How Did This Happen

How Did This Happen? Amaranth Road Studio. 2012

I recently made this needle felted bird family and the shocked looks on their faces pretty  much sums up how I'm feeling right now. My baby is due in two weeks. I've started my maternity leave. All of a sudden life is taking on this rather desperate feeling as I watch the days of solitude pass quietly away and watch my belly grow larger by the hour. There is something tectonic going on in there. It manifests as strange pains: stabbing, stretching, twisting, aching. My whole body is cracking open and it's both terrifying and awe inspiring to observe this huge physical event going on in my own body. It's been amazing to find that my body has contained dozens of dormant systems that are now all roaring to life in astounding ways. The complexity of human biology has never felt so concrete.

I'd like to share a poem today that is resonating with me as my baby's arrival approaches. I swear this poem is about pregnancy. Enjoy some ee cummings:

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
                                  i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Attentive Ghost

First Buds. Copyright Andrea Paterson at Amaranth Road Studio. 2012

Dear Reader

Baudelaire considers you his brother, and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs as if to make sure you have not closed the book, and now I am summoning you up again, attentive ghost, dark silent figure standing in the doorway of these words.

Billy Collins

In the short poem above Billy Collins addresses the reader who acts as a constant presence in the life of a writer. Collins suggests that a writer cannot function without feeling the presence of a reader in the shadows. The relationship between writer and reader is essential to the art of writing--there must be an audience, however amorphous or intangible. The reader bears silent witness to the writer’s craft, always acting as impetus to write and shaping the writer’s words by stimulating the imagination, forcing the writer to conjure up a particular sort of reader that they would like to engage with their work.

The reader standing in the doorway, casting their own shadow, alters what is perceptible in the work of the writer. The shadow cast over the words is unique to the reader and as such the reader integrates themselves into the production of written art. Meaning is produced through the interplay of dual presences--the writer and the reader together decide upon the final form of the work.

I have been thinking about the writer/reader dyad in relation to the way my own life is changing. For the past nine months there has been a strong presence at the corner of my world. This child within me, almost ready to be born, has already begun to shape my actions, my thoughts, my words because suddenly I am aware that I am never alone. Someone else, someone currently unknown and mysterious, lurks just out of reach, casting tantalizing shadows over the familiar edges of my life, transforming them into new shapes entirely. I cast this baby as a reader of my own existence, a being summoned up from nothing, yet profoundly affecting the unfolding narrative of my life. If I thought I was writing only for myself, that can never be the case again. This attentive ghost, who has been listening to the sound of my heartbeat and the rush of blood through my veins, wields extraordinary power to alter my perception completely. Anything I write in my life’s work now will be written with this child in mind.

And this tiny creature will come to be a writer in their own time, and perhaps I will be one of many readers in their life, quietly encouraging their own story to unfold. And as we read the wavering lines of our mutual existence, as the story bends around each of our bodies--flowing water around rocks in a narrative stream--we will compose a collaborative work. Two lives become three and the shadow currently standing in the doorway will take on an existence in flesh, punctuating our sentences with long vowels and the shrieks that precede language. We will see ourselves anew as we listen to this ancient voice singing the first song ever written. My awe stems not from the helplessness of my coming child but from knowledge of their extraordinary power. I am about to travel to the edges of pain, to the very limit of my own strength, and I will bring back a creature of myth--something magical, elemental, water-born. And when that first cry pierces the darkness my entire vocabulary will be changed forever and the trajectory of my story permanently altered to fit the curled form of a ghost brought to life, a witness summoned from beyond this world to reshape every notion I ever had about what it means to love.

Hugging Bears

Another project that was given away as a gift--needle felted hugging bears! I found this pattern in a bizarre craft book that was sent to me from a family member in Australia. Pass Me a Smile by Toyoko Sugiwaka is full of truly unusual felt and fabric projects including a one eyed cat tea cozy inspired by the author's beloved pet. The book is worth taking a look at if you can get access to it.

Note that this bear pattern is not my own but was copied from Sugiwaka's book. I'll be posting some new needle felting of my own design shortly as I'm in the process of working on a family of small birds.

Orkney Hat

When I travelled to Orkney last October I was determined to bring back something that was strongly tied to the land there. My mind immediately hoped for yarn--something aran weight, something deeply Scottish and reflective of remote island life. Imagine my joy when, after stepping off the tiny plane from the Scottish mainland, I found a display case in the airport containing skeins of locally produced yarn. I may have done a small dance of joy while M. looked at me like I'd lost my mind. I wrote down the address of the yarn shop and convinced M. to take a drive out there on a blustery afternoon.

Upon arrival I was able to speak with the shop owner who was passionate about local production and lamented the loss of local woolen mills. While Orkney still breeds a number of hardy, local sheep it's very difficult to have the yarn spun without shipping it to China. Chinese mills are taking over because they're cheaper than the local heritage mills. The owner of the Benlaw Woolshed has the fleece from her local sheep spun at one of the only heritage mills left in the UK, and located in Orkney. Her process is completely organic. Her sheep are well adapted to the harsh local conditions and produce a thick and warm fleece. The resulting yarn is rustic--it doesn't have the next-to-skin-softness of the merino and alpaca that is in such high demand in today's yarn market, but it does have the virtues of being durable and completely natural. The yarn came in only three undyed colours--oatmeal, light brown, and dark chocolate. I bought a skein of each and took home a pattern for an aran hat.

I finished the hat before the holidays and decided to give it away as part of a gift exchange. Here is the result--a labour of love from sheep to mill to finished product brought to you all the way from the Orkney Islands. I hope to make more hats with the remaining yarn as I definitely want one of these for myself!


Orkney Hat. Amaranth Road Studio. 2011

Phone Fail

This will be a post in which I publicly out myself for doing something so astoundingly stupid I have to wonder if I'm fit for life in general. I would keep this humiliating fail to myself, but frankly it's just too funny and I only ask  that others share their  idiocy if similar things happen to them in the future.

I was at home alone and needed to call my husband to ask him a question before he left work. So I pick up my cell phone, dial his cell phone, and listen as it starts ringing. Then I hear a ringing in my own apartment and I say to myself "Hey, that's my husband's cellphone ringing. Strange that someone is calling it at the same time I am!" And then, yes it's true, with my own cellphone still plastered to my ear I ANSWER my husband's cellphone. But I didn't get to it in time and the cellphone says "missed call." And all of this would be embarrassing enough except that I STILL didn't clue in and I think to myself "darn, didn't get there fast enough. I wonder who that was? It sucks that my husband doesn't have call display because now I can't tell him who called." And then I try calling him again, because the last time he didn't pick up and I'm thinking "Maybe he's driving already and can't pick up, but I'll try again." So I call AGAIN. And his cellphone, which is sitting right next to me, now rings again and it's only at that moment that I realize what a complete moron I have been and that my husband is obviously not going to pick up the phone that's busy charging on his dresser and I just managed to trick myself into answering my own phone call. I would like to publicly chalk this up to a brain disorder caused by pregnancy hormones and pretend that such a thing would never have happened under normal circumstances. If we can all agree to those terms then please go ahead and have a good laugh at my expense.

In Which I Attempt to Sew

Card Holder. Amaranth Road Studio. 2011

I have a Pfaff sewing machine that I'm pretty sure came from a Nazi-era German sweatshop. The thing is a tank. It weighs a ton. It is not pretty. And I'm pretty sure it rivals cockroaches for its ability to just keep on going. I bought it from a friend who found it at a garage sale and never used it. I think I paid $50. And I've been meaning to learn to sew ever since. 

Back when I first got it I made a knitting needle holder and a pair of fur pants. And those, my friends, are the only two things I've ever sewn...until now. (And if you must know I made the fur pants as part of a Satyr Halloween costume. They stayed up through use of long shoelaces and I got fur everywhere--long story). After the fur pants the machine went back into its ancient suitcase and stayed there until just a few weeks ago when I set the machine up in a place of honour on my craft desk, figuring that if it was out and ready to sew I might actually make something. 

And I DID make something! I got this book out of the library called Cute Stuff by Aranzi Aronzo which, true to its name, is full of sickeningly adorable small sewing projects. It seemed simple enough, with clear patterns and instructions. The projects were useful (tote bags, zippered pouches, hair accessories, and easy appliques) yet wouldn't involve a large time or materials investment. I chose to make a felt business card holder because I had a pile of wool felt on hand.

I carefully cut out the pattern using tracing paper, carefully traced this onto the felt, and carefully cut out all the felt pieces. Then it took me about 20 minutes to wind a bobbin and get my machine up and running, but I did it without mishap. The instructions from my ancient sewing machine manual are actually quite good. And then I started sewing the pieces together and was all proud of myself until I held up the finished project and realized it looked like an 8 year old had made it. And not a very skilled 8 year old at that. The images you are looking at are not of that original attempt. Let's just say that the original attempt ended up in my garbage can covered in potato peelings. It was sent on its way with a few choice swear words, a short lament over the loss of a beautiful piece of 100% wool felt, and determination to try again.

So I cut out new pieces, and this time actually tacked them together with pins (on the advise of a friend who actually knows how to sew) and then sewed them together. This time I think I achieved something at the level of 10 year old. So definitely an improvement. My biggest mistake was using contrasting thread. I thought it would look cute. My book said it would look cute. But in reality it just worked to highlight my sometimes sloppy sewing in high contrast detail. I also didn't realize that a 1/4 inch seam allowance around the edge of my project is not very much, and this created challenges.

HOWEVER, in the end I was happy with my newby results. I'm particularly fond of the apple applique that I designed myself. I'm encouraged to keep trying on the sewing front. A few lessons have been learned and I'm sure things will be smoother next time.

Touching Pregnant Bellies

I've read a lot of blog posts and articles by women who are pregnant and very upset that their bodies have suddenly entered the public domain. These articles tend to condemn random strangers, acquaintances, and even family and friends for reaching out to touch the pregnant belly without permission. This act of touching is frequently framed as an invasion of privacy and an encroachment on a woman's right to control her own body. Anger abounds about the tendency of people to see the pregnant belly as something separate from the woman herself, and therefore available for public access.

Before I got pregnant I wasn't sure how I felt about this anti-touching sentiment. It makes sense in some ways. I mean, you would probably freak out if you were on a bus, not pregnant, and some stranger started caressing your belly, or your arm, or your back or any part of your body for that matter. And yet now that I'm large enough to be immediately tagged as pregnant, and acquaintances have begun to reach out for that globe of my belly, I find that I really don't mind at all. I wonder if the anger about touching pregnant bellies stems from a certain overprotectiveness of our bodies and general mistrust of the intentions behind touching.

What I have found is that people are magnetically attracted to pregnant bellies. If you walk around pregnant you have the rare ability to elicit random smiles and  kindness from strangers. People are just nicer to you and they seem to get a lift from seeing the physical evidence of a tiny life forming within you. You are suddenly the carrier of something magic, and people are attracted to that. They want desperately to touch the source of that magic, to feel the very first spark of life shifting under your skin. The urge to reach out and touch a pregnant belly is almost irresistible to many and I can watch people's hands drifting out towards me on a regular basis. Unfortunately, the mass of negative messages about touching pregnant bellies has caused people who are genuinely full of love, good intentions, and happiness to become nervous and self-conscious about their desire to touch you. I watch them fight their desire to rub my belly and withdraw their hands saying "I'm sure it's annoying to have people grabbing your belly, so I won't touch you." Or they'll stare longingly but keep their hands firmly to themselves.

I really think this is a shame. I find that when people reach out with such pure joy to touch my growing baby it feels like a blessing. Here are people I barely know freely sharing good-will and well-wishes through gently laying their hands upon me and sending forth kind thoughts. How often do we experience such free-flowing love in a world where most of us try our very best to ignore the other humans around us? This laying of hands seems primal, spiritual, completely natural. It's what people are drawn to do and it makes them feel good to touch a forming life. And it makes me feel good to see the world welcoming this unborn child in such a gentle way--reaching out and telling this baby "the world is a place full of love and caring, and we're all happy that you're on your way."

So I would argue that those who touch your pregnant belly are not doing so because they are ignorant of your rights to your own body. They are not trying to invade your personal space or forcibly take something private from you. They are really just expressing an instinctual and irrepressible love for you and your unborn child. Try thinking of this action as a beautiful, completely secular prayer for the life you are creating, and you may find yourself more kindly disposed to the woman in the grocery store who drops her loaf of bread just for the chance to touch you.

What do you think? I welcome further discussion on this topic as I can certainly see merit to the other side of this argument.