No Joke!

Today is a good day.

It's International Tatting Day AND the first day of National Poetry Month.

Also, I saw sun from my patio door for about an hour this morning!  Of course, in the two hours since then it's been playing peek-a-boo with the clouds... oh, well.  I'll take what I can get.  Especially if it helps to melt the snow off my patio before June.  I've been trying to take a picture of it- by 'it', I mean the sun, of course- but it seems to be a bit camera shy today.  So instead, here are some pictures of my cat watching a rabbit.

 

So, let's sum up:

I.
Lacy knotty fun
Tête a Tat goes global for
Worldwide dominance

II.
The sun smiling down is so charming
Melting the snow so alarming
Three cheers for the mud!
Does that tree have a bud?
Achoo! Achoo-Achoo! Damn you seasonal allergies!

III.
C.atching
A. small, meat-flavored twitchy thing requires
T.otal concentration and skill, until I remember the
S.creen door that separates me from my meal

I think that just about covers it.  Here's one more kitty pic for the road.

He swears this is comfortable

See you soon!

Love, Stephie

Back at it

It's been a long time since I've written a blog post.  A very long time.  In fact, it's been such a long time and I've been doing so many other things with my fingers that I've almost forgotten how to type.  Which is my way of saying, "please wxcuse my typos, my fingers are aspleepy".  I hope you will oblige.

So what exactly have I been doing for all these months and months?  Well, I'll tell you.  Firstly, my dear, darling, stubborn as a mule grandmother had a partial hip replacement after falling out of her wheelchair while snoozing.  It happened while my aunt was at work, and since Grandma was able to climb back into her chair, she decided to not tell my aunt when she returned home.  In fact, she didn't tell anyone for almost 18 hours, when the pain finally became too much to bear.  I love my grandmother to pieces, but she is so proud and so easily embarrassed that she makes it very hard to help her.  It was terrible for my mother, which, at times, made it aggravating for me, 'cause- as everyone knows- poo rolls down hill.

No need for Simplicity Pattern #3677 quite yet

(As an aside, I've decided not to get old.  I don't mind being older, or, eventually, elderly. But if I even suspect that I'm starting to put out the slightest whiff of crone, I'm booking the next pixie-dust flight out to Never Never Land to be a wench on Captain Hook's ship.  So there!  Thbpt!)

But I digress.




Amidst the Grandma chaos, I also:

• knit a maple tree sweater and bird's nest fascinator for Miss Peach's Halloween costume
• celebrated Miss Peach's 13th birthday
• celebrated my Mr. Mister's birthday (I won't mention his age)
• celebrated my mother's birthday (or her age)
• sewed blind hems for over 2 dozen tux pants and jackets, sewed a dozen glittery tulle bustles, and made any number of other mendings and adjustments for a community theater production of White Christmas
• celebrated my brother's birthday (I won't mention his age, either.  But I will tell you that we had a super fun wine tasting at his place)
• hosted Thanksgiving at our apartment
• worked backstage for the two-week run of White Christmas (sold out!  Woo-hoo!!)
• spun 300 yards of hand painted 2-ply BFL, and 200 yards of hand painted 3-ply BFL for my church choir's holiday bazaar
• organized the bake sale portion of the bazaar, and made and decorated almost 20 dozen butter spritz cookies
• started a sweater for myself
• sang a Christmas cantata
• had my father spend almost a week with us when he lost power during a HUGE snowstorm
• sang the Christmas Eve service at church (they got their power back just in time)
• Christmas!!
• frogged my sweater and stuffed the yarn in a plastic bag to deal with later
• sang a recital in which I managed to hit myself in the head with the mic boom
• bought an exercise bike
• caught a nearly impossible to kick case of bronchitis

I think got everything in there.  (Oh, except for the liberal peppering of snow days that Miss Peach had, which she spent wandering about the apartment whining about boredom.)  I wish I had some pictures to share of all my adventures, but I don't.  My life is kinda funny that way.  I have tons of pictures of things that don't really matter, and no pictures of things that do.  I should probably get after that.

***************

You may remember that quite some time ago, I wrote about putting some of my tatted jewelry into the Absolute Gallery.  My jewelry is no longer there.  The short story is that it didn't sell.  The long story is a bit more complicated.  Kathy, the owner of the gallery, is a very nice, well-meaning woman, if she is a bit quirky.  Her mother, on the other hand, can be politely described as a harpy.  When I first walked into the Absolute Gallery last summer, I thought it was kinda great that her mother was hanging out and helping in the shop.  I liked the whole involved family, local business, vibe.  I loved the aura of the space, the feeling that you would find something cool and unexpected around every corner, and there hundreds of corners.  What I didn't know going into this venture was how much influence Kathy's mother was going to have on my business.

My Mr. Mister and I had gone to a midweek after-hours meeting in late July with Kathy to select the items she was going to display and to work out pricing.  She told me that she was going to be rearranging the shop and that my things would be out in the next few days.  We chatted for little bit afterward, and we left feeling pretty jazzed.  When we visited the gallery two weeks later, though, the jewelry hadn't been put out on display yet.  I couldn't help but feel a little let down, and Kathy was thoroughly embarrassed.  She apologized profusely and I tried to be upbeat, making allowances for festivals and gallery walks and other things that can eat up time.  However, when we visited after another two weeks, it still wasn't out.  It was during that visit that I actually met Kathy's mother.  She recognized me from behind the counter and called me over.  She claimed that she was glad I stopped in because after reviewing it for several weeks now, she just didn't know what to do with my jewelry, and wanted my advice as to how to display it.  I didn't really understand her statement, because I knew she had access to my phone number and my email, and had it been important to her, it would have been very easy to contact me.  I asked to see it, and it took her several minutes to find where she had removed it from the storage box and stashed it in the clutter behind the register.  She also couldn't find the inventory list for my items.  My Mr. Mister and I explained that the jewelry really didn't need any particular or fancy setting- there was no reason why it couldn't just be laid out in the cases like all the other jewelry that they carried.  What I couldn't explain is how put out she seemed about the whole issue, and how uneasy it made me feel.  She thanked me and said that she would figure something out.  So Mr. Mister and I left the shop and went home; me feeling let down, irritated and surprisingly insulted, and him annoyed that Kathy's mother made me feel so bad about myself.  Shortly after I had settled down in front of the TV, Mr. Mister went back to the gallery.  Like I've said before, he's the one who has the knack for business in the family.  When he returned, I half expected him to have our entire inventory with him.  Instead, he told me that he spoke to Kathy herself (mom was nowhere in sight by then).  She was mortified by her mother's behavior, and told Mr. Mister that she had asked her mom to put out the display weeks ago.  She again promised that it would be out by the weekend, and Mr. Mister promised that if it wasn't he'd just pull it and place it in a different shop.  This time, it really was out when we went to check a week later.  One crocheted bead rope bracelet was missing, and at first we thought it was lost, until Kathy remembered that a woman had bought it as it was being put out.  I was so relieved that the mess was over that I purposely overlooked the fact that it had been basically tossed into in the back two cases in the second room- along with the polymer clay children's jewelry and sorority girl charms- in their plastic storage zip-top bags and stapled to my business cards.

Months went by without hearing from Kathy.  Almost 6 months.  Finally, about 3 weeks ago, I got a call from Kathy's mother.  She sounded smiley and happy- light years away from our last interaction- and told me that my jewelry was lovely, but since they just didn't sell any of it, she needed me to come pick it up and could it please be this afternoon?  I told her that the very earliest I could pick it up was the following week.  And then I hung up on her.  It was not my most professional moment, granted, but at that moment all I could think of was how smug she was that she finally got her way and it pissed me off.  Though I didn't have proof, I strongly suspected this woman of deliberately delaying the display of my jewelry, and then of hiding it in the very back of the shop where no one goes and in the most amateurish way possible.  I just couldn't figure out why. Kathy had seemed so nice, such a friendly woman who loved to chat.  Had she just agreed to have me in her shop out of pity?  Was her mother just acting out what Kathy didn't want to tell me?  I felt betrayed, somehow.  I thought if she hadn't wanted it in the first place, why she didn't just tell me no?  I can handle outright rejection.  It's the sideways compliments that always throw me for a loop.

I made my Mr. Mister go to the gallery and retrieve my tatting for me.  He doesn't have a problem maneuvering through these kinds of situations; I, on the other hand, tend to holler when I'm mad.  (Or I have an even more unprofessional reaction- I cry.  It's embarrassing and I hate it, but it still happens upon occasion.  Growl.)  When he came home, he had a very interesting tale to tell.  Apparently, Kathy and her mother were on vacation together and her father was left in charge of the shop.  He had known that we would be coming, but he had to call his wife to find out where my things were being kept.  Wouldn't you know that the very same items she kept losing for four weeks straight when it was time to set up a display, were immediately located due to her very precise memory when it came to getting rid of them.  Mr. Mister made an off hand remark that alluded to some of my suspicions, to which Kathy's father replied, "Well, it wouldn't be the first time"(!).  Apparently, for whatever reason, Kathy's mother feels that she should get an executive decision as to what goes into Kathy's shop and what doesn't.  When Kathy makes a decision without her mother, and her mother disapproves, her mother has then been known to hide merchandise, lose papers... anything she can think of to disrupt sales and rile her daughter.

So, needless to say, I'm glad to be done with it.  My relationship with the Absolute Gallery was simply not to be, and whether I was kicked out or I finally got fed up and quit, it was going to end eventually.  Strange as it may seem to the casual observer, though, I still really like Kathy and I wish no ill will on her, her shop, or even her mother (that old pistol is not my crazy to manage.  She's Kathy's, and I wish her good luck on that front).  None of this experience makes Kathy a bad person- she's still nice, friendly, and lots of fun to chat with.  All it really means is that she has a chaotic personal life trying to manage an elderly neurotic mother and her business relationships are suffering from the strain.  I sincerely hope that it doesn't sink the entire business, because that would truly be a loss for the Old Town community.  I guess that's one of the many lessons I've learned from this: I now really truly know what it means to not take business personally.  See, before I walked into this, people told me this and I thought I understood.  But I still kinda believed that I needed to be friends with the people I do business with, and that I needed to be super humble and grateful for whatever I could get.  So I never complained or did anything that I thought might offend Kathy, and even made excuses for her (or as it turned out, her mother) as a way of justifying her not holding up her end of our agreement, no matter how much it inconvenienced me.  (Re-creating pieces for orders, while the originals were gathering dust in her shop, for example)  It kept me from doing things that other people would treat as no-brainers, such as making sure I was paid within the allotted time frame for the one bracelet that did sell/got lost/who the hell knows what happened to it.  At this point, I don't expect to see any payment, and that's okay with me.  I'm calling it the price for a lesson well learned.

Now, I'm back at it and happy to be so.  All of the handmade cards have staple holes in them, so they will be updated, redone, and put away in new storage bags with their respective pieces.  I'm looking for new shops to display and sell my tatting, as well as checking out the art fairs and music festivals for opportunities.  The Etsy shop and the blog are going to get an overhaul as well, I think, so be on the lookout for exciting changes.  And of course, I'm always creating new things.  For my new store, I've made a whole series of Go Green! and Go White! bracelets.  Soon, they'll all have charms for football, basketball or Rose Bowl 2014.

current project: making rose charms from dyed bamboo coral for a bunch of these babies

See you soon!

Love, Stephie

plans for the kitchen: marbled fudge cake for Valentine's Day

plans for the (knitting) needles: socks, beaded i cords

on the nightstand: nothing (!)

on the boob tube: whatever my Mr. Mister is watching.  I've given him reign over the Wand of Power and Control (for now)

Everyday Costumes

A couple of days ago, Miss Peach went to school wearing a greenish aqua tee-shirt with a hand signing, "I love you" on the front, an orange hoodie, cropped skinny jeans cuffed just below the knee and Ugg boots.  Then, because it was only about 40 degrees outside, she put on a bright green Calorimetry (remember when everyone went nuts for those?) and a self-striping mobius infinity scarf that I knit up ages ago wrapped around her neck 3 times until it looked like a bulky cowl.  She looked like a very colorful November, except for the 3 to 4 inches of bare calf hanging out between her jean cuffs and her boot tops, which looked like a tentatively hopeful April.  I let her go without saying a word.  For one, it was not quite 7:00 am and I hadn't had any coffee yet.  For two, I remember the challenge of trying to dress myself when I was in 7th grade, and she seems to have a much better handle on what is acceptable amongst her peers than I ever did.

"Does she have bangs that go all the way around her head?"

Most of my life, up until around 6th grade, I really didn't get a choice as to what I looked like or what I wore.  My hair was kept cut in a Dorothy Hamill style wedge (you know, kinda like Kristen Wiig's Saturday Night Live character, Target Lady?) It fell to between the nape of my neck and my collar, and left me resembling a slightly obscene mushroom.  We didn't have a lot of extra income during my parents divorce, so trendy clothing was completely out of reach.  My grandmother Hattie, bless her soul, was a talented seamstress and most truly in her element when bargain hunting, so most of my clothes were either handmade from vintage Simplicity patterns or came from the Salvation Army.  I was in 5th grade in '89, and while all the other girls were wearing crop tops and scrunchies, Keds, slouch socks, and rolling their pants into peg legs, I was wearing dresses with puffed sleeves and wide sashes, culottes, and high waist bell bottom jeans with a seam that ran up the back of both legs and across the butt.  I hated those jeans with a passion.

Just like mine, except I had the classic yellow stitching.  And I didn't have the groovy shoes, hat or blouse, either.  Boo.

I wandered around the house with sweaters tied around my waist and lamented that I had no tunic tops that would cover the offending seam- only to be scolded for being overly dramatic and ruining my sweater sleeves.  Then I was reminded the way a proper young lady wears a sweater without actually wearing it was draped across my shoulders like a shawl and loosely tied around my neck, and that those terrible, awful, wretched jeans had once been very snazzy and I should feel lucky that Grandma had gotten them so cheaply.

Once I finally gained control of my wardrobe, however, I had no idea how to handle it.  I crafted what I had into what I thought looked like what the others girls wore, but I missed the mark most nearly all of the time.  I remember once in 8th grade, I made a beautiful hoop earring out of ladder stitched deep teal bugle beads and gold seed beads with a small hand wrapped crystal hanging in the center.  But I only made one; homework prevented me from finishing the pair.  It was so pretty, though, and so cool that I decided to wear it anyway.  To hide the fact that I only had one earring, I pulled my hair around and tied it in a low, loose ponytail on the opposite side of my head and hoped that everyone would think that the other one was simply underneath all my hair.  Of course I was discovered; and as soon as the teasing set in, I took it off.  I hid it in my backpack for the rest of the day, where it got caught under my math book and broke.  But, I had discovered that I had a talent, so I turned my tale of woe into a tale of, "Whoa!"  I started making all my own jewelry.  Sewing was definitely a 'thing' that the women in my family did, so after a few lessons from Hattie and my great-grandmother, Blanche, I started re-fashioning my clothes... shirts into dresses, dresses into skirts, skirts could be worn high or low, or my under my armpits and belted at the waist to make a top.  My jeans were either covered in bright murals of hand stitched embroidery or artfully frayed around holes I cut and worn under floaty little bohemian style baby doll dresses.  I learned to embrace the fact that I was never going to blend in, and to have fun creating my daily costumes.

Speaking of costumes,  Tuesday night I headed down to the Riverwalk Theatre for the first read-thru of the musical, White Christmas.  I had volunteered to be part of the costume crew, and we were supposed to be taking measurements and photos of the cast prior to rehearsal.  That backstage has changed so much since I left it nearly 20 years ago that I almost got lost.  What used to be an empty warehouse space that simultaneously served as a green room, dressing room, makeup area, costume storage and set building workshop, has now been divided up into a half a dozen different rooms including a dedicated rehearsal space so that two to three shows can be worked at the same time.

  Once I found my was through and introduced myself to the director and assistant director (who both seem to be lovely women), I followed the costume director back to the green room, where we then set up shop.  The costume director is an interesting woman, a large, talkative personality who goes by Momma K and tells the men that she's measuring them for their noose when she wraps her measuring tape around their collar.  Everyone in the cast seemed to know everyone else, and with all the talking, laughing and reminiscing going on around me, I felt a bit like I was at a party I was invited to as an afterthought, or that I could help serve drinks.  I'm sure I will feel more comfortable as I get to know them, though.  First meetings can often be awkward.  I think this one was especially so, as I am so new to this generation of community theater players that there aren't even any rumors about me to let them know what to expect.  At least I had the benefit of looking a few of them online and reading their resumes, though that had it's downside, too.  I had assumed (Ha!  You know what the say about assuming...) I'd be working with people I can learn something from, seeing that they had all this wonderful experience.  Imagine my surprise, then, when I found that in a room of 5 or 6 long time costumers, I was the only one who can put in a zipper!  Oh, well.  At least it will be a good experience.

See you next time!
Love, Stephie





Plans for the kitchen: cleaning out the fridge.  Ugh.
Plans for the needles: mittens, Mrs. Whatsit, and spinning my butt off.
On the nightstand: When You are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris
On the boobtube: Revolution (Yay! New season!) via the intermittent power of Hulu

It's happening!! Hooray!! I did it!!

The display case at Absolute Gallery with my jewelry in it!

Oh my goodness!  After working with Kathy Holcomb at the Absolute Gallery for what seems like forever, (whenever I'm even slightly anxious, time slows down by a torturous amount... gahrgh!)  my tatted jewelry is out for display!

Last week, (was it only last week?  It seems longer ago than that... gah!  See what I mean?! Torture!) F(uture) H(ubby) went to the gallery to talk to Kathy about when my jewelry might be out.  She said that she was going to do a major overhaul on all the display cases and that it would be out the following week.  FH does a lot of that kind of thing for me.  He has a very,very good brain for business.  I just don't.  I under price my work, I tend to accept excuses to avoid conflict, and I get too mad to stand up for myself effectively.  I'm working on all of it, and someday I'll be as good at it as he is... but for now, he is my oh-so charming and polite, muscle-bound business manager.  And he's super cute, too.  And hilarious.  But I digress.

Since the following week was this week, FH and I went into Old Town yesterday to see how it was coming along.  We walked inside and there it was!  And one of the bead crochet rope bracelets had already been sold!  Happy, happy, happy!  Kathy also requested a few more in Spartan green and white, since the students are back in town and college football is in full swing.

All in all, my confidence is all fluffed up and I'm really starting to feel like I can actually make this business thing work.  How awesome is that?

See you next time!
Love, Stephie

Llama-o-rama!

I love fiber.  I don't necessarily love the animals it comes from, though.  I don't like buffalo.  They're tasty, but their attitude leaves a lot to be desired.  I could take or leave a sheep.  Rabbits are cute.  But I adore llamas and alpacas.  It's been a dream of mine to have a small llama or alpaca farm.

Adorable!

Beautiful!

Sweetness!

Every year on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend, Miss Peach, my mother, and I hop into the car and head down the street to the pavilion on the MSU campus to attend Llamafest.  It's sponsored by the Michigan Llama Association, so it's mostly an event for people to show their animals, but they also have vendor space for people selling fiber and yarn, and other fun, related things.  It's one of the few times of year that I can actually relax, mostly due to the fact that it's difficult to be upset or stressed out when there are llamas running around.  (I mean, really.  You've got to work pretty damn hard at being anything but completely blissed out when you've got your hands stuffed into piles of alpaca roving and the air smells like animals and warm hay.  I'm far to lazy to fight the bliss, and honestly... who would want to?)

Don't fight the bliss!

This year was no exception, and so last Saturday, the three of us went tootling down the road to visit the llamas and see what we could buy see.  Imagine our surprise when we walked in and saw... wait for it... a camel!

Miss Peach and The Camel

Yes, I know that camels and llamas are related, and upon reflection it makes sense, but at the time it just did not occur to me and that anyone in the state was raising camels, let alone bringing them to animal and fiber shows.  This guy was pretty well behaved for a camel, he only stole a few things, and only from his handler.  I talked to the lady running the booth and she was so friendly and willing to talk about her animals; she told me all about what fiber comes from what shed, how the down ( which is surprisingly soft, by the way) is good for spinning while hump hair is good for felting water proof rugs.  So cool!  I was ready to buy all of her camel roving right then and there, (at $8/2oz ball... yikes!) but she didn't have a square and I didn't have a checkbook.  So promised I'd come back the next day and sated my need for fiber by buying some kettle dyed sheep roving and some painted llama pencil roving, a new drop spindle from the spinning guild and some really lovely angora with a shetland carrier.

My newest drop spindle, kettle dyed sheep, painted llama and angora.  Let the spinning commence!

On Sunday, armed with the checkbook and with F(uture) H(ubby) in tow, I returned to the Llamafest to acquire some of that remarkable camel down roving.  Predictably, I had missed my chance as she had sold completely out.  I was so bummed that I nearly lost my llama bliss.  But then FH and I made friends with a man who has a farm not to far from here, and watched some of the judging while he explained what was going on.  He invited us up to visit and see how things are run, and mentioned that his wife might be willing to mentor us if we decide to take the plunge and buy some property and a few animals.  FH, who used to show horses in his younger days, seemed totally at ease and thoroughly in his element.  I might just get my farm one of these days.

Someday, this will all be MINE!

See you next time!
Love Stephie



Plans for the kitchen: Corn Chowder from a recipe in an older issue of Saveur Magazine.
Plans for the needles: Mrs. Whatsit, but I'm more focused on the spinning wheel at the moment...
On the nightstand: Dunno yet.  Just finished the Forty Rules of Love: a novel of Rumi last night.
On the boob tube: The 4400, via the ever intermittent power of Netflix

Out and About on a Thursday: Galleries, Food, and Theater

Every once and a while, my Future Hubby gets a hankering for Mexican food.  He's a California boy that I mercilessly yanked from the ground and transplanted here in the Mitten, so I understand when occasionally he misses the foods from his previous life and yearns for a taste of authentic Mexican, or for a really awesome Pork Bao.  (Oh, who am I kidding?  I'm the one who misses the Pork Bao.)  Anyway, to stem the cravings, last week we bought a bunch of different types of chilies and limes at Horrocks and cooked up a batch of beautiful, fiery red salsa, which we paired with a giant pork roast done up carnitas style, spiced with cumin and cinnamon and nicely crusted up on the outside, and warmed corn tortillas.  Heaven!  Miss Peach ate four tacos, plus her beans and rice.

This week, Miss Peach is visiting her grandparents (her halmeoni and harabeoji) in New Jersey with her father, so FH and I have a little bit more free time that we normally do.  So yesterday, we gathered up my father, piled into his red VW/Subaru hybrid hippie bus and hit the road to Old Town.  I think most every city that's at least mid-sized has an "old town" district, some historic part of the city that was once awesome, then abandoned, then awesome-ed up once more by turning it into an funky art district.  But OUR Old Town is better than your Old Town because 1) my brother has a huge studio apartment there, where we can see the main stage during music festivals and have drinks without dealing with the beer tent or the porta-potties, and 2) we have Pablo's Panaderia, the absolute best authentic Mexican restaurant in the area.  Which, incidentally, is located right next door to the Absolute Gallery, where I've been working with the owner to display/sell some of my tatted jewelry.  We were there for reason #2: Pablo's.  We all had tortas, which are these really lovely toasted sandwiches brimming with meat and beans and cheese, avocado, tomato, onion, and hot peppers.  My father and I had pork, and FH had his filled with al pastor, which is basically barbecued pork that's carved off of a vertical spit, kinda like gyro meat.  (Jeez.  I'm reading this over and just realized... we eat a lot of pork! But it's oh so tasty!)

Our next planned stop was Riverwalk Theater to browse some scripts, since FH and I have recently decided that we would like to get involved in theater again.  I was heavily involved in theater in my younger days, before ultimately deciding to major in music.  Though he's a writer now, FH actually got two degrees in theater performance from a pretty prestigious conservatory in LA.  (I don't believe I have to mention it's name, do I?  I told you he was a California boy)  But since we were leaving Pablo's and the Absolute Gallery was right there, we took a moment to look around and talk to the owner, Kathy Holcomb, to see when my jewelry would be out for display.  It's been a few weeks since I gave it to her, but in the time since then JazzFest happened right outside her shop door along with all manner of other distractions, so she really hasn't had the chance to put it out.  But she Promised, Promised, Promised to have it out by evening time, as she was hosting two staged readings that night as part of the Renegade Theater Festival and she wanted it to be seen by the extra traffic that was going to be coming in.  Now this is a beautiful, decorative, and eclectic gallery/shop, and FH and I couldn't possibly imagine how she was going to fit a play area in there.  So we Promised, Promised, Promised that we would be back to see the show, and off to Riverwalk we went.

The Riverwalk Theater is an intimate stage built in a old warehouse on the Grand River, where I was cast in my first non-school show at 13 years old.  It was the stage play version of Lil' Abner.  I sang as part of the chorus, pretended really had to dance, yanked off a man's fake arm during the Sadie Hawkins Race, and covered myself in dirt makeup and blacked out teeth up as a member of the filthy (even by the standards of Dogpatch, USA) Scragg family.  I was totally, hopelessly in love with all of it.  I'm not sure I can really describe how it felt taking FH there and showing him where my life in the performing arts started for me.  Of course it was fun, but it was also kind of sweet and nostalgic.  After wandering around the lobby and listening to the sounds of rehearsal down the hall, we went to the office and met Mike Siracuse, who was super nice.  He gave us a list of all the scripts in the theater library, volunteer forms, pamphlets of all the auditions going on in the city and surrounding areas, and even gave us a tour of a second stage area where they do dark night style performances, something that didn't exist when I was there, but is a great addition.  Mike also gave us a bit more information about the Renegade Festival.  At its most basic level, it's an Event: a free series of readings, quirky dark night style One Acts, new material, works in progress, and live music staged in unconventional places in and around a ten block radius, including Old Town.  But it's really an educational mission to bring theater- in all its forms- to a public that may be a bit skeptical of more formal setting, and a way for local artists and playwrights to get an audience and feedback for projects that might otherwise not be seen.  I think that if we hadn't already decided to attend after talking to Kathy back at the gallery, we would have jumped on board after talking to Mike.  I can't wait to get back into performing.  FH says not to get to excited, 'cause they may not like us (he's right, of course- there's no accounting for some peoples taste) but I get happy just thinking about it.

So after a bit of down time at home, FH and I returned to the Absolute Gallery (Kathy had impressively moved every rack and display case in her second room to the back and front window, gaining enough space to set up six chairs and stands for the actors and about 30-40 folding chairs for the audience) and saw staged reading of a work in progress by local author Katie Doyle.  It was an interesting piece about the intersecting life stories of Michiganders from all over the state, and consisted mostly of monologued vignettes which break the fourth wall, meaning they directly address the audience.  I mostly enjoyed it, but I must confess that what I enjoyed more was seeing two or three ladies- total strangers!- pondering over my jewelry that Kathy had informally arranged on the counter near the cash register.  That was a true triumph for me and probably the highlight of my day.  After the show, FH grabbed an opportunity to chat with the author about her characters, and introduced himself to Chad Badgero, one of the co-organizer's of the Renegade Festival, while I sat outside and listened to a band that had set up in a small amphitheater on the corner.  As it turns out, Kathy had told Chad about us, our theater background, and FH being a writer, and had suggested we meet him.  He seemed friendly and asked for a card, so I think all and all it was a very successful evening.

I guess the reason I'm telling you all this is because I think it's important to share the way life brings you round full circle sometimes.  With all that FH and I have been through, separately and together, financially, career-wise, health-wise, family shake-ups, people and things that make it their business to pull you off your path; all the little nagging difficulties that come with simply being a part of the human race.  When I think of how far I strayed from my own happiness, it's nice to know that this is where you can end up: doing things you love on a beautiful day in late summer and having someone to share it with.

See you next time!
Love, Stephie



Plans for the kitchen: I'm not sure, something delicious.  Or not.  At least it will take care of the hunger pangs.
Plans for the needles:  Mrs. Whatsit garment
On the nightstand: The Forty Rules of Love: a novel of Rumi by Elif Shafak
On the boobtube: The Breakfast Club, once again via the (intermittent) power of Netflix

Whoops- I made a scarf: Knitting with Food

It's funny that people assume only sweet old grannies play knitting with their food.  See the original cartoon here.

 

George Takei, Star Trek hero extraordinaire, Internet sensation, Activist, and all around Most Awesomest Celebrity ever, posted this cartoon on his Facebook the other day.  It made me laugh, because it reminded me of my both my grandmothers.  One has extreme difficulty using chopsticks, but she doesn't knit.  Her whoops moments usually come in the form of flipping food across the table.  My other grandmother was a very talented knitter, had no problems eating with chopsticks, but never ever, ever would she have played knitting with her food.  She didn't eat Chinese noodles because she thought they were messy.  She had the same issue with spaghetti, but since she could use a fork for that she ate it by winding it into tight little bundles with the help of a spoon to cut down on unnecessary splatters.  But I digress.

It also reminded me of an actual pattern I saw several years ago on Knitty.com (who just came out with a fabulous looking First Fall edition, by the way) for edible panties that specifically called for chopsticks and Snack-Stop Red Laces in Red Dye #40.  It's aptly named 302 Calories and it also made me laugh, but more because of the sizing than the thought of wearing licorice near my lady bits.  The pattern calls for 2 packages of laces, which presumably equals 302 calories.  If, and keep in mind I'm not admitting anything here, I were to add this project to my Ravelry queue, I'd probably have to rename it 906 Calories and a Bottle of Wine for Courage.  I'll leave the math up to you.

Woo-hoo!

So now you know.  Food knitting isn't just for grannies and their chopsticks.

See you next time!
Love, Stephie