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...

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.

Make Weapon Bags, Not War

So, I'm quite thrilled with myself, because I made a weapon bag today. I needed something to put my bokken (wooden practice sword)in. I've been taking it to aikido at Clemente, which means carrying a wooden sword on the train and the bus. I needed the bag to have a shoulder strap so I could sling it over my shoulder. I carry a lot of stuff on Tuesdays...my backpack (on my back), a gym bag with my aikido gi in it, and now...my nifty new weapon bag on my shoulder.

I bought some blue heavy duty canvas like material. I also bought blue ?belting? material. It's like the stuff used to make the straps on your suitcase? I think it's called belting. Two plastic D rings. And Velcro.

I had no pattern.

I looked at a different bag to get the basic idea. I managed to cut the fabric ( I actually made measurements and everything--just like I knew what I was doing). I adjusted the length considering the fact that I will also need to buy a jo (wooden staff) at some point and I think the jo would be longer than the bokken. I want to be able to use the bag with both weapons, so I made it a little longer.

To close it, you just fold the top down and let the little strips of velcro I sewed onto the bag take hold.

I am thrilled. This is my first project sans pattern, and it worked.

It's not perfect mind you. I think it's still a little too long, so I'm considering folding it again, perhaps affixing another two strips of velcro to hold it in place, but it is definitely a weapons bag.

The biggest deal for me, was sewing little loops of the belting material around each of the D rings, then sandwiching the loops between the edge of the bag, then sewing up the edges. The canvas (folded over once on the edges) plus the belting material was very thick. I was afraid I was going to break the needle on the sewing machine (which would really have thrown me, since I don't know how to change the needle). I guess I should learn how to do that. I guess I should also learn if there's a special foot to use for thicker fabrics.

Anyway, I'm thrilled that I created that in a couple of hours.

2 Dreams from last night

1. I'm with my parents in their home, but I can't tell where I am really. Is it Nicaragua? Elsewhere? It doesn't look familiar at all, but they are having a dinner party. I keep looking out the window. The view outside is unusual. It is as if the house were perched on top of a ridge. Really it's the edge of a large hole in the ground. It reminds me of the edge of a quarry--but more ridge-like. From my view out the window, I can see the huge cavernous hole and the opposite side of the ridge.

I hear a horrendously loud rumbling. The whole house vibrates from it. I look out the window just in time to see that a helicopter has just taken off from the ridge. I try to follow it with my eyes, but it dissappears into the night, amazingly quick. I keep looking for it, because I can still hear it and it seems impossible for it to have gone so far out of my view so quickly. I can't see it, though, so I begin scanning the opposite ridge. I see something, but it's not the helicopter. It's a man, running along the ridge. I follow him with my eyes, until he has run directly across from the house. I see him lift something long. He points it at me and shoots.

I am shocked. I duck down below the window. It isn't until this moment that it occurs to me that maybe I saw something I wasn't supposed to see, and that the man on the other side of the ridge knows I'm in this house and will come to get me.

2. I'm riding in a car with a man. He's driving. We seem to have come back home from somewhere. We are driving on LSD, heading north. He says that this is his favorite place to drive. I agree. He's speeding and it feels great. There's little or no traffic and it's that rare experience of whizzing on the drive with no worries of traffic.

We get to this curve in the road. It feels like we're by Navy Pier (though nothing really looks like Chicago). After we round the curve we start to go up a ramp or a small hill, only we get to a point and there's no more road.

We've ran over the edge. Beneath us is only air, and the cold lake waters. The car continues to move forward from momentum and in the moments that we are in the air, I have the amazing amount of time to think: I can see where the road starts up again in the distance, but it's like 4 or 5 car legnths away from us, I have a moment where I think we might make it, but then I realize we won't . Then I think, well, it's not so bad. Everything is in my line of sight. I can see where the road starts again. I can see where the water touches against the concrete of the bridge/ramp. I figure it will be easy to swim to. Finally my mind goes into problem-solving mode. We have to jump out of the car and then swim to the concrete and haul ourselves up onto land.

I say to the man, "Ok, we need to open the doors and jump. Are you ok with that?" (I was referring to the complete and total loss of his car.) He said, "I have to be, there's no choice."

Again, I never feel overly scared. More like this is inconvenient and I don't want to get wet. But I'm not really afraid of dying.

At some point, I ask "Was there a sign? Did we miss a sign that said the road was closed?" He answers, "There was, I just didn't think it would come up so fast." And again, I didn't freak. I wasn't angry or accusing.

At some point in this crazy time in the air, I notice that the car is veering off to the right. WE are no longer directly in front of the road. We are moving to the side of it, and from here I can see that there is like a concrete slab in the water that juts out at a slight incline, like an old ramp that got flooded. Again, I think, ok, this is good, easier to get to, there's something solid to reach for, it's even closer.

I had complete confidence that we would make it ok.

The Fabulousness of YouTube

Ok, so, this has nothing to do with familia or my Nicaragua trip. But I was looking at stuff on YouTube. I spent a good hour watching videos of Tom Waits. Then I decide to look up Carlos Mejia Godoy (Nicaraguan Folk Musician),and watched some old and new footage of him. And then I saw stuff about the Nicaraguan revolution. And then, then I decided to look up something. I had thought for a while now, that I needed to write a scene with Leti's family watching the news during the Sandinista Revolution. My idea has to do with the fact that when I was a kid, we watched the news on a little black and white TV set in the kitchen, while we ate dinner. And as the revolution unfolded, we watched it every evening on that set. So I have this distinct memory of watching an American reporter getting shot by a Nicaraguan National Guardsman. I remember seeing that, remember the three of us watching and feeling glued to the TV and already having a heavy feeling in my body that the man was going to die, all the while my father was mumbling under his breath something like, "lo van a dejar ir." They're going to let him go. Only they didn't let him go. And then hearing the "pop" of the gunshot. And then feeling the awful sensation of knowing we'd just watched someone get shot and killed. That incident pushed Somosa out of the country, and sped the end of the war. But I thought it would be interesting to write about it with Mark at the dinner table too. He wouldn't understand it the same way that Leti's family does. I think it would be a way to show the dual feeling of identity: American/Nicaraguan. The ability to hold onto two contrary values at the same time. Anyway, I know this is incredibly morbid, but I wanted to see that footage again. I had looked for it before and couldn't find it. But now it is up. I saw it.

The "pop" still jarred me. It's grainy footage. The cameraman was allowed to leave.

I remember feeling that this was a horrible moment, but that there were many horrible moments but that this one was special because it had been caught on film. No, I guess what I'm trying to say, is that this incident reinforced the idea that has already formed in my mind that people are capable of brutal and dumb acts. And it's strange to think now, that I was just shy of ten years old at the time, yet that was my perception. And I want to get something like that in the scene...maybe from Jimmie's pov. (Because I think Leti would be too young--she'd be 8) And besides, Jimmie's the cynnical one.

So, YouTube is great.
Journalists don't get enough credit.
The reporter's name was Bill Stewart from ABC.

Here's a statement by President Jimmy Carter about the incident.

The murder of American newsman Bill Stewart in Nicaragua was an act of barbarism that all civilized people condemn.

Journalists seeking to report the news and inform the public are soldiers in no nation's army. When. they are made innocent victims of violence and war, all people who cherish the truth and believe in free debate pay a terrible price.

I know the American people share my sense of outrage and loss at the death of this gifted, dedicated young man. On behalf of all Americans, I want to express my deepest sympathy to Bill Stewart's wife and family for their suffering and
loss.
Note: The correspondent was killed by a member of the National Guard after he approached a government maintained street barricade in Managua. He was in Nicaragua to cover the fighting between the government forces and members of the Sandinista National Liberation Front. Citation: John T. Woolley and Gerhard Peters,The American Presidency Project [online]. Santa Barbara, CA: University of California (hosted), Gerhard Peters (database). Available from World Wide Web: http://www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/?pid=32505.

Opposites Attract?

So, my dad is exhibiting the character traits that are completely opposite of my mother. He is complaining about the number of guests who will come over for New
Year's. He's complaining about the TV they bought six months ago which went kaput and had to be replaced. He's complaining about my mother saying that everything is "easy". Finally I asked him,"What attracted you to ma?" He stopped for a minute, then grinned.

"If I tell you, you won't believe me." Then he laughed.

"Tell me."

"Las pantorillas." (Her ankles.)

Yes everyone, my father has a thing for thick-ankled women. Apparently, my mother's ankles are perfect.

This is supposed to be a secret.

Anyway, I tried to press him further. I mean, why would he even think to get involved with a 21 year old (as she was when they met...while he would have been 38). Las pantorillas, wasn't a good enough reason in my book. He eventually said that everything about her attracted him.

My mother says the thing that attracted her to my dad was the fact that he was serious. Aha, the very thing that is annoying now!

Anyway, as my vacation continues and my dad continues to complain about various things: my mother does not know how to say no. She makes too many plans. She makes too many commitments. She is too involved with the church. She invites people over to the house too much. She talks on the phone too much. She leaves him alone to do all her church work. She's made too many bourgeois friends through the church. She doesn't read the paper, and thus makes uninformed statements about the political situation in the country...etc...etc...etc... I ask him, "Todavia te gusta las pantorillas?" Do you still like her ankles.

He says, yes.

Mr. Indestructo

So I've decided that my dad is just plain clumsy. This is true. It's been proven over time, it's just something that I forget. So far this trip he has...1. fallen onto sharp volcanic rocks and cut up his forearms. 2. jammed his hand with a dirty metal lock, cutting himself near a vien. 3. fallen backwards off a little rolling bench.

The miracle is that all his wounds are surface scratches only and that he doesn't break any bones.

He's scaring the shit out of me.

At this point, we're just laughing about it.

I'm trying to remind myself that he's always been clumsy. Yes he's 80. But really, that's not what this is, I tell myself. This is just him.

Meanwhile...as we go out...to Mass or to a restaurant, we encounter big shot politicians. (It's a small country.) So, after my dad recieves communion, he points out a man shaking the priest's hand. "Ese que va alla es el mas ladronazo de este pais!" (That guy over there is the biggest crook in this country!) Then in a restaurant he comments on someone named Teler, who apparently was the biggest opposition of Aleman, but is now Aleman's press person. This dude was apparently attacked by a diputado. They got into fisticuffs and he got a black eye and it was all over the news. "Que tal si me levanto y le doy en el ojo?" (What if I got up and hit him in the eye?)

Ahhhh, yes, my father amuses me.

Bye for now.