This Moment - January 14

A moment from our week, almost 6 years ago to the day.... absolutely no words necessary.

Folk School

Original Source here

I'm back to work folks (insert audible sigh here). I've had a few blog ideas spinning through my head this week, including a (non-sarcastic) post about the pleasures of grocery shopping, and another that documents what happens in the house when the only one to fall asleep during nap time is Mommy. But then I opened the mail today, and now all I can do is dream about school.

Considering the amount of grumbling and drama I inject into our home at this time of year--when winter break comes to an end and the full reality of my life as a working mom hits me in January--you're probably surprised to hear I'm indulging in scholastic dreams. Well, rest assured good readers, I have my sights set on Folk School.

Take a walk with me through the pages of the recently published and ever-so-lovingly-and-nerdily-received John C. Campbell Folk School course catalog 2011. 

Most classes run a full week, and each class day begins with a morning walk followed by morning song. Communal breakfast is followed by three hours of class, then lunch, then three more hours of class, then tours and demonstrations and studio visits. After "supper" (I love it) the students while away the hours listening to folk music, learning square dance, watching craft demonstrations.

I don't know what I'd do if someone set me loose in this place. My main interests lie in the blacksmithing, dyeing, appalachian folklore, music, needlework and thread art, storytelling, spinning, and weaving classes. Here are some samples of the classes offered, from each of these categories:

1. Beyond hooks and pokers (blacksmithing)
2. Natural colors from lichens (dyeing)
3. Serendipitous wicker (I like this one purely for its title - dyeing)
4. Build a 5-string, open back banjo (music)
5. Beginning mountain dulcimer (music)
6. Filet crochet - Introduction & Adventure (I like the sound of adventurous crochet - Needlework and thread art)
7. Musical storytelling 
8. From sheep comes yarn (spinning)
9. Shifu-paper weaving 
10. Rigid-Heddle weaving: Basics & Beyond

I would like someone to drive me to this school, drop me off, and return one year later to get me. I say this with not the least bit of sarcasm in my voice. Why didn't I know this about myself when I was younger? Why did these desires manifest themselves precisely at a stage in my life when I have the least amount of time?

But who are we kidding. Time isn't the only issue when it comes to the extra-curricular desires of a wife & mother, or a husband & father, for that matter. I don't think FAFSA* has a form for folk school. And even though the school's catch line is ""We're two hours from just about anywhere!" I looked them up on mapquest. Average driving time from Chicago to Brasstown North Carolina is 11 hours and 2 minutes.

*Chris needed clarification on FAFSA. It stands for Free Application for Federal Student Aid.

The wall

Ok, not this wall. But it's hard to take a picture of a proverbial wall.

8 short days after embarking on a year full of goals to meet, I feel like I'm up against the wall. I make it a point to draft goals/resolutions that are easy, that guarantee me some sense of accomplishment from year to year. But I'm having the darndest time accomplishing what I've set my mind to.

I anxiously awaited the first day of Winter Marathon training, slated to start this chilly morning at 8:00 am. Only problem was that it was too chilly, below zero windchill, actually, so it was canceled. A no go.

After being briefly enrolled in a serger class at Evanston's Vogue Fabrics I received a phone call telling me that it was in fact full and I would be refunded and put on a waiting list--#4 on the list, to be exact--which meant no go #2. In a fit of frustration I pulled out the wooly nylon and thread the hell out of that little machine, and somehow I think I managed to get past a problem I was having with it coming un-thread during sewing. Go figure. So, two steps forward, three steps back, one and a half steps forward again?

I finally peered between the covers of a book I recently purchased, one that purports to lead me through the necessary steps in writing a business plan, which I plan to spend a better part of this school year doing. I've come to realize, however, that I need a pre-writing book. Chapter three of my current book discusses the importance of market research but I haven't a clue where to start. Another wall (albeit one that I can easily bust through).

It's only been 8 days, you say. I need to relax, you say. What I haven't mentioned is that I have run out of time and go back to work on Monday, after 5 weeks off. I am lucky to have a good paying job that gives me 4 months off a year. I am fortunate to work with wonderful people. But I can't help but want to put my head in the toilet at the beginning of every new semester. The thought of returning to work makes me a little queasy. It also means I will have to start showering regularly again, and change out of this shirt that I have worn non-stop (with the exception of the two hours it took me to wash and dry it mid week) for the last 8 days.

So to make myself feel better I have jumped into the whole "I will not buy clothes for my kids this year" goal, not completely to their delight. On my way into a department store to buy much needed mittens I suddenly remembered my goal. I figured mittens were included in the deal, so I made a U-turn, walked right out and drove home to go through my stash. I didn't have enough fleece to match the cuffs to the hands, but the girls are going to hate them no matter what, so what does it really matter?

To add to the mittens, I have also recently completed a raglan sleeve sweater for Mae in a pinkish purplish wool/acrylic blend. It is full with a gathered waist and a wide boat neck. She hates it. I will make her wear it.





For Mae - a brown pinwale corduroy dress with miniature blue polka dots.  

 I also was determined to slip a little denim into the girls' wardrobe, and so made a dress for Bela and a skirt for Mae with some cute vintage-y lace trim purchased in New York at Mood Fabrics.

 Next up on the list, socks?

I have something in the early stages for Chris too. By early I mean I have the pattern picked out, ordered the yarn (but it was too girly) and am now awaiting a second order of yarn.

Chris has been busy making things too.  Did you know that he really likes fish?

This Moment - January 7

A moment from my week, no words necessary.

Mae's Secret Life

Our routine does not vary wildly from night to night. Nor day to day, for that matter.

School gets out at 1:00. When I'm not working, I pick the girls up, bring them home, make lunch. Then Bela wanders off by herself to build castles out of blocks, to color rainbows, to write out all of the names of her friends, carefully, letter by letter.

Mae, on the other hand, still naps. The only way to insure she gets her midday rest, though, is for me to lie down with her. She grabs her blankie, curls up next to me in my bed, nuzzles her head in my chest, and falls asleep.

Most days, she falls asleep within minutes and I gently extract myself from her and tip toe out and join Bela. Sometimes, I fall under the heavy spell of the afternoon sun + white noise of the fan + soft bed + Mae's breathing and we nap together.

If Mae doesn't nap she's a wreck come bedtime. But when she naps, she's not ready to fall asleep at 8:00. Bela crashes immediately, worn out from her day. But Mae.... well, Mae has a secret life which plays itself out between the hours of 8 and 10:30 in the p.m., a life whose details we are hardly privy to.

What do we know about Mae's secret life? Well first there are the noises. We hear her chit chat and her sing song, which means her dolls and animals are engaged in some serious conversation. Then, there are the books in the closet. We leave their closet light on to illuminate the bedroom at night and to keep monsters at bay. There is ample room in there, bright light, and a small foot stool. Often I find between 3 and 9 books piled on the closet floor in the morning.

We find all manner of nighttime entertainment in her bed come morning: her piggy bank, Bela's piggy bank, pennies and quarters everywhere, miniature horses, mermaids, band aids. 

We do know that Mae broke her collar bone because she was sneaking into Bela's bed late at night to steal stuffed animals. Now that she's all better, we find her up there often, usually engaged in undressing and re-dressing Bela's dolls, exchanging the animals on her bed for the ones on Bela's.

When I caught her up there last night, she walked right over Bela's body to get to me so I could lift her down. Bela didn't wake up. I said:

--Mae, what have you been up to? Why aren't you sleeping?

She responded:

--I made a mess. And I cleaned it up. Will you help me find my piggy? See? I put him away.

--Mae, you have to go to sleep now, ok?
 
--Ok. But it's taking too long. Look what I found!


She led me to her closet, where she proceeded to show me how she had gone through Bela's sock drawer and picked out all the pairs she wanted to inherit, all her favorites. I walked her back to her bed, gave that cute face a big fat kiss, and told her she had to close her eyes and go to sleep.

She sighed a sigh of resignation, grabbed her blankie and put her thumb in her mouth. I'm starting to get the feeling that these secret late night moments - where she calls the shots and doesn't have to share with Bela--are her favorite moments of the day.

Oh Christmas Tree

From: http://dsharp.typepad.com/.a/6a00e54eeecc2f883401053687d2e3970b-350w

     The day we bought our tree and brought it home--sometime in very early December--was a pretty, wintry day. One of those bustling early holiday shopping days, lots of Chicago traffic, lots of things to do, crowds to fight. We brought it home and realized it was the biggest tree we had ever had since moving to Chicago. It towered over me, reaching approximately 5 feet and 4 inches into the air. We filled it with green lights, handmade ornaments, and decorations made and gathered throughout the years. It was one of those moments that you remember slowly, dreamily. I knew it would form an important part of the bundle of memories that will follow my children into adulthood.

Flash forward one month. I finally took the thing down. Lacking the foresight that usually fails me every year at this time, I had no "tree bag." Remember, its 64 inches out-heighted me by an embarrassingly handful of centimeters, and its extremely dry state made it decidedly painful to touch. I grabbed it by its sappy trunk and managed to drag it through our apartment.

If you're not familiar with the typical Chicago layout, the apartments are long and narrow. Very long, as a matter of fact. I dragged it through the living room, the dining room, down the hallway, through the kitchen, out through the back door to the porch that doubles as a play room, and down the long winding staircase.

I went about it all the wrong way. I was carrying it top first, which set me up for some humorous but messy jams in doorways, around corners. There was a lot of carnage: two broken lamps, an avalanche of junk I was injudiciously storing on the back stairs. By the time I made it to the first floor, it became surprisingly easy to manage. I later realized that this was because I lost approximately 45% of its bulk on the way down.

 Now, Dyson manufactures a spectacular vacuum machine, but it can't handle the quantity of pine needles left behind in my home. I am, in fact, still pulling little green pokers out of my clothing, my waistband, my underwear (!). I carried out an entire paper grocery bag full of the sharp vestiges of our holiday celebration.

One and one half hours later, I am just now finishing the clean-up required of this monumental effort. The children were horrified. I grunted and swore and jammed that tannenbaum down the stairs and out into the garden. The better half of me has myself convinced it is there waiting for the city-wide tree recycling day. The truth of the matter is that I'm not sure how I'm going to get it there. I might have to hoist it on my head and walk it to its final destination.

In the aftermath--the girls left with their mouths hanging open, feeling the joy of the holiday season slipping quickly through their fingertips-- I started drumming up interest in Valentine's Day. Hearts to decorate and hang, valentine cards to make, glitter to sprinkle, doilies to cut. Let's just say that we are dreaming of February now, over here on Thomas Street.

This moment - Dec.31