Goodness, but it's been too long since I posted! There hasn't been phenomenal anything lately until I cleaned out my studio and got a "new" sewing machine. Just wanted to poke my nose in. More later, as I'm not able to type very well tonight. Too much good dinner and Riesling.

A novelty and reflections on a life misplaced

First off, my new gnome lights. Yes, I bought novelty lights in the shape of little gnomes. Now my family is saying I love and collect gnomes. Let me set you straight, not really, but it's slowly turning into a minor fetish.




Yesterday I spent most of the day at my grandparents house in West Seattle. My mother's childhood home and the place of many of my childhood memories. I love my mum's room with it's french doors leading out on a little closed balcony. I love the lion's head down in the garden below. His name is Aslan, naturally.





Now it's just my grandpa living in this big house, and it feels kinda lonely without my grandma there. She's still living, but she's at an Adult Family Home where they can take good care of her with her dementia. There's bits and pieces of her still around my grandpa's home. Her perfume, make-up, clothing, jewellery and I often find myself looking through them wondering what she was like as a young girl, mother. She wasn't a milk and cookies grandma, she was strict and hard on my brothers and me. For all that, we respected her as she was and still is our grandma. I just don't know much about her, from her in her own words. On the flip-side of this is my own family who has raised me with tales of my family history. I know what my parents were like a kids, and teen-agers, adults. All the parts I wasn't present for, I've experienced through their words and stories. So I wonder, looking at my grandma's things, what was her life like before I met her? I wish I could know, I wish she could have told me. Taught me how to sew without a pattern, cook by instinct. With each thing I discover about her, I want to learn more only now she barely remembers herself. It's a sad thing, and I pray that some day I might learn more about her so I can tell her story for her, to my children, and they can tell their children in turn.

D'oey!

*a big resounding smack* <- this is the sound of my palm firmly hitting my forehead, perhaps a couple more times. I FINALLY figured out how to make a blog list, and lists of my favourite things for people to peruse! OH MY GOODNESS!
I just had to let you know I've hit the "I get it!" bit, and admire my dorkiness.

And now back to your regularly scheduled knitting blather...

You know you're a geek when...

...you write a letter using mostly the first lines of all the songs (in chronological movie) order from Across the Universe. Feel free to link back to this, but treat the below as an original work (cause it is) with the exception that the lyrics belong to The Beatles, so I'm not claiming them as mine. There, I think I've covered myself. Anyway, enjoy!



[Dear] Girl,
Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup they slither while they pass they slip away. It feels so right now, close your eyes and I'll kiss you! I wanna hold your hand, it won't be long till I belong to you. What you would you do if I sang out of key? Would you stand up and walk out on me? Had it been another day I might have looked the other way, and I'd of never been aware, but as it is I'll dream of [you] tonight. When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, Let It Be. Come together, right now, over me. Why don't we do it in the road? No one will be watching us. If I fell in love with you, would you promise to be true? I want you!
Dear Prudence, please don't be long cause I might be asleep. I am he as you are me as we are all together. For the benefit of Mr. Kite, there will be a show tonight because something. Oh darling let me take you down cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields. You say you want a revolution, well we all want to change the world. I look at [it] all, see the love there that's sleeping while my guitar gently weeps. Across the universe, when I get the bottom I go back to the top of the slide where I turn and I go for a ride till I get to the bottom and I see you again. [You're] not a girl who misses much.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly. Hey, Jude [took] a sad song and [made] it better. Don't let me down. There's nothing you can do that can't be done, picture yourself in a boat on a river with tangerine trees and marmalade skies. All you need is love across the universe!

Lord of the Flies

Not too long ago I made a decision to try and work through all the classical literature you're supposed to read in high school and college, which I never have. It's not that I've been un-exposed to classical literature, just found reading it quite a bore. I've watched a lot of film adaptations of stories; Frankenstein, All Quiet On the Western Front, various Shakespeare and some Dickens. Reading these works is another matter entirely.

On a whim I made my decision and have made it through some of the first chapters of Lord of the Flies. Also on my nightstand is Animal Farm, but I've not had the courage to being that just yet. Oddly enough both of these books are creepy. Simply reading the first few paragraphs of LOTF I was overwhelmed by the underlying sense of something sinister coming to get me. I was afraid of any new things introduced in the book, of the finger-like shadows of palms, of the birdcalls. I believed I was there with the boys, feeling the heat of the jungle island drip off my skin, the temporary relief of the breezes that blew in off the water. Ralph positively terrifies me. He's sinister, and I feel, slowly going crazy. Piggy will die first or be the last to die. I'm not exactly looking forward to delving back into the book but I want to know why they are all there on the island, how they will find food (and kill their food), and if Ralph is going to murder everyone or something equally as strange. So I plod on, suspicious of the crackling of branches beneath my literary feet, and wonder if I'm going to make it till the end.

Crafty Haul and a New Project

JoAnn's is having a sale all this week and it's a lucky thing for my bank account not to be there any more. It was horribly difficult to walk to the cash register with six skeins of yarn and eight fat quarters. I'm not greedy by nature, but when yarn or fabric is on sale...I WANT IT ALL!!!



However I was very, very good and left some for other people. The store on the other hand should have given me something for my promotion on their behalf. I was in line and a young lady in front of me glanced back at my basket full of this cacophony of colour and made the fateful turn. I knew she was looking at my haul, so I caught her eye. "They're lovely colours," she said. "Aren't they?" I replied, all innocence. Then, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial whisper I told her they were half off. $5.99 yarn ($6 I know) for $3! Her eyes grew wide and after a moment of "step forward, step back" she jumped in place and ran off to buy yarn. "I don't need any more yarn," she had said. I didn't remind her that no knitter ever doesn't need more yarn. We do, more importantly, we want it. I speaks to us and it's colour, texture, and usually price seduces us into taking it home, placing it on a mantel, shelf and simply admiring it with blissful sighs from time to time.




Now this lovely lady is my first attempt at a top down sweater-ish something. I'm on my second skein of yarn and almost kicking myself for not purchasing a third, but we'll see. I'm thinking of some lacey sleeve because I, personally, loathe cap sleeves. They do nothing for my arms (nor many female arms for that matter) and I end up looking fat. So far I love it, I love the technique and plan on knitting most, if not all the sweaters I design from now on this way. It's so simple! It's called the Azrael Bolero (or maybe Jacket?) I dunno yet.
But I'm in love with it's yummy sparkly goodness.

Fabric of Life and Times

She was awake, that much was certain, but when it came to actually thinking in an orderly fashion all was lost. Perhaps it was too early? Reaching through the curtains that surrounded her bed her questing fingers finally groped their way to her cellphone. 10am. Not too early, too late. With a groan and several unspoken curses she flings back her covers, twisted and tangled with a listless sleep, and lies there for several moments, eyes closed, smelling her baby blanket. Finally after a moment too many she rises a little unsteady on her feet, to fumble her way to coffee. Her eyes search for the nearest sweater, vest, jacket...and slips one on. Grey with a ship on the back. She makes coffee automatically now, hesitating only to wonder if she has performed the steps correctly.
The phone rings, her cousin on the line, and she lets her brother answer it. Turn out to be for her and through a haze she speaks to her aunt, not her cousin at all. Thus her morning leads into her day determining in it's unofficial way how her day will turn out. Most of her day is spent staring off into space and wondering why. More coffee in consumed, her bedroom is tidied. This changes her previously cynical perspective on the day, altering it to passably pleasant. She still stares off into space and continues to wonder why. Why is her brain so slack? So torpid, sluggish, swollen and lethargic? Where has the wonderment it once possessed gone? Why does it not yearn for learning, plan moments to steal for reading something new, day dream about stories in her head? Has she grown up so much that the child she promised to remain has been orphaned? All of these queries and more ramble through the river of thought in the space of several hours of one day. Now the sun has set, dipping into s northern slumber while the pale sliver of moon casts it's pallid, mysteriously enchanting glow on the uninterested cities. She considers her day and it's not quite so bad after all, there's a new one tomorrow to make up for any deficiencies of today. Her consolation found, she is content to spend her evening reading and listening to raucous music.

Some Knitting, sadly nothing witty.

While this blog is called the Knitting Stagehand, there's not been a whole lot of knitting or stagehanding. Well, let's just say that I took care of a bit of that today, just for kicks.

These are for my Grandpa to keep his hands warm as he writes.



Pirate Mitts I made not too long ago now, only just blogged. My darling Pirate-In-Stripes hasn't seen these yet, and it's the only reason I've still got them.


And last but not least, my version of a slouchy hat. I love the idea of making a hat that is, ultimately, the perfect bad hair day hat. It slouches down the back of you head covering most of you hair while lending you an aura of bohemian, "I just got up and look gorgeous." I think it's still too short to actually slouch down in the back, so it's back to the knitting needles for these!

Ramble, ramble...

It's a slow quiet day here in Seattle. For the first time in what seems like a long time, we have sun again! There was snow all this last week, up and down the state accompanied by hail, and sporadic rain, it felt like the winter was trying to make up for a lack of snow. There's not a whole lot to write about as things are still really the same, but I'm inspired by sunlight and flower scented breezes-even if they are still quite cold.
There's a lot of sewing that is coming, knitting as always, and a couple of costumes have made an appearance. I'm working up a batch of project bags for a sidewalk sale in May, and designing a slouchy hat for some local, brick and mortar shops that are willing to carry my work! Yay! I'm wriggling like a small puppy with excitement at the prospect of seeing something I made in a shop window. Not that my etsy shop is any disappointment, it's just intangible and I'm a very tangible person- no pun intended. I need to touch things, see them in person. Perhaps that's why I love knitting and sewing, they are tangible, tactile, hands-on processes that produce something that will last for decades.
I'm just rambling for now, soon there will be pictures and more organized "rambling", for now, cheers! Enjoy the sun if you can!

Experiment : My Wardrobe

I've always dressed fairly creatively, I've just never recognized what I love to wear and how I want to wear it. As an artist, I like to think of your appearance as a bit of a calling card. It reflects the art you make, your style, your favourites. So this year, (and until it works itself out) I'm altering found pieces, making new pieces and sprucing up what I have until I'm satisfied with my wardrobe. I keep a folder I like to call Dress Ideas. Not ideas for dresses, but for how I dress myself. A lot of it drawn from Etsy, an image may have a certain feeling that I want to project, or part of a garment is exactly what I want to create. Now, don't misunderstand me, I under stand that the works are those of the artists, and I'm not out to mass copy them for my personal gain. I'm just drawing inspiration from their ideas. It doesn't hurt to look does it?
I draw heavily from gypsy-bohemian, steampunk, medieval, piratical, and fantasy. A little old combined with some new so it's on an edge, and you can't quite decide if it's antique or brand new.

Grey and Dismal

Today was grey and dismal in the Great Northwest. Rather difficult to stay happy all day, but somehow I managed until just now when I glanced at my ledger. Funny how money holds no meaning when you're young but when you get older it suddenly governs your entire existence. The day was grey and dismal, but for a splash of colour. This fascinator is from my former theatre company, and I'm wearing my orange sweater which wraps me in it's wooly goodness. Here's to staying warm and happy, friends.

It feels like I'm never going to college

It seems to me that I will never get to college before I'm 30? 25? Something like that. It's this, un-attainable dream that is quickly becoming shredded into limp, pale, wan tatters that tremble lifelessly in the cold wind of my mind. They were once vibrant- Maybe they've never been vibrant?
I've always known my parents wouldn't give me any assistance for my college education. They just can't. There's no fund saved up, there's no tiny thousand dollars stashed away for me and my college. It's just me. And my penny jar-which is empty, by the way-to forge the path to higher education.
I want it, however badly, it seems I don't want it badly enough to get a crappy job that pays jack-squat, save it all up, pursue a million scholarships and grants and put myself through. On my own. It just seems to, stupid? I must be too old? There's something there that hinders me. Something that binds me back into my cell-which I built myself- and locks me securely in.
I am twenty two. I feel too old to go to college. I feel to old to do anything teenagers are supposed to do after high school. Namely, go to college. You start at eighteen, finish at, twenty-one or twenty two. I should be done with college. I should be doing some crappy job that has nothing to do with what I studied and have a fucking college education. Yet, would I be happy then? Would the fact that I have a piece of paper that attests to my gain of a higher education make me happy?
I would be considered normal. I've never been considered normal. Perhaps that is what, beneath layers of human emotion and past, I truly want. To fit into the vast expanse of humanity and be another human. Not forever, but just for a little while. To be normal.
What is normal? The norm? It's going to school, to get a good education to get a job that will, in the end, kill you. That's normal. It's being tall and skinny with no glasses, perfect teeth, superficial friends, parents that have college savings for you, give you your first car, and straight blonde or brown hair. That's normal.
And it goes against everything that I am.
I am not normal, and for some strange reason, I cannot fully live with that. There's something-a lack of recognition-that leaves me uneasy in my day to day life. I have curly hair, glasses, I'm not particularly tall, in fact, I might be called short. I'm strong, a little stocky, and I have a passion for art. I'm not model gorgeous, but I'm not, by any means ugly. I'm pretty. A certain kind of pretty for a certain kind of guy that I will meet someday before I'm old and decrepit.
And because of this ab-normality. This lack of normality, normal-ness, I'm torn, destroyed, shredded, and believe I will never go to college.
My one priority now is to, (in these steps) get a job, to pay for car insurance, to get my driver's license, to get an apartment away from my house. To live on my own. Doing what? I don't know yet. This is another fantasy that is being slaughtered by reality. In the fantasy there's a cosy urban apartment (think Across The Universe) where I can paint the walls and have a cat. I work in the morning at a coffee shop. I have a fabulous rapport with the regulars, perhaps a couple of tattoos, purple hair, and a funky wardrobe. Then I go home for late lunch, maybe do a little crafting to support my Etsy business, and then it's off to the theatre for rehearsal, performance, artsy ness. That's my fantasy. Oh yeah, and I have a black ( or gunmetal grey) Volkswagen Golf that I drive around in. Maybe with the cat, whose name is Bunky. The black cat. That' giant one who looks a little fearsome as he soaks up the afternoon sunlight on the windowsill? That's Cicero. Or Lord Byron. Or maybe even Chaucer, but he'd have to be quite remarkable.
That's my dream. And here I shall leave it, for I can't bear to dip back into reality right now, the dream is too lovely, too sunny where reality is not. I'm going to soak up the sun. Just for little while.

Portrait of an Artist - I

Some of my costumes. I've built a few, altered many, and collected more.

Art and Crafting...

Yesterday my brothers and I went out looking for inspiration. It was found at Pacific Iron. Big Guy is working to get a forge together in the basement, so we are constantly on the lookout for small metal pieces, findings, and wire for jewelry for his makings. I'm dying to buy a couple of these Oxyacetylene Torches for lightsaber handles. It will probably be inspiration for something Steampunk from Big Guy.


I love being around homeschoolers. I've graduated, but my two younger brothers are still in school. While I'm graduated, I've never lost the love of learning that is at the basis of all good homeschooling. You learn something new and amazing every day through being homeschooled. I love it.

Now this lovely piece of crap...this is driving me crazy.

This is the product of my love/hate affair with sewing machines. Rather, just this one in particular. First the tension was off, my brother fixed that. Then the bobbin thread wouldn't pick up, so it's been languishing until the weekend when I hope to persuade my mother to give it what for so I can sew again! It's amazing how much you miss something when you actually can't use it. I keep thinking about all these sewing projects I could be doing, yet I can't do anything about them until the machine gets fixed!
Now, don't get me wrong, I am a very independent girl who has no problem getting her hands messy and fixing something herself. I just don't have a manual to tell me how to put the darned thing back together once I've taken it apart.



So I sit at my little writing desk, blogging to the void about my broken sewing machine while the feeble January sunlight sparkles through the glasses of odds and ends on my windowsill. *sigh* I think I'll go troll the internet for a manual for the sewing machine.

Etsy Update!

I've been photographing my stock and updating my little Etsy shop all day. Quite fun when you look back upon the progress that you've made(9 items to 19).

The Shop is here

Some previews to tantalize your senses, right here!


A Bolero for Tonks









Lots of jewelry, but also some things I've had for a bit but been unsure as to if I really want to sell them or not. Fun being crafty with my jewelry shoots and learning how to get decent close up photos with a point and shoot digital camera. Ah for lack of a SLR! Someday.

Cheers All! And a Happy New Year!

December 20th

My baby brother is eighteen and I can't believe it. It seems like only yesterday he was shorter than me. Now he's on the brink of manhood. The next few years will, I believe, shape the adult he is fast becoming. The jump, leap from eighteen to let's say, twenty or twenty-one is mind boggling when you look back on it. On how much you actually change. Granted there are other, more significant leaps, but this is the one that has impacted me the most.



I admit that I wait with baited breath to see what he's going to come up with next. My brother is an inventor, and innovator, a steampunk, a bookworm, a lion, a gentleman and a gentle man. He's kind, strong, brave, insightful, quiet, loving, and warm. I treasure his hugs, his moments of mischief, and there are many of those, his smiles, laughter, and jokes.



Eighteen years ago I wanted to name him Tigerlilly. I was four at the time and my favorite film was Mary Martin's Peter Pan, can you blame me? I hope not too much. I remember lying awake at my aunt's house, snuggled into my sleeping bag, when the phone rang. I had a baby brother. I was taken down to the hospital in the snow to meet him, this tiny squirmy red bundle of baby brother. We've had our spats, arguments, and fights, it's all part of being siblings. There will be more in the future, that's human nature. The really special thing about our relationship is how much we love each other. Our bond is so strong, it's a little surprising at times, and other times I'm so glad it's there. Cultivated when we were young, and nurtured as we grow older, may it last for years to come.



Well world, here's my Big Little Brother. Watch out. He's an amazing artist who will surprise you with his humor, embrace you with his love, and watch you with his insight. Oh, yeah, and he's probably inventing something on the side that's likely to blow up, or careen madly around the house, so do watch your step.
I love you Big Guy!

Thanksgiving...with Miss Jones

There was much feasting, turkey, cranberry sauce, black olives and dill pickles. Pumpkin pie and apple pie buried in freshly whipped cream. Sunlight and laughter, family and good times.


Cousins came to visit. Actually there's only one who visited me, but we're all cousins, so it really doesn't matter. It was rather quiet without the three older boys, and we didn't manage (or really even try) to finish off ALL the apple cider in the house, but the pear wine was excellent. Crazy hats ensued.


My father's father came too, and it was very good to see him. It's been too long since I saw him last. Here he debates with my uncle over video cameras, batteries, or something to that effect


Then on Friday there was another Thanksgiving with my mother's parents. They don't get out much anymore (largely due to my gramma's declining memory) so we brought Thanksgiving to them.


The boys learn the fine art of making whipped cream with my anxious mother hovering at the sidelines. They're both fine cooks who periodically whip up magnificent batches of biscuits and homemade bread. Me, I'm the pie crust queen, sauce maker extrodinaire, oh yes, I do killer cookies now and again.



The dining room decked out in silver and fine china and crystal.


And lastly this darling lady who is a constant part of our lives. Almost 87, my Gramma has Altzheimer's and dementia. This part of her life could be viewed as a tragic event because yes, there is huge loss of memories, stories that should be passed on to future generations, knowledge that will be lost forever, but if we looked at it that way, we'd never find the joy and beauty in anything now would we? Joy and beauty in loosing your mind? Yes. This lady used to be critical, scathing in her remarks which made is very difficult to love her as a Gramma. We tried, and were polite, but sought the solace of the backyard leaving our parents to defend us. Now this lady is the sweetest little slip of a thing on the planet. She's ranges mentally from about 6 years old to 11 or 12. You don't have to tell her the stove is hot, don't touch, but you do have to remind her to wipe her nose or finish her supper. She's constantly singing now-a-days, today's song was "Tea for Two". Little lyrics are quoted often repetitively, but if you know the song, she'll belt it right along with you. "Jukebox Saturday Night" and "Do You Know Miss Jones?" are also part of the repertoire. As a child who grew up in the generation of the Backstreet Boys, N'Synch, and The Spice Girls, I welcome the new-to-me-but-familiar-to-her songs. It's part of her past and in the future I'll think of dancing with her to them as I listen, to her faltering alto half singing, half humming to tunes along with me. And I'll miss her. For now, I'm soaking it all up. The pretty with the ugly. Keeping the memories of this precious lady tucked deep in a special corner of my heart.

FO: Tonk's Bolero

I know the pictures are crappy, and beg your forgiveness and understanding. :0)



There isn't really a pattern for this,just lots of vague notes. I really need to get better ones. Heh.


I made this especially for my Halloween costume, but I'm not sure I'd ever wear it again, I don't know yet. I'm thinking of posting it on my etsy, so if you're interested, let me know!



I'm now in a play due to some other people quitting (blech!) so I find myself with copious amounts of lines to memorize! Whee!