I am officially a step beyond a beginning seamstress. Just a wee step, mind you. But it is a step nonetheless. I am making a blouse. I've sewn the darts. I've sewn the shoulder and side seams. It is beginning to look like a blouse (sans sleeves). It wil have sleeves! And button holes! And buttons!
Crazy.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
The Ark
The Ark and The Flood didn't happen like they say. God's usually not that direct, you know. God's a mysterious force with a dry sense of humor.
Noah, you can call him Noah if you want, woke up one day with an inexplicable tickling sensation in his limbs. He felt a strange desire to use a hammer and nails. He was an accountant,well versed in the abacus, but for some reason felt drawn to hammer and nails and wood.
His wife certainly had a lot to say about the ruckus of a man unused to the swing of a hammer. And then there was the saw. She feared for his thumbs, his limbs, his mind.
How could Noah explain this strange urge to BUILD? It buzzed in him and kept him awake at night. The neighbors threatened to burn his house down if he didn't stop with the racket.
"What are you making?" his wife asked. But Noah didn't even know.
He did know exactly how many nails he'd used. How many pieces of wood.
And he knew he felt and urgency to complete his project. He could taste rain. It flooded his mouth and made him thirsty. He could smell it in the air long before the rain clouds cast their shadows over him.
The ship took shape until its shape became clear to everyone who saw it. All the gossipy angry neighbors pointed and laughed at the absurdity of it.
One night, the ship was surrounded by animals. Goats fled their goatherds, snakes came out of their burrows, mice crept out of their corners, tarantulas... Noah's wife was alarmed--but the animals banged their bodies against the boat as if scratching themselves against a post or as if they wanted to get inside.
The rain smell grew. It tickled Noah's nose until he decided--absurd or not--when a man gets an urge to build a boat in the desert and the animals all come out and try to get on it--there must be something to it. So he dragged his wife aboard and let the animals in.
All the while, the neighbors yelled--"You fool, Noah, go to bed! Get those animals out of here! Noah! That's my goat, you goat thief!"
And then the first rain drop fell
Noah, you can call him Noah if you want, woke up one day with an inexplicable tickling sensation in his limbs. He felt a strange desire to use a hammer and nails. He was an accountant,well versed in the abacus, but for some reason felt drawn to hammer and nails and wood.
His wife certainly had a lot to say about the ruckus of a man unused to the swing of a hammer. And then there was the saw. She feared for his thumbs, his limbs, his mind.
How could Noah explain this strange urge to BUILD? It buzzed in him and kept him awake at night. The neighbors threatened to burn his house down if he didn't stop with the racket.
"What are you making?" his wife asked. But Noah didn't even know.
He did know exactly how many nails he'd used. How many pieces of wood.
And he knew he felt and urgency to complete his project. He could taste rain. It flooded his mouth and made him thirsty. He could smell it in the air long before the rain clouds cast their shadows over him.
The ship took shape until its shape became clear to everyone who saw it. All the gossipy angry neighbors pointed and laughed at the absurdity of it.
One night, the ship was surrounded by animals. Goats fled their goatherds, snakes came out of their burrows, mice crept out of their corners, tarantulas... Noah's wife was alarmed--but the animals banged their bodies against the boat as if scratching themselves against a post or as if they wanted to get inside.
The rain smell grew. It tickled Noah's nose until he decided--absurd or not--when a man gets an urge to build a boat in the desert and the animals all come out and try to get on it--there must be something to it. So he dragged his wife aboard and let the animals in.
All the while, the neighbors yelled--"You fool, Noah, go to bed! Get those animals out of here! Noah! That's my goat, you goat thief!"
And then the first rain drop fell
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Cravings
1.
Oh do not taunt me
dark-chocolate candy bar
you know I luv you
2.
I will defeat you
Maybe not now, but sometime
tomorrow maybe.
3.
Wicked chocolate!
you speak so sweetly of luv
--smooth operator
Oh do not taunt me
dark-chocolate candy bar
you know I luv you
2.
I will defeat you
Maybe not now, but sometime
tomorrow maybe.
3.
Wicked chocolate!
you speak so sweetly of luv
--smooth operator
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
A Recipe
All day long, his words simmered in her consciousness, "You never make me croissants. If you loved me, you'd make me croissants." It was ridiculous of him, she knew. In fact, sometimes she'd roll the words over in her mind like prayer beads and smile at his ridiculousness--the childlike neediness. But as the hours passed, she was surprised to discover all at once--his words had come to a boil in her mind and she had to turn off the repetitive accusation before it boiled over. That was why she found herself at the grocery store after work. Flour, butter, milk, sugar, yeast.
No, she'd never made him croissants, it was true. She wondered at the meaning of it--her face reflected in the chrome edges of the refrigerated shelves.
At home, in her kitchen, she decided to put on the kitschy apron (a housewarming present from a friend) and felt a lovely sense of domesticity flood her body.
Two and three quarters cups of flour later and the things baking in the oven--she had to take stock of the mess she'd made. She'd floured the floor, the table, the counter top, herself. She laughed--did a little shimmy dance barefoot swishing a path through the flour on the floor. She wiped off the counter and the table, washed the dishes, shook out the apron, letting the flour settle on the floor with the rest. Pulled the croissants out of the oven when the timer rang. The whole house smelled like love. Smiling, she removed the apron, ironed it crisp with her hands, folded it and placed it high on the shelf. She made a pot of coffee and sat down with her creations.
"You never made me croissants," began to bubble up in her consciousness again, but she took a bite of that buttery loveliness and smiled.
Nope, she thought.
No, she'd never made him croissants, it was true. She wondered at the meaning of it--her face reflected in the chrome edges of the refrigerated shelves.
At home, in her kitchen, she decided to put on the kitschy apron (a housewarming present from a friend) and felt a lovely sense of domesticity flood her body.
Two and three quarters cups of flour later and the things baking in the oven--she had to take stock of the mess she'd made. She'd floured the floor, the table, the counter top, herself. She laughed--did a little shimmy dance barefoot swishing a path through the flour on the floor. She wiped off the counter and the table, washed the dishes, shook out the apron, letting the flour settle on the floor with the rest. Pulled the croissants out of the oven when the timer rang. The whole house smelled like love. Smiling, she removed the apron, ironed it crisp with her hands, folded it and placed it high on the shelf. She made a pot of coffee and sat down with her creations.
"You never made me croissants," began to bubble up in her consciousness again, but she took a bite of that buttery loveliness and smiled.
Nope, she thought.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Don't even think about it.
This happened on Wednesday.
So, I'm on the train by 6:15am. Maybe after the Loyola stop, I'm not sure, there's this black man, skinny, tall, older and drunk who keeps talking shit to this woman sitting across from him. The thing is, she keeps talking back to him. I can't tell if he's truly belligerent or not. There is another woman sitting nearby and I'm in the middle of the car. Behind me in the back of the car are two other men. I'm trying to read student work. I have a pen in my hand and I'm really trying to NOT listen to the back and forth. I don't understand why this woman keeps saying stuff back at the dude. Anyway at some point the other woman sitting nearby tells the dude to leave her (the woman who he has been targeting) alone. This goes on for a while. She tells him to shut the fck up. This raises the drama-rama. The man grabs his bottle (conveniently wrapped in a black plastic bag) and makes like he's going to hit her with it. This is when I dump my backpack on the empty seat next to me, and jump up and yell (VERY LOUDLY).
I am unclear the order of what I said, so I will include all the statements that I remember making at some point in this exchange.
don't even think about it.
sit down.
put that away.
don't even think about it.
you will act like a gentleman and either sit down or get off the train
Meanwhile, I should add that I am now standing next to the woman who he is directing his anger at. This is not the woman he was talking to earlier. This was the woman who was sitting nearby and who took up for the other lady. She's young, black, with a puffy fro, and I realize (because she has taken off her jacket like a tough chic ready to throw down on the playground and I can see that she is wearing a security guard uniform) that she is a security guard.
But she is taking the tough chic stance and she is cussing him out. I, on the otherhand, have not sworn once (surprise). I am fixated on his movements and what he's doing with the bottle. (Because he could just be threatening, but because he's drunk, his behavior is unpredictable.) I have already figured out what move to make. (Yay aikido). All I have to do is be there, right up under his armpit the moment he raises his arm and I will topple this man over backwards. And he is drunk and I am not. I am fast, he is wobbly. Anyway, I'm not scared. But I'm very very aware.
At one point he sees the pen in my hand and makes like he thinks I'm threatening him with it. This I think is funny, because I just never let go of it. I am certainly not thinking of it as a weapon. "You ain't gonna do anything with that," he says to me, like my pen is a wimpy weapon.
"You're right. I'm not," I say implying something far more dangerous and mysterious.
Meanwhile, Security Guard Lady is threatening to pepper spray him (though she doesn't seem to have said spray out.)
Finally (and it seemed like we would never get to the next stop) we approach a platform and we are both telling him to get off the train.
He does. People start flowing in. They have no idea why these two women are standing in the middle of the aisle. He makes like he's going to get back on. Security Guard Lady yells, "I wish you would. I'll put my foot so far up your a$$..." But the doors close and he continues to mouth threats at us through the window.
I go back to my seat. My backpack still open, but unperturbed. I settle back down. Later, I start a coughing fit and realized that I strained my throat.
Let me tell you that my voice filled the entire train car. And my voice must have sounded strong. Because he wasn't quite sure if I was scary or not.
Finally, at Monroe, Security Guard Lady got off the train. She looked for me before she got off, mouthed "Thank you," to me. I called out to her, "You have a good day."
Let me tell you, we shared a moment, that Security Guard Lady and me.
And that was the beginning of my day.
So, I'm on the train by 6:15am. Maybe after the Loyola stop, I'm not sure, there's this black man, skinny, tall, older and drunk who keeps talking shit to this woman sitting across from him. The thing is, she keeps talking back to him. I can't tell if he's truly belligerent or not. There is another woman sitting nearby and I'm in the middle of the car. Behind me in the back of the car are two other men. I'm trying to read student work. I have a pen in my hand and I'm really trying to NOT listen to the back and forth. I don't understand why this woman keeps saying stuff back at the dude. Anyway at some point the other woman sitting nearby tells the dude to leave her (the woman who he has been targeting) alone. This goes on for a while. She tells him to shut the fck up. This raises the drama-rama. The man grabs his bottle (conveniently wrapped in a black plastic bag) and makes like he's going to hit her with it. This is when I dump my backpack on the empty seat next to me, and jump up and yell (VERY LOUDLY).
I am unclear the order of what I said, so I will include all the statements that I remember making at some point in this exchange.
don't even think about it.
sit down.
put that away.
don't even think about it.
you will act like a gentleman and either sit down or get off the train
Meanwhile, I should add that I am now standing next to the woman who he is directing his anger at. This is not the woman he was talking to earlier. This was the woman who was sitting nearby and who took up for the other lady. She's young, black, with a puffy fro, and I realize (because she has taken off her jacket like a tough chic ready to throw down on the playground and I can see that she is wearing a security guard uniform) that she is a security guard.
But she is taking the tough chic stance and she is cussing him out. I, on the otherhand, have not sworn once (surprise). I am fixated on his movements and what he's doing with the bottle. (Because he could just be threatening, but because he's drunk, his behavior is unpredictable.) I have already figured out what move to make. (Yay aikido). All I have to do is be there, right up under his armpit the moment he raises his arm and I will topple this man over backwards. And he is drunk and I am not. I am fast, he is wobbly. Anyway, I'm not scared. But I'm very very aware.
At one point he sees the pen in my hand and makes like he thinks I'm threatening him with it. This I think is funny, because I just never let go of it. I am certainly not thinking of it as a weapon. "You ain't gonna do anything with that," he says to me, like my pen is a wimpy weapon.
"You're right. I'm not," I say implying something far more dangerous and mysterious.
Meanwhile, Security Guard Lady is threatening to pepper spray him (though she doesn't seem to have said spray out.)
Finally (and it seemed like we would never get to the next stop) we approach a platform and we are both telling him to get off the train.
He does. People start flowing in. They have no idea why these two women are standing in the middle of the aisle. He makes like he's going to get back on. Security Guard Lady yells, "I wish you would. I'll put my foot so far up your a$$..." But the doors close and he continues to mouth threats at us through the window.
I go back to my seat. My backpack still open, but unperturbed. I settle back down. Later, I start a coughing fit and realized that I strained my throat.
Let me tell you that my voice filled the entire train car. And my voice must have sounded strong. Because he wasn't quite sure if I was scary or not.
Finally, at Monroe, Security Guard Lady got off the train. She looked for me before she got off, mouthed "Thank you," to me. I called out to her, "You have a good day."
Let me tell you, we shared a moment, that Security Guard Lady and me.
And that was the beginning of my day.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Make Sense
So, I started this blog a while ago and did nothing with it. Instead, I began following all kinds of crafty blogs, which while incredibly inspiring on a craft level, were not getting me to blog.
What did?
Well, I'm working with an after-school program. The idea is to get a group of high school students blogging. It's been slow so far. I have one star student and hope to get a group going as soon as I can get some posts up on that blog. We'll see.
But I though it just makes sense for me to start blogging for real.
So here goes...
What did?
Well, I'm working with an after-school program. The idea is to get a group of high school students blogging. It's been slow so far. I have one star student and hope to get a group going as soon as I can get some posts up on that blog. We'll see.
But I though it just makes sense for me to start blogging for real.
So here goes...
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Craftstacular
Cut up four t-shirts this weekend with the intent to make a skirt from the Alabama Stitch book. I need one more baby blue shirt as the baby blue shirts I used turned out a wee bit small. I managed to lay the pattern over the back of the shirt and cut out a panel. But the neck hole interfered with that in the front.
Anyway...a fabulous skirt is in my future. It may have a long gestation period. But the process has begun.
Anyway...a fabulous skirt is in my future. It may have a long gestation period. But the process has begun.
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