A BIG THANK YOU to Dagmar Beinenz-Byrd of ZiaWoolz for opening and sharing her beautiful home during Saturday’s High Desert Studio Tour. Yes, I did buy almost, but not quite more than I sold. But who can resist those hand-dyed yarns and fingerless mittens (yeah, I bought another pair of those), etc., etc. Because Dag’s yarns are too light to hook with, I’ve never been able to purchase any of her yummy colors. (Tom just wouldn’t understand me purchasing yarn to look at. He’s so silly, I know.) BUT, having just finished crocheting a shawl (sized more like a scarf to me) – my first “big” crochet project in years – I rewarded myself with some of her yarn to repeat the project in BRIGHT summery colors. More on that another day.
Really, can you resist these? And I’m not just talking Hersey’s Kisses here.
And lastly, this week’s “What’s on the frame” feature is really about what’s NOT on the frame. These little rugs have to be finished up in the next couple of days to be ready to go Friday morning. So much to do, so much to do…
Again, feed the Fall fiber frenzy by visiting High on Hooking up in Santa Fe this weekend. As always, mention the blog and get 10% off any rug. See you there!
After a super busy two months of fiber art shows and vending, spending a slow three days at Casa San Ysidro last weekend demonstrating and attempting to sell gave me some down time, a chance to think, to come to a few epiphanies.
Hooking and husbands Cathy Kelly and I would have a wicked hard time (yes, there’s still some New England twang left in this now Southwestern girl) vending without our husbands Bill and Tom. (Sorry, never got any pics of them Sunday evening.) Between my recent RA flare-up and Cathy’s emergency appendicitis (the same night as our last vending gig!), those display grids were not going up or down by themselves. Thank you, Bill! Tom, unfortunately, has been suffering his own autoimmune failure – gout – for the last two or three weeks, but he gamely showed up with iced tea and helped with break-down. Hooking – it’s best when it involves a village, but it’s nothing without a helpful spouse.
Living or reading about living?
During last weekend’s New Mexico Fiber Crawl, we were at Casa San Ysidro from about 9:15 to 5:00. Those were three long days, and we didn’t see the traffic we expected. But what a great place to hang and hook! By the time I made it home each evening, though, my laptop was the last place I wanted to be. So, I wasn’t. Lo and behold, the world didn’t cave in because I didn’t share as much on the three Facebook pages I manage (my own two and the guild’s). Don’t get me wrong. I managed to do most of my daily computer and email “toilettte” on my phone as I sat enjoying the weather and the ambiance of the old casa’s courtyard. But I didn’t worry much about passing anything further down the information highway. Sure, if a blog or Facebook post came along that had an easy share button, I’d click it away to others. If not, oh, well…
This got me to thinking about how tethered I am to seeing info and, more importantly, passing it on. Which I generally think is a nice thing to do for everyone. But it takes time, time I want back. Summer is perfect for letting go of the self-imposed idea of me as the town crier. After this weekend’s Rail Yards Market, I’ll have a couple of months with only one gig each before fall festivals and such heat up again. I have products to make, a BIG rug on the Anderson frame, a friendship rug to finish, and a whole slew of new ideas running through my brain after I turn off my light each night. And…I think it’s finally time to try some weaving. Starting with a triangular loom, but it’s a start.
So…actually working, playing, and experimenting more are on tap this summer, less so reading and passing on other folks’ work, play, and experiments, much as I like to do all that. Don’t take it personally, anyone. And thank goodness that Instagramonly requires pressing that little ♥ button. We won’t even mention my late night Pinteresthabit right now.
Change happens
Awhile back I mentioned how I really wanted to get back to writing short fiction. I spent years writing and even had some bits published. It was creative and incredibly challenging. But emotional family issues got in the way making it difficult to access the place in my head where
stories came from. Hooking showed up too, gradually taking up more and more of my available time. Frankly, making rugs, visual art, is easier for me, and it’s been quite healing. Still, every few months I’d beat myself up and drag out the pen and paper. It’s part of who I am I’d tell myself. After countless false re-starts, though, sometimes we have to grasp that CHANGE REALLY HAPPENS, and I think I’ve finally gotten to a point in my life where I can admit that writing short stories is more about who I was. It’s a hard thing to admit, but it’s where I am NOW. And it’s rather freeing. Fiber art’s it for me right now. I’m happily looking into things to become better at and new techniques to try. Maybe I’ll even pick up my journal again now that I can ignore the guilt monster. Even better, it gives me more time to read. There are so many great books out there just waiting for me!
Like I said , ramblings… Nothing earth-shattering; in fact, most is stuff I already knew, but so often we need a good reminder about just those very everyday things in our lives. Three quiet days can give you that, can remind you of the life you really want to live.
Happy Memorial Day, all! Remember those who should be remembered. And enjoy this first summer weekend.
You know, when I lived in New England, we never combined Cinco de Mayo and rug hooking. Rarely even margaritas and rug hooking. We ain’t living in Kansas Massachusetts any more, señor! Saturday, Cathy Kelly and I will be under our joint tent selling rugs (and doing demos, of course) at the 11th annual Cinco de Mayo Folk Art Fest here in Albuquerque. If you’re local, stop by. It’s happening right at La Parada and Farm & Table. There’ll be music pretty much all day, and Farm & Table will be offering food and beverages on their patio. That would be where the margaritas come in. And if I don’t manage to get one there, Tom will have one or three waiting for me when I get home. Woohoo! (And, trust me, he doesn’t skimp on the tequila. His margaritas are yet another reason that I had to marry this man.)