A Call to Craftivist Action

A year + into 45’s reign of chaos. There have been so many outrages, so many reversals of policies that had made America an admired and respected country. So much lying and graft, so much collusion and racism. So many reasons to march, to resist, to protest, to make our outraged voices heard. I’m exhausted by the tsunami of 45’s draconian rule. But  now, there has been another school shooting by a teenager with a semiautomatic AR-15 rifle, leaving 17 dead and many wounded. I feel called to action. Continue reading “A Call to Craftivist Action”

Undone by Numbers

I have never liked arithmetic. That, and actual numbers and the awful, cold formulaic logic of numbers. Maybe I don’t like them because I’m a total failure at using them. When I first took the math SAT, my score was so low that I was asked to do it over. My score didn’t improve much on the second take. Continue reading “Undone by Numbers”

The Pussy Hat Movement; Finding a Voice through Craft

“I’ve interviewed 195 pussy hat makers so far,” said Donna Bowman, Ph.D, a Professor from the University of Central Arkansas. “I’d love to interview you in the next week or two, ” she said.

I was surprised at the rush of gratitude and happiness that filled me upon learning she wanted to talk with me. Nobody had asked me about my burst of creativity from Continue reading “The Pussy Hat Movement; Finding a Voice through Craft”

Stitch by Stitch

You may have noticed how I haven’t been posting on this blog for over a half a year. I’ve missed having the opportunity to examine how Making Things brings us happiness, peace, and a strong sense of self.

IMG_2325Since my mother’s descent into dementia began seven months ago, I have taken leave of my old, busy, fully-occupied life as a student of the psychological and spiritual benefits of Making Things. Continue reading “Stitch by Stitch”

Losing Mom; Knitting Through Grief

Just after Christmas, my 91-year old mother collapsed and disappeared into the fog of dementia, suddenly unreachable despite her body being still alive, and still here. And I began a long, slow submersion into grief that seemed, at times, to be dragging me down into the darkness where my mother had gone. Because she was alive, it seemed completely wrong to mourn for my missing mother. Continue reading “Losing Mom; Knitting Through Grief”