Sunday, December 25, 2011
The Night Before Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the hutch
Not a creature was stirring;
We'd eaten too much.
...
I'll finish the poem after I've had some sleep. That whole turkey thing did me in.
But in the meantime I wish you and yours a wonderful ... Christmas? Hanukka? Kwanzaa? Oh, whatever you celebrate -- have a good one.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Rabbitch's photostream
In The Halls of the Mountain King
That's where I've been. In the halls, the caves. Caverns.
Sorting shit out.
I will neither confirm nor deny that I was gnawing on rodents whilst in the caves. We will never again speak of this.
I've also been on Facebook an awful lot ... that thing is a drug, isn't it? I never expected it to suck me in so far that I couldn't write for three months though.
To the two or three people who are still reading me, I apologize.
I'm ok. The little black dog of depression bit me so hard that I went to bed for three days at one point, but I'm a mom and any mom who's worth her salt just gets back up and keeps on going, which is what I did.
I shut down my Etsy store for a while, because I couldn't deal with not really having a place to work (the dining room isn't such a great venue) and not having the time to keep the store stocked. I do have a ton of stuff ready to go and I'll be opening it up again in January. I've ditched the "Toe Jam" label and the new yarn will be called "I'm Burnin' For Ewe". There will be some of the same colourways and a few new ones that have presented themselves to me, as well as a repeat of some very old ones I found in my dyebook and want to do again. But, like I said, January ... the next few weeks will just be about my family.
Another thing I've been doing a lot of is going out to the forest and the beaches and taking photos. I'm really getting into photography and the link to my Flickr stream is in the last post. I have a great need to be alone and silent and witness beauty. I think some of those photos are worth looking at.
I promise I'll be posting more ... I just needed to fall down a bit and perhaps reinvent myself. To the folks who are still reading -- I appreciate it. Imma be more interesting shortly.
And Merry Christmas to you. Or Happy Holidays. Whatever works for you.
Monday, September 05, 2011
Finally, A Real Story ... About Sock Summit, This Time. At Last..
O hai! You still here?
The madness of the summer is almost over (almost ... I still have a couple of hard things to deal with) and now it's time to sit back, enjoy the fall and tell some stories.
And today, my story will be about Sock Summit II.
A word of warning -- this is going to sound like a negative review. It's not; I'm just trying to be honest. I'm really, really glad I went and I had, overall, a delicious time in a city that I love dearly. I just can't do it again.
Ever.
I did Sock Summit the first time, two years ago, when I was just coming out of The Crazy. It was fantastic, and when the call went out again I was all over it.
I mean, is this a brilliant idea or what? Thousands of sock knitters filling up a conference centre and booking every room in town ... what? Who thinks of shit like this? I still think it's one of the most amazing things EVAR.
This year was very different from the last time. You see, work fucked me over -- hard -- in February. I could have fought it, through the union, and as my rights were very clearly violated I would have won. It would have taken memos and hearings and paperwork and bla bla bla but in the end I would have won; because I was in the right. It would also have engendered many hard feelings and I would never have been able to be comfortable at work again.
I decided not to bother -- I didn't need more angst -- and instead I cashed in some of my retirement savings, paid off all of our commercial debts (I still have some debt, but only a small number of personal loans ... basically we're debt-free) and bought a heck of a lot of fibre stock. I then signed up for every show in (and out of) town and started dyeing like a lunatic. THIS was the year, I told myself, that I would make my dyeing into a real business or just give it up and walk away.
So yeah, when SS came up I jumped, even though I'd lost money last time.
I booked a booth and paid the fees for that and all of the costs that go along with a show like this (insurance and so forth). I asked a friend in Portland if I could ship stuff to her so that I could avoid the hideous drayage fees and she agreed.
As we neared the time to go, I started freaking out. I was too little, we couldn't do this, we couldn't afford it, and of course nobody would buy my stuff, because it sucks (I do this before every show, but it was especially bad this time).
I would show up with two skeins of yarn and a stitch marker and all of the big kids would laugh at me ... and this time it would be even worse, because I was taking my daughter with me, and she would get to see me fail.
The friends I was going with kicked me fairly firmly in the taint and informed me that I had booked a fucking booth and I WAS going, no matter what I said, and they fronted me some cash so that I could actually ship my shit there, too.
The day we were to leave, I couldn't find my daughter's birth certificate and there were 90 different flavours of panic going on, seeing we had to leave RIGHT NAO. I finally found a photocopy (which is enough to get through the border, thank the FSM) and we took off, about 12 hours after we'd planned.
We missed setup and the preview but I figured it would be ok, we could just do it quickly the next day. Nobody ever buys anything at the preview anyhow ... it's just a lookie-loo kind of thing.
We arrived in Portland, finally, at 4:07 am (not that I checked the time), booked into the astonishingly scuzzy hotel (Motel 6 ... do not EVER stay there) and crashed like the Hindenberg.
I had wanted to have a bath before bed, but the bathtub plug was broken. Just one of the first of many insults rained upon us by that hideous hotel.
The next day (well actually technically the same day, but I'd had four hours of sleep) we hit the hall and I set up. The first thing that I noticed was that, even though I was a returning vendor, I was placed in Siberia. I was right at the edge of the marketplace -- there was nothing behind us but a big empty floor and then the doors to the loading docks. It would have been hard to find a worse spot. The second thing that I noticed was that right at the end of our row (all of the Canadians were in the same short row near the loading docks) was a double booth rented by a store that was closing down. They started the show with everything at 40% off. How could any of us even begin to compete with their prices?
My sense of impending doom was well-founded. After four days of standing on my feet and vending my silly ass off, I'd made far, far less than the cost of doing the show. Even my hand-paints didn't sell. The only reason I actually had gas money to get home was that I discounted some yarn hugely ... and even at that most of it didn't move.
I got to see a whole lot of people I love more than cheese. Franklin was there, and Jen from Holiday Yarns, Tracy from Crafting for the Peanut Gallery, Big Alice, Sivia Harding, Stitchy McYarnpants ... the list goes on and on, and I was so delighted to be able to spend time with all of them.
But I came home with a $2500 hole in my pocket, and as an indie I can't support that sort of thing. I've had to cancel every other show I had planned for this year, including the smaller ones, and my kid doesn't get to take band this year in school. I need glasses and dental work, and that's not happening. SHE needs glasses and dental work and that's not happening either.
I'm not going to sit here and sing "waah waah waah" for any length of time ... I have work to do, and we're going to come out of this just fine.
But I've gotta say ... if you're a small indie and you're thinking of doing a show of this mangitude; think again. There's a good chance it'll bite you hard in the ass.
Friday, August 26, 2011
And Whilst You Sit There ...
... with bated breath, waiting for me to actually tell a story instead of just post a teaser ...
I've updated my store quite a bit. Shipping is free for any orders placed up to and including midnight on Sunday. Take a peek, if you're interested. More yarn is going in later today (including some lace and a couple of skeins of heavy worsted).
And soon, my dears, soon ... you will get a real story. Maybe after I wash all of the freakin' dishes. My house has apparently been taken over by wolves or something.
Monday, August 08, 2011
Still Here, Bitches
And I'm not going away any time soon.
I have have many tales to tell. I realize I never finished the story about Stitches West, or even started the one about Abbotsford or Olds or Sock Summit II or Surrey.
I never even adequately finished the one about the first Sock Summit and losing my virginity in Denny's, did I? I owe the few of you who are still reading so many tales from the last two or three years.
I have so many things I have to catch up on that I don't quite know where to start.
How about I start with the present and then do some backfilling or whatever you'd like to call it?
I got back from SSII on Tuesday and then slept for two days (it damned near killed me and cost me a hell of a lot of money, although I don't regret for a minute having done it), and then I got up, tidied my house a little (it's truly vile in here; don't ask, but there may have been feral cats living here for a week while I was gone. Feral cats who didn't do laundry or dishes and who left towels all over the place) and then rented a truck and went out to Surrey, BC to do a small fest on Saturday (a fest at which Mr. Assmuppet helped for the first time). After that I slept for another day and a half or so and then got up to start dyeing again because I'm heading out to another event in Grand Forks on Wednesday morning at half-past-sparrowfart.
I'm sort of wrung out and all over the place. I'll fill in the stories I owe you; I promise.
Tonight, though, I'm going to talk about overdyeing.
I was on Facebook tonight, talking with a new dyer. She posted a couple of questions and then a bunch of people chimed in with their opinions. It was a long and interesting thread, but as we were talking it occurred to me ... most folks don't realize that they own their yarn.
Yarn. It's string. Made out of animal hair. Many of us who dye yarn call ourselves artists (I certainly do). Some of us call ourselves artisans. Most of us think that the stuff we sell is good (although many of us, including me, have the artist's angst going on. This is our problem; not yours).
And so do you; or you wouldn't buy it.
But ... it's string. Made out of animal hair (or sometimes plants or maybe even worm spit or whatever).
It's not sacred. And no matter how long we work over something (some of my crazy stupid things take a couple of hours) -- if you buy it; it's yours.
And if you don't like it? Why, you can change it.
A while ago someone on Ravelry posted that she'd gotten some Wollmeise, which as we all know is one of the hardest things to get. And she didn't like it, and she knew she owned it, so she ... *gasp* ... overdyed it. From what I hear she was pretty-well crucified for committing such an outrage.
I mean WT fucking F? It was WOLLMEISE!
Yeah. And it was string. Made out of animal hair. And she'd bought it, she owned it, it didn't suit her and so she changed it.
That woman had the right idea. No, I'm not advocating that everyone run out and "wreck" their Wollmeise or Fleece Artist or Handmaiden or even my pretties (especially not mine). What I'm advocating is that people take ownership of the things they have purchased. If you don't like it; you can change it.
Even my stuff. Although I shall curse you if you do and you'll likely end up with fleas or something but that's your problem; not mine.
It's really easy to change yarn if you don't like it. It was dyed once but it doesn't have to stay that way. I've helped a few people change the yarn that they thought they loved and then realized that they didn't like it "quite that way". All it takes is a pot (that you can't use for anything else after that unless you use a food-friendly dye like Kool-Aid, Wilton's Cake Dye, Easter Egg Dye or food colouring), some water, some vinegar and a little time.
Just figure out what it is you don't like about the yarn ... too bright? Add a little black. Too yellow? Add some red or brown. Not purple enough? Then add some purple, you dork.
Heat up water in the pot. Add some vinegar (you don't have to go out and buy citric acid). Add the colour you think will make the yarn you dislike be a little more friendly. Put the yarn in. Wait until the colour exhausts (as in the water goes clear), take it out and rinse it.
Voila. New yarn.
If it's changed, but not changed enough, repeat the process. Yarn can take a lot of cooking before it goes stupid on you.
And if you're in the Lower Mainland area of Vancouver, BC, then call me. I will come over and help you do it.
Even if it's my stuff you're changing.
You bought it; you own it :)
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Tonight I Cried
While the illustrious and talented Barbara Brown and I have been working on our interview, I got interrupted by this hockey thing that's been going on.
I'm not a big hockey fan, but when it gets to the playoffs for Lord Stanley's cup I do watch.
It's been difficult. Our men played well and with skill. Boston? Well, they played like thugs, and the refs ruled like they'd been paid.
I'm not saying that they were -- I have no inside knowledge -- that's just what it looked like from the cheap seats here at home.
One of our boys hit one of the Boston lads, in a hard check. He hit the ice, got a concussion and the person who hit him got a four game suspension, thus taking him out of the rest of the playoffs.
Fairy nuff.
Then in clear retaliation, one of the Boston boys grabbed one of our players and performed what's known as a "can opener". He stuck his stick between the other player's legs (no, not up there, you perverts), twirled him around, shoved his shoulders down and rammed him hard, backwards, into the boards.
I've seldom seen anything uglier or more vindictive. Our player sustained a spinal compression fracture. He'll be out for about six months.
And that's if he ever recovers the health or the guts to play again. I know I wouldn't after something like that.
The player who did that? He didn't even get a whistle. Not the tiniest reprimand. Not a ten minute time-out.
If he'd shoved our player any harder he would likely have killed him.
So ... hard and fair check? Out for four games. Attempted murder? Oh you're fine, just go play.
(Again, the charge of attempted murder is just my opinion. I calls them like I sees them.)
After that, the fire pretty well went out for the Canucks. We phoned it in for the last game. I had been convinced that we'd own the last one on home ice but really? We sucked. And we lost.
But the important thing is what happened after.
After the game, Vancouver apparently took to the streets. And trashed them.
There were cars turned over and set alight, store windows broken, a couple of stabbings, a couple of police cars set alight, looting, tear gas, rubber bullets, police dogs ...
It was like we were in LA or something.
And I was ashamed.
There was a Boston fan who was beaten and left lying on the sidewalk bleeding from serious head wounds. Just for wearing the wrong jersey.
HELLO? What in the purple screaming fuck was that? This is Vancouver! We are granola and birkenstocks and singing kumbaya ... we're not about beating people for wearing the wrong shirt.
I was embarrased and horrified.
And then as I was reading about this and feeling horrible, I saw several friends joining a group on Facebook.
While the cars were still burning, they had over seven thousand people standing by to go clean up. For nothing, just as soon as the police would let them into the city.
And then ... that is when I cried. THAT is the Vancouver that I love. The people who give for no reason except that it's the right thing to do. The people who clean up because we don't want crap all over the place.
The people who stand strong and say "we care".
So ... to the people who trashed my city and made me fear for my husband's life (he had to drive through that to get to work) I say ... fuck you.
And to everyone else here in Vancouver. The real people. The people who love and nurture this community -- thank you.
Gentlepersons -- start up your Birkenstocks.
Sunday, June 05, 2011
A Little Birdie Tells Me
That in amongst my story about the incredible disaster that was STITCHES West (not their fault ... or at least the few things that went wrong there didn't add much to the disaster) that there will be an interview coming up very soon right here on this blog with the astonishing designer Barbara Brown.
Might could be this week, if I can get her to answer my chat on Facebook ... stay tuned.
