WIPs, DIPs and Stashes...Oh My!

 

1/4 of my Craft Room

If you are like me, then you have many WIPs (works in progress.  It isn't something we plan, but yarn and patterns are so seductive that we are always downloading patterns and buying yarn.

This drawer of mine is actually DIPs (designs in progress).  I also have IIPs (ideas in progress), and the two of them take up three drawers and a storage container.

Each of these bags contains a moment that sparked a design idea; some have evolved into designs, and others I am holding space for to grow.

You can also see my sock and worsted-weight yarn containers.  I have an extensive collection of yarn, and it is organized by weight for easy retrieval.

This is why I needed a room for all my crafts.  

Sometimes I wonder how I got here.  I mean, I know I always take in yarn when people are going through their stashes.  I've stopped doing that.  I send it to the prisons or places that need yarn.  

I used to get paid in yarn to help people out, so I have a lot from my teaching days.  I picked out each one because I loved a particular color or texture.

When someone requested a design, I often didn't have the right yarn, so I had to buy the correct color or weight.  I always bought a little extra, just in case... You know how it is.

I used to see all this as guilt for buying yarn when I had so much, guilt for not making projects from the patterns I purchased, and guilt for taking up so much space.

When my biochemistry was off and anxiety was my primary emotion, I tried to make myself smaller so I could reach into myself to search for my own voice.  For three months, I could not hear my own thoughts unless I was distracted from the anxiety.

My yarn became a solace that I could wrap myself in, and sometimes I had actual moments of calm.  My therapist was amazed I had lasted so long, and I attribute it to the love and support of my family and friends, my desire to fight and get better, meditation, and my yarn.

In my state, knitting was almost impossible, so I turned to crocheting.  I made scarves for the homeless and loved the feel and color of the yarn.  My therapist said I must use tactile means as one of my calming methods, and she was right.  

Over the course of those three months, I made twelve scarves.  As everything worsened, it became harder to crochet, but I persevered. As soon as I met my therapist, I knew I wanted to knit her something with lace, because she let the light back into me.  She had given me hope, and that was so precious.

Initially, as I was healing, my son would read the pattern to me, and I would slowly make the stitches.  He was so kind and patient with me, as was my daughter. Honestly, I am blessed.  However, as time passed, I was able to knit and follow a pattern again, and it brought me immense joy.

I finished the scarf that was half knitted despite anxiety, and then half knitted with an absence of anxiety.  The story was in every stitch, and when I gave it to my therapist, she hugged me.  Everything had come full circle.  She had kept her promise to "fix" me.  I was whole in a way I cannot truly put into words.

So now, when I look at these WIPs, DIPs, and IIPs, I see a community of fibers that were there for me when I could hardly be there for myself.  They are diverse and beautiful, like my friends and family.  The simple act of crafting had been a meditation for my soul all these years, and I never knew what a profound effect it had on my self-care.

There is no guilt.  There never should have been.  I should have seen each ball or skien as a seedling waiting for its time in the sun.  The yarn is patient; it would not want me to feel guilty, so I don't.

Happy Crafting!

Bright Blessings,

Ruinwen

Holding Space and Showing Up

My wonderful daughter and I ❤️

 (Caution: this post may have triggers for adoptive parents or adopted children.) I hope that it helps you in one small way.

It seems forever since this post https://vixenpath.blogspot.com/2010/05/hole-in-my-heart.html

When I gifted my daughter so many years ago, I wanted to be part of her life in any way she was happy with.  Every year on her birthday,  I would write her a letter.

The truth is that those letters were hard in the beginning, but as the years went by, I realized I wasn't just showing up; I was holding space for possibilities, and I enjoyed sharing things with her.

I wrote poems for her and shared my dreams, and I got a few pictures here and there with some letters from her parents (who are fabulous, loving people). Those pictures were like treasures to me, and I kept them with me at all times in my wallet. I always felt so blessed that her parents would write to me and let me know how she was doing. I was ecstatic to get those letters and pictures, but I always held space for more.

Then one day, I got a call from my social worker about a birth-daughter who was looking for her birthday letter, and they wanted to know if I had sent it, and they lost it.  

I felt a million emotions at once, and my heart opened up to make more room. I was crazy happy, bawling like a baby, and my social worker held space for me the whole time.  

She then asked me the question that changed everything: "Do you want me to see if she would be open to e-mail?"

Of course, I said, "Yes!"

That weekend was her birthday and our wedding anniversary.  We got hand-fasted on the Saturday after Beltaine, which was my daughter's birthday.  So many happy blessings that day!  💖

I had planned a weekend getaway for my DH to a romantic hot tub for two and a beautiful B&B. We walked in the door, and I received an email: "I'm your birth daughter."

He was so happy for me and didn't mind that it was all I could think about and talk about. He joked and said, "I hope she doesn't call me stepdad because they always end up being the villain."

That e-mail led to others.  We were better at texting, and as I became more confident, I started opening up more, inviting in more space, and learning about this remarkable woman my daughter had become.

Then, like Anais Nin says, “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

I asked her if it was okay if I said good night each night, and she said it was.  Saying good night is such a sacred part of my day.  If she needs Reiki, I will send some.   

She prayed for me when I was ill and sent me good energy. She held space for me, and I felt safe with someone who understood what was happening to me. Some of our chats were the only reason I got through the day.

During that time, we became good friends. We have so much in common, and there is always something to talk about. I used to have all these blocks, triggers, and things that I never knew how to heal, and they transformed day by day.

I could finally step back and view these things and see that they were past perceptions that no longer hold true, if they ever did.

All those fears and insecurities have melted away because my son and daughter are such beautiful people. I feel whole in a way I cannot explain. I feel like I have unfurled beautiful wings like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. I feel free, and in that freedom is love, family, connections, pure joy, and discovery.

Ah, dear readers, there is more to this story.  We decided to meet at a sushi restaurant, and it was magical.  I saw her beautiful face and heard her voice for the first time, and I was just so happy.

We talked forever. We both accepted each other as we were. We played Pokémon, and she came home to meet her brother and DH. We spoke until way after my bedtime, but I didn't care.

I look forward to many new adventures with her, her family, and our families. I feel like all that space I was holding just expanded more, and overnight, I became part of something so special.

I am truly blessed.

In knitting news, I re-charted the Laurene Shawl and have knit two more repeats. It's slow progress, but I keep showing up, and that keeps the momentum going.

Happy Crafting!

Bright Blessings,

Ruinwen

Bright Blessings to all the men and women who have fought for our country and our freedoms, past, present and future.  🙏

George & Gracie

 

George & Gracie

Sometimes, something happens, and we attach a feeling to it. The thing hasn't changed, but our perception of it has.

This project was like that for me.  I started this project for my Mom when I was new to knitting, and the stitches are absolutely crazy.  When I taught it as a long-term class, we called those two stitches George and Gracie after Nana and Pop Pop's ducks that visit yearly.  (I know they are named after George Burns and Gracie Allen)...But I wanted a bit of Nana in the pattern, so my stitches are named after ducks.

George is a t2l (twist 2 stitches to the left).  This is George:

Knit into the back of the 2nd stitch on the left-hand needle, do not slip the stitch off, knit into the first stitch on the left-hand needle, slip both stitches off

Gracie is a t2r (twist 2 stitches to the right).  This is Gracie:

K2tog (knit two stitches together), do not slip the stitch off, knit into the first stitch on the left-hand needle, slip both stitches off

Those stitches were complicated at first for the people in the class, but as time went by, they became pros at "George and Gracie." Plus, it made us all laugh, which is always good medicine.

For me, it wasn't hard to teach the class or even knit the pattern in another yarn, but for some reason, I couldn't pick up the yarn from the hotel incident in last week's post.

I was stuck in a moment in time, and it took me a lot of self-work to pick up this project again.

But when I did, I separated the project from my emotions.  The project never did anything wrong; it was a victim in this story.  

This whole project was created out of love for my Mom. Each stitch was lovingly picked and worked repeatedly, and I had a reason for everything used to make it.

I just redid my craft room, and it is now a safe and happy space. All my yarn is organized by weight, and all the WIPs are in drawers waiting to be finished.

I started with the Laurene Shawl because it is my oldest WIP. I began by reaching back to myself in that hotel room, giving her a hug, and saying, "I got you. I am here for you. I will finish what you started. Take time to heal. It will be okay. I got you."

When I said that, I felt chills; all that negative emotion disappeared. I picked up the shawl and knitted, and I surprised myself at how complex I made the stitches because I wanted them to look a certain way.

I don't want to change a thing because every stitch means something. Everything has a story to tell, and sometimes, that story holds us back, but if we remove the emotion and look at the facts, our perception will often change.

I made a contract with myself to knit at least two rows a day until the shawl is finished. Making the stitches that seemed so hard in 2004 is easy for me now.  

I love working on this again. The Silky Wool slides through my fingers. It is a beautiful yarn—a gorgeous green for my lovely Mom with the beautiful green eyes.  

I know it is a little early, but Happy Mother's Day, Mom.  I love you and miss you.  I will finish this shawl; when I wear it, I feel like I am being held in your arms.  

Happy Crafting!

Bright Blessings,

Ruinwen

Not Lost...Found

My standing desk in my "new" craftroom with my quartet of fluffy inspiration.  Yarn is Elsebeth Lavold Silky Wool in color 20

Today, my DH (dear husband) said something to me that was so profound; it was one of those aha moments that you desperately want to grasp all it contains before it "poofs away".

For reference, I always get lost in Minecraft or ESO - whatever game we're playing, people have to send out rescue parties for me.  But yesterday the world shifted, and I was fine, I knew where I was and led us back from the nether wastes with torches and skompasses.  

DH started by saying, "It was like an upside-down day.  You weren't lost, and your GF was."

I said, "I felt that I had more awareness of where I was and kept better track of it."

He said, "No, I think that you took this new confidence and believed that you knew the way, and you didn't second-guess yourself.  You followed your intuition. You've always known the way, but you didn't trust yourself to take the path that would lead you home.  The difference is today you trusted yourself and you never faltered because you *knew* that was the way home."

That really hit me, and I knew I would blog about it because he is right.  I always used to question my own knowing.  I would ask others if they thought I should do something, and their opinion would sway mine, and now, not so much.  

That got me thinking about my blog.  I have been really missing writing.  My blog has breadcrumbs that will lead me back home, much like the Nether. I know the way.  It feels so familiar to be writing again.

I'm not the person I was when I started this blog years ago.  In some ways, I am, but since the start of the year, I have really changed my mindset.

I saw this quote this week that shifted everything in my head in such a way that I knew I could take the next step, and that was empowering.

"But the thing is, there is no right first step.  There is just a first step."

-Nataly Kogan 

So, my first step was to open Blogger and click "New Post."  It was actually effortless and felt right and natural.  All that "I need to please a certain demographic" is gone.  I won't hold myself to a standard I never wanted for myself. I'm happy to talk to anyone who stops by and wants to chat; my door is always open, as they say. 

Where to begin was never a hard part for me.  My mind has always been too full of ideas.  These days, I use Obsidian as my second brain.  I have taken notes from different sources and categorized, filed, and organized them for easy retrieval in my Obsidian Vault.

What stood out to me was a post from 2006.  The Laurene shawl, named for my beloved Mother, has been one of those things I put away because I didn't want to deal with it.  And here is why.

When Life Unravels

Heaven, I sighed to myself as I watched the tip of the golden sun make its descent below the ocean waters.  The skies were dressed in hues of lavender, gold, and a deep navy blue, with little stars peeking through.  The surf beckoned to me with gentle waves with frothy caps. It was the perfect night.

Every year, I have five glorious days to get away from it all with my small family that I adore.  If the budget allows, we usually end up at the beach.  The ocean is my touchstone of sanity. Somehow, the waves always invite serenity back to my being, and I feel whole again.

I settled back into my chaise and breathed in the sea air of the Atlantic.  It is hard for me to do absolutely nothing for too long, being an Aries and all, so I reached into my knitting bag and took out the ball of mossy green silky wool.

I had this idea to make a pattern for a lapghan for my mom.  Mom had been having more and more trouble walking and using the wheelchair more and more, and she liked to have something that would cover her knees, which always seemed to be cold.

I used lace to create a beautiful garden of flowers throughout the shawl.  Twisted vines adorned the sides, their graceful curves made of cables.  I was pretty happy with the way my swatches had come out, so now began the weeks of knitting to see what it looked like all knitted and blocked flat.

My husband came out to the balcony to sit with me, and we watched the stars come out and light the heavens.  As I finished row after row, we talked about life, dreams, and how we would weave our goals into our lives.  The sweet melody of his voice soon had me realizing how tired I was, and try as I might, I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes open.

I put the knitting away, but not before noticing how much I had achieved. I had made about a foot of progress, and with lace-weight yarn, that's really impressive!

The next morning, we took pictures of the lace backlit with the rising sun coming through the fabric’s holes.  It would be an excellent picture for the blog, and I planned to write the entry when I got back from breakfast.

After a scrumptious meal, a Farmer's Omelet, with bacon and sausage, we came back to the room only to find that there were strands of something running from one end of the room to the other.  In those moments where your mind tries to make sense of something unfamiliar, it can be distressing until you regain your equilibrium again.

There was a strange object like a pencil on the floor, but my mind said it was not a pencil.  It felt like a freight train had slammed into my chest because that wasn’t a pencil, but it was my knitting needle.  A knitting needle should have knitting on it, right?  It is in the name, after all.  But mine didn’t.

As I scanned the room, hyperventilating, I realized that the strands scattered around were the remnants of my knitting.  At this point, I lost the ability to speak because to a knitter, this is the worst thing that can happen.  Everything I had achieved during that serene, beautiful night was lying on the rug, the bed, and wound tightly around a table leg.

My husband helped me gather all the yarn up and wound the loose strands into a ball while I called the front desk.

“ Siryoudonotknowmebutsomeonefromyourstaffpulledtheneedleoutofmyknitting,” was precisely how I started my complaint in tears with huge sobs punctuating my nonsensical words.

The concierge with a very kind tone answered, “I can hear that you are upset.  What can we do to help you?”  I could feel him offering me a handkerchief through the phone.

And I thought about it, what could they really do?  Educate their staff on the pitfalls of pulling the needle out of knitting projects?  Find some friendly knitters who would compensate me for the time I lost? But then I looked at all the loose stitches in my hand that still needed to find their way back to the needle, and lost it again.

“I just wanted to make you aware of what had happened.  I had worked for six hours on something that was destroyed in seconds,” I moaned like I had lost a family member, clutching the needle tightly in my hand.

Mr. Concierge took a deep breath. I know I must have sounded insane, “I can understand that when you come here you want to unwind, and while I cannot do anything to replace what was lost, we will pay for yesterday, including the room charges.  Will that help to put your trip back on track?”

You could hear the hope in his voice, and I closed my eyes and said, “That is very generous of you.  Thank you,” because that is what adults do.

I hung up the phone and stood up slowly.  My husband reached out for my hand, and turned my wedding ring around a few times before testing the waters, “Can I do anything to help?”

Not unless you have a Wayback machine, a TARDIS, or a Speed Force I can borrow…

I kissed his cheek and shook my head.  Taking the needle, I put it back through the loops that were still viable and then put the whole mess in a plastic bag, where it remains to this day.

I remade the shawl and gave it to Mom; she was cremated in it.  Sometimes at night, I dream about all that yarn all over the room, and I try to pick my way through it like a labyrinth to my sanity.  I always wake up in tears.

-The End...or the beginning?

To Be Continued...

Bright Blessings,

Ruinwen 🤗

A Special thanks to the Secret Hippie who looked over this very short story for me years ago and is a constant pillar of support and guidance.

A Special thanks to Yellow Dog Pet Services, who have helped me with photo shoots and writing projects over the years.