" the range of characters that we were exposed to seems deep in a fashion that is often missing in TV programming today.  One gal has the full on crochet poncho and fringe boots.
And so, in a roundabout fashion I tell a tale of January 2015 as sitting watching marathons of Netflix programming while crafting and plotting creations (and a hefty dose of NYT Crossword Puzzle).  And, fellow athletes, I've discovered, happily, that, as long as you have an obsessive activity, exercise is NOT absolutely necessary to fulfill obsessive desires.  Bonus?  Skip the workout, and you get more crafting done!!!!!

Nichelle Nichols as Lt. Uhura

Today we discuss the beloved Uhura Dress, #2.  Hot off the hook and I'm thrilled with the results.  It's one of the more difficult pieces I've worked, following the pattern designed by Crochet Goddess Doris Chan, but as this is the second time I attempted the piece, it was a little more free-flowing.  I skimped on the yarn, so ended up with a product a lot closer to the length of Nichelle Nichol's original Star Trek dress.

100% Bamboo Yarn, Southwest Trading Co.

So, in the name of indoor activities and adventures to be had while nursing illness and down-times. We celebrate with a photo shoot in teen-bedroom.  Willing teen photographer is a bonus, so, here we go!

These are the eyes of an adoring mother. No less than thirty minutes before a Driving Lesson(!)

See, kids!!! This is fun!!!! We have fun, even in January, we make things and do things!

We're sort of lucky that the teen allowed us into her room for the photo shoot, and it's not altogether obvious that we were soon rushed out.  But that's life with a teen.  You take whatever little bit you get, whenever you can.  It's nothing like those younger years when they hang on your every word and action.  But this, friend, is the cycle of life and I'm preparing myself for the inevitable.  In this much, I'm sure that spending more time around the home is a good thing.  With college and beyond around the corner, if there was ever a time I wanted to see my kids at breakfast and dinner it is now.

If you must know, this quiver stitch is a magnificent creation requiring great concentration.

Proud Crochet Goddess

"Oh, Well."

The "OhWell" hat.

Am I happy?  As a matter of fact, not really.  And I'm not at all ashamed of stating that.  Recently, on a whim, I viewed a 2011 documentary called "Happy"., streaming on Netflix, into the comfort of my own beautiful, safe, clean, quiet home.  It's been on my distant "to watch" list for a while, and it occurred to me that I might tackle some of the sadness, anger, anxiety, and angst I've been feeling lately.  And, by the way, I use the term "lately" loosely, as in, anywhere from one month to one half of my entire life--nitpickers beware.

"O, H!"

 I often get to thinking about this happiness thing, and I usually resort to some gauge of happiness built upon fulfillment, purposefulness, connectedness, gratitude, (blah blah blah).  And when I look at my self-evaluation through that lens, I almost always fare quite well.  Nonetheless, there are people near and far in my life who would probably accuse me of being downright depressed, maybe cranky, blah blah blah. A lot.   Take, for example, my housemates (not including the cats).  How can I not be more grateful? Or more cheerful?Why don't I just get medicated like all of those other used-to-be-sad-people? Well, I am grateful, I am cheerful, and I'm as self-medicated as I'll ever be (I hope).  But I'm still mad, sad, anxious, disappointed, and disgusted--with so much that I see, read, hear, feel.

"H, W"

 So, back to the documentary.  All you need to see is a scratch of a description and you know what you're going to end up with. Happiness is relative. Happiness is part chemical, part environmental. Happiness is available to everyone as long as they have their basic needs met (ahem, America). Happiness is for those who are intrinsically instead of extrinsically motivated.  So, no surprise that this filmmaker follows through with the findings of his profiled experts to explain how happiness (and lack of it) can be found in far flung places (Okinawa, Denmark, Namibia, Louisiana)….  Hmmm.  So I went ahead and watched the whole thing, waiting for at least a nod to the question that always wracks my mind when such topics come up.

"E,L."

 So this is the question that I would expect anybody to try to answer if they made an entire film about happiness on the globe: How does one create happiness in a world where the injustices are crushing? How does one live in happiness when surrounded by information that the destruction to the globe will be so total and complete within a relatively short amount of time that we won't have water, clean air, food, honey, fuel? How do we find comfort in a world where our own happiness rests upon denying the injustices imparted onto others every day.  How do we find comfort in this world when this injustice is played out in the news every day? In this documentary, some attention is paid to how families overcome tragedy and persevere, but I waited and watched for the question that always gives me pause.  If the powers that be, the powers that support our very "ability to have enough" are creating this massive destruction, violence, then what of happiness?  By the end of the film, the crickets were buzzing. Experts consulted, examples given, the greater question, "how to create happiness amidst awfulness, powerlessness, rage, chronic injustice", never addressed, even cursorily (which I would have expected at the bare minimum). So…there you have it, flapping in the wind, as usual.

"L,L"

 When we celebrated my fortieth birthday, quite a few years ago, there was some other pivotal news watershed moment that created a lot of angst for many folks such as myself.  I created a bumper sticker called "Oh Well", and it's still my favorite.  So much so that this Fall I put the finishing touches on the reversible "Oh Well" knit cap!    What better way to sum up a sane reaction to an insane world.  So, there, "Oh Well."  Now just go out and be happy!

***and, LF, you may ask, what does this have to do with the Unencumbered Woman????  Quite Frankly, as I see others around me toil to behave as if nothing is going on, I scratch my head, wondering, "What does it take to pretend that it's not all falling apart?"  "What is the cost, personally, to swallowing emotions, reactions, rage, etc.." The cost, naturally, is incredibly high, and the cost of calling out our disgrace, disgust, anger, is even higher.  So, friend, I guess part of The Unencumbered Woman thing is saying it, being it, doing it.  There's a permission to admitting the free-fall that we are in, that's a thing. That's a thing that I'm trying to do.

  

Make Something Every Day.

That's my current motto.  No matter how crummy things feel, start or finish some project that unites sense of self with reality.  Some project that captures an energy whatever that energy is.  In my case, I'm in the house, again, in what's become a perfectly rational refuge.  The season is brilliant and sunny, the news is raining down on us, and here I am, waffling between angst and whimsy.

Josey Baker goodness.

In answer to angst, I'm baking bread.  Working my way through Josey Baker's ridiculously straightforward bread making book.  I wanted to hate him, being all young and friendly-n-all, but he's absolutely spot-on with instructions, great photos, great bread.  I'm a convert.







And then on to this.  I have been avoiding completion of the so-called, "Thickly Invented Cool Season Skirt" for a few reasons.  First, I started it last Spring when I was thinking about doing more on-demand crochet and wanted a super fast work-up skirt to make for other folks.  Since then, I've been doing too much of my own thing and not really worrying about who might want to buy my crochet…after all, I need to dress myself, first!  Second, it's been warm for, well, forever, and there's no need to think about winter when it's not here (no-brainer--this is why we crochet rather than knit….More Fun!).  Third, my mind has been occupied by these massive projects that took over hooking time (afghan? please).

2014-11-07 10.01.48 from karen steward-nolan on Vimeo.

But earlier this week, we found a nip in the air and I started eyeing the full-length down coats at Macy's…hmmm, that could be fun (and expensive)….and then I remembered, just put a chunky wool number on my behind and stick to the cast-off-indestructible Patagonia waist-coat that will last,

practically, forever.  And so I resumed work on this Chartreuse, Coral, Grey skirt that, upon finishing, will do me good.

And not a minute too early for either cool weather, or a roll around the kitchen on my old roller-skates, inspired by friend and neighbor, Jenny, who wants to check out the local Roller Rink.  OK, then, this gal is going to work on some of her old moves….

It would probably not surprise many dear readers that The Unencumbered Woman was quite the roller gal in her day (late eighties).  In fact, when in the San Francisco area, for quite some time, the best thing that somebody could do on a Sunday Morning in Golden Gate Park was grab some quad skates, loosen the trucks waaaay up, and dance with the whole crowd, in a cordoned off, with giant stereos playing, smiles, dancing, fun in the sun.  What memories.  In fact, this is a little what the scene looks like today, still fun after all these years!

And so we soldier on.  Happy to be inspired by the act of creation, happy to be home, happy to be here with family and friends.  Happy to remember exciting times in other places, and happy to cherish food, beauty, and the good sense to continue thinking, breathing, building, for as long and as hard as we can, because sometimes, we can't…and there are a lot of others, who can't, and whole couldn't.  Forget those who wouldn't, since we can't do much about that.  I love this bread.  And I love this skirt.  I love making something, every day.

Mom holds the space.

A visit to the coast for more completion.

Today, Mom's eighty-sixth birthday.  I was pretty quiet, here, around the house, and I've gone about as far as I need to, letting go, for now.  We finished up with more *objectia* in Oregon last week, which felt complete, and now, waking up in my own bed, was perfect, for today.  Moments ago, I put the finishing touches on dinner dishes, and thought to myself, 'Well, this sums motherhood up, on so many days'.  I'd like to be politically correct and say "parenthood", but as much as we've tried, in this house, to smash our gender roles, this feels pretty damned traditional, or whatever.

In memory of Mom, I made a stroganoff that is reminiscent of what she might have made for us years ago.  I threw a bit of effort at the thing, even making a roux, adding plenty of butter, and cooking with shallots(!).  Our  high school swimmer came home at about six and expressed her enthusiasm at my culinary efforts (often she's on her own at about this time).  She prepared her own bowl, as I was on my way to retrieve the younger from Martial Arts.  I knew that child number one would be squirreled away for the remainder of the night, chained to her homework.  I took a few bites of baguette dipped in gravy before heading out for dutiful driver-parent responsibilities. Little one and I returned to sit and quietly eat.  She mostly talked, I encouraged eating, and then, poof, "Can I read?".  Spouse has been gone since dark AM and is in meeting until after all this (even the blog post).  So I finish my glass of wine, clean the kitchen from top to bottom, reflect on a hardly eaten dinner, put an extra casserole in the fridge, thinking…'this is a lot of what this thing is about'.  Mom holds the space.  So often, it's a quick exchange, a ride, a comment, a request. We make all the arrangements, we make sure everything's in place, and then they're here, and they're gone, as soon as we blink an eye.

Making this stroganoff, I couldn't help but think of mom coming all the way to Vermont fifteen years ago, offering to make the dish for us as ripe new parents.  Me, in all my bohemian, new parent gusto, barely tolerated the offer, not nearly comprehending the compendium of cooking/prepping/planning skills that it actually takes to feed more than one other person for years and years and years on end. I had no idea how many fads preferences and timings and trends any one family cook must flex her weight around.  I simply had no idea.  And I guess that thought taps into the shards of grief that still live in my heart.  I've worked this drama to it's bitter end.  I feel so good, so complete, with both Mom and Dad.  But ever so often (OK, almost every day), there's a pang of total and utter regret.  Why couldn't we have cooked the stroganoff together, a hundred times?  Was I appreciative enough?  Why didn't I ask more questions?  Why was I so self-absorbed?   But of course, we all know the answer to that question, and it's relative, for me and anyone else, i suppose.  I was being and becoming who I needed to be, and Mom was loving me just the same, just as much, forever.
I'm so grateful for the memory of her undying love of me and my family.  Everyone deserves to have somebody, at least one, who sees all the brilliance, all the mediocrity, all the failures, and loves us all the same.

The Yarn of the Afghan…or…Blog and Brag!

Addie's Afghan

Only days ago I blogged about the delightful summer cover-up that I finally finished after a season of difficult fine work.  And now, with a  hint of cool temps and precipitation in the air, I put the last rows and edging on Addie's afghan, which I started at least three years ago.










I was so excited to take on this project, initially, as I'm passionate about these vintage patterns, found in my own mother's collection and elsewhere.  That said, my enthusiasm waned in the intervening months.  So, a bit of background on these Afghans, blankets, and throws.

Vintage pattern books, sit upon the afghan
adorning my creative space.

A while back I finished an afghan that my mother had worked on since the fifties, then abandoned, many years ago.  It sits, happily, in our living room now.

Mom's Butterfly Afghan

And on my chartreuse and grey front porch/workspace, sits the afghan that one of Donna's Aunties began in CA, many years ago.

basic flower motif

All vintage, all amazingly beautiful and, most importantly, comfortable.  And lest we forget, the most difficult pattern I've ever worked (in terms of a sixteen row repeat, not in design of the essential shape), was another vintage pattern that twisted my brain into little knots, pattern borrowed from one of Mom's old books, only described as Pattern #12910.  This one, as I was working, Peter claimed that he thought it was hideously ugly.  That said, every time we sit down in the living room he whips that thing onto his lap about as fast as a hot chocolate chip cookie.  I say, "Not so fast, friend, remember what you said about my afghan!"

"What, no blanket? I'll take a cat."

Comfy, cozy, Pattern #12910.

And what, I wonder, is this all about, short of the fact that I am a glutton for punishment (as in length of time required to complete afghan)?  So many things attract me to making these afghans, and they ultimately serve more than a few purposes, so, what's wrong with a little list-O-Rama?

Why do I make afghans?

1. Sometimes it's delightful to craft a piece that once we understand the pattern it is eternally repetitive (think, what I do while conversing or listening to radio or watching TV).

2.  Short of baby blankets, Afghans are another lost craft form.  Rarely do we allow ourselves time to make something so bluntly esoteric.  I love hearkening back to slower times, no matter how contrived my fantasy may be.

3. These patterns, and this purple, lavender and gold piece, are remarkable in their masculine abstract design.  One double crochet pulled tightly over two rows of other colors. Mathematical, pure, elegant.

Pattern and fabric.

And what is the purposefulness?
1. Afghans in our living room give us permission, even encourage us to sit around and talk/read/sleep.
2. Beautiful vintage adornment is what I love for my own abode.
3. I'm a crochet goddess and I have to make EVERYTHING (OK, almost everything).

And…confessional. What took me so long to finish this piece?  Frankly, it was Awful.  I thought it would work up too small, so I bought a little (but not enough) extra yarn and widened the thing.  This was a ridiculous mistake, because this throw was never meant to be as large as a queen size bed.  And so, halfway complete, I had more width than length, and the repeating waffles needed to be the length of the object.  How many times I wrapped this around my waist, wondering if I could somehow make it a skirt, I don't know, but ultimately,  after a bit of coaxing from my daughter, I called it a truce and finished the thing.  Fortunately, it wasn't as short as I feared, and once I put a finishing edge around, blocked it, and started with the camera, I made my peace.  Not every peace is exactly as I imagine, in fact, almost never.  And so, another exercise in acceptance, followed by joy, beauty, satisfaction, even fun.  Now, the fun part, blog and brag!

 blog and brag