I have a stash. We all know that. I have a yarn stash, a fabric stash, a cool things for kids art stash, a bead stash, a book stash ( of things to read, fiction, plus books about using the above materials.) I have a sewing area, a yarn room ( doubles as the bedroom, dontcha know) . I have three spinning wheels and four or five fleeces worth, plus roving, plus 4 ounces of cashmere, plus R lent me her Bosworth charka and gave me a pound of cotton to play with. Oh, yes, and the LYSO has entrusted me with her circular sock knitting machine, to see if I can get it knitting.
I have even got a jumbo bin of Red Heart yarn for teaching children's knitting, although I haven't done that for, oh, three years. ( An aside- when my son went to private school, I mentioned that I would teach fourth grade and up to knit, if they wanted. They wanted- I became an elective, had a room, an aide, and a bunch of kids. Mention the same thing in public school number one- nope, no can do, and why would I want to volunteer in a class other than my child's? Oh, well, next year, we were diverted to public school number two, which we didn't fight because it was considered a better school- well, they have no time for knitting either, except one day for two hours and that was it. No more knitting, but they all got a hand out. Now Son 2 is at yet a different public school, and they too, have no time for knitting. We also can't plant peas without getting passed by a committee, but then, I said this was an aside. )
So, I have untold wealth a beauty to spend my time with, valuable tools to work with and a free hour. And I decide to try and fuse plastic bags into a usable material, so that I can sew a grocery bag. I have to wonder at my self esteem- I walked past riches to work with junk. Clearly, I need to start treating myself better.



1 comment:
It's not a matter of self-esteem--it's sheer delightful curiosity. The thing sounds so outlandish yet so practical and useful and appealing to one's sense of doing right by the planet, etc etc. Besides, I could see it sparking conversation all around--waste not want not to the nth degree. Our grandmothers would be proud, our neighbors respectful.
And now that you've tried it out for me, I guess I don't need to. Besides, I just crowed to my dad that I'd finally cleaned the laundry room. If I tried ironing plastic bags together, and the folks came for a visit, he'd take a whiff and accuse me of having cleaned it by firebombing it.
Post a Comment