Houston and other stories …

I didn’t learn to sew when I was younger.  My mom’s an excellent seamstress, but she’s not a bit fan of having to sew if she doesn’t have to.  I think she had to sew too much growing up for 4-H and all that.  So basically, it’s another case where the crafting skips a generation.  Happens a lot with crafting.

(M. D. Anderson Cancer Center, Medical Center)

My grandmother is another sewer.  I can’t even begin to tell you how much she’s sewn in her life.  I imagine she can’t tell you either.  I’m curious whether she enjoys it.  After decades sewing, is it something you do for enjoyment?  She had to sew when she was younger, and a farm wife - all the clothes for self and kids.  When you have to do something like that, does it stop being fun?

(Sail art display, Texas Children’s Hospital, Medical Center.  I used to work around the corner.)

I started crafting because I wanted to.  I was curious.  I thought that sewing machines were some of the niftiest machines in the world.  I used to take yarn and wrap it around the knobs on my dresser in imitation of winding the thread on the machine to adjust the tension.  I started poking myself with needles when I was about 7.

(the ex-Crowne Plaza Hotel Medical Center, just imploded on Sunday) 

I broke the needle on my mom’s sewing machine when I was very young, and I thought I’d broken the whole machine.  I didn’t tell her I’d been responsible for 20 years, well after I’d learned it really wasn’t such a big deal (hi mom!).

(Memorial Hermann Hospital, Medical Center)

It took me years to want to do anything with yarn.  I had to move north where there are actually seasons in order to get interested.  I had sweaters growing up that I never touched.  Why?  When it’s 80 degrees in January, your sweaters never come out.  I’m still not sure why I want to make them.  But I have a lot of scarves I don’t wear now.

(St. Paul’s Methodist Church)

I was in Arkansas when I really got a huge interest in crafting.  Pickles Gap.  Walked into a random store on a random road trip that didn’t go as I expected.  The woman who ran the shop was a weaver.  She also made clear lemon soap.  I immediately decided I wanted to make soap.  I went home and started.

(Random building, Main Street)

I’m not sure what it was about that shop.  Maybe it was being in the middle of nowhere.  Maybe it was the shop itself.  Maybe the artist, and all the goods in her shop that she’d made.  Maybe I was just ready to start thinking about something else, to figure out a little more about myself, and it just clicked that day.

(the ridiculous above-ground single-line train-based transit system)

I’m not sure who all has my other grandmother’s crochet items.  I have a purple dress she made.  Tiny Barbie-sized dress, that is.  She made very intricate things.  I have no idea where I’ve stuck that dress right now.  I had it two moves ago, then I put it somewhere “that made sense and was safe” and now I can’t figure out where that was.   Brilliant.

(downtown - the tall Texaco building in the center)

I’m glad I learned to crochet instead of knit.  I’m really not interested in making garments.   I have never really been interested in making garments - knit, crochet, sew, whatever.  I make other things.  Crochet I find more interesting because of the intricacy of a lot of the patterns.  It’s hard for me to believe it does that sometimes.

(apartment building and palm on Montrose near the University of St. Thomas)

When I was growing up I was not sure I was creative.  I knew a lot of creative, talented people.  I mean really creative and talented.  People who went on to be studio art majors in college.  People who are artists for a living.  Lots of writers.  Musicians.  Even if it’s not professional, they’re still all ridiculously creative.  I struggled for a long time feeling like I was faking it trying to create things.

(the once-”notorious” corner of Westheimer and Montrose)

I remember sitting down and making light switch covers.  I cut the balsa wood - which everyone was sure would burn down the house - myself.  The balsa still hasn’t burned.  I painted it, covered them with an acrylic finish for protection.  Years later the acrylic has yellowed, which still really pisses me off.  I really liked all those tiny little paintings I did.  Hours of enjoyment.

(live oak tree in front of the Hotel Derek at Westheimer and 610)

I had a really prolific period when I was recovering from spinal surgery.  Only because I was so incredibly bored with lying there for weeks on end.  Incredibly bored.  If only I’d known how to crochet then.

(the Williams Tower at the Galleria)

One of my favorite things to do is make wreaths.  I’m not very good at it, but I like wreaths and bows.  I think that’s my mom.  She has one (or two) for every season.  She also has too many Santas.

(one of the many pines of the area against an evening sky)

99% of my crafting is self-taught.  I should also say that 99% of my everything is self-taught.  My computer knowledge, my fundraising, my crafting, and in most cases my writing style.  Even most of my research knowledge I did by striking out on my own, to the irritation of professors in three states.  The only thing I really know as a result of someone else is music - I took years of piano and clarinet lessons.  I played the piano for 14+ years.  I still play sometimes, because I got a real job and could afford a keyboard.

(this is suburbia)

I think that the most interesting part of being alive is learning.  It’s why I logged over 8 years in college.  It’s why I learned any crafting at all.  It’s why I look for new recipes every day even though I have hundreds in memory.  It’s why I’m on my 4th or so profession.  It’s why I keep moving.  I don’t stay still.  I can’t.

(red berries bloom in November and December)