Swatchless

How have I changed the place that I live… not much actually.  Since it’s an apartment I’m not at liberty to do all that much, nor do I have the time or energy to do so.

I did make an attempt to organize myself my stash last March.  My mom and I drove up to Ottawa for passport related stuff, and headed to IKEA on the way back.  We managed to somehow jam boxes for 3 sets of tall shelves into the car (with seats folded and pulled forward as much as possible).  It was also quite a job (involving the creative use of abandoned grocery carts) to wrestle the boxes out of the car and up to my apartment.

I spent several afternoons with the screw driver assembling the shelves, and then with a bit of help got them anchored to the walls.  For a while, I was more organized.  But then it appears that the number of books I own has multiplied to fill these shelves.

Now….I’m about do to something brave.  Most knitters have a stash of yarn, a hidden supply that is going to be used for something at some time but is currently waiting for that perfect project.  Some of it is yarn bought at a certain place, like the silk I bought in Japan when I learned to dye with indigo (lesson translated thanks to my very patient friends who had no interest whatsoever in silk or dyeing), or the super soft alpaca that I bought from the Weavers and Spinner’s Guild sale….I know it will be a scarf sometime, but I need to have the time to enjoy knitting with such lovely fiber.  Some of it is yarn bought on sale, or because I love the colour, or because I forgot I already had something similar….I know…I know…I have a bit of a problem.

So, here’s to bravery.  This is my stash, or at least most of it.  Doesn’t it look pretty?  Without this shelf, it was all piled in boxes in various corners of my apartment.  I have certainly gained more floor space with this stash storage shelf.  Looking at all that wool makes me think I need to knit more….so there will be more room on those shelves to store other important things.

This perhaps leads into my new years resolution post on being more organized, or perhaps just knitting faster than I acquire new yarn.

All you knitters out there….tell the truth….you have a yarn stash too, right?

I find that when I travel I encounter foods that I would rarely find in my hometown. I am generally more adventurous when I travel, which can lead to great discoveries, or a sore tummy. This year on my trip, I discovered fresh pita bread, the kind that melts in your mouth, the kind that boys carry on big bamboo baskets above their head as they bike through the market, it is delicious, but something that I will never find in my town.

I discovered felafel while sitting at a patio in Aqaba with “Captain” and our tour guide and busdriver. A delicious “breckie” to remember. I discovered that a dinner “of sorts” served on an Egyptian night train is NOT really food

I discovered that in Egypt, you can order viagra from a menu….

…but we weren’t brave enough for that one!

The most wonderful food that I thought I’d never eat was found on a felucca. It started out with a holler to the neighbouring fishing boats, asking for Bolti fish (which we later discovered is Talapia). The fish were bought from the side of the boat, freshly caught from the Nile.

They were cleaned by Captain Hamada over the side of the boat

cooked up in the boat kitchen (a square meter of space with a 2 burner gas stove, which I learned to light–how I got the nickname “crew”)

The fish was served up with rice and vegetables, and eaten by candlelight. The fish still had the heads on them! I’d never tried eating fish like that before. I’m not actually a fan of seafood, but this was SO deliciously fresh, cooked in front of my eyes, and eaten with friends who were quickly feeling like family.

We ate, Egyptian style, half with fingers, half with spoons, or pita bread to scoop up the food from our bowls, and enjoyed the lovely view of the Nile. This is food that is very simple, from a world with no refrigeration. All ingredients are fresh, and in season, and cooked up with Captain Hamada’s family recipes. Go see him and his brother Ali on the felucca “Flower 2″ if you are in Aswan. His food is better than the near by restaurants. Tell him Rachel from Canada sent you

Hyanto means “We who sleep beneath the pines sleep well”.  I have been sleeping beneath those pines since I was 10 years old.  The camp has become a part of my life, a summer ritual of swimming, canoeing, campfires, and songs; a place of fellowship and fun.

I returned to Camp Hyanto, a small Anglican Church camp, summer after summer, eventually getting work as a counsellor and lifeguard, then finally working as the waterfront director.  Working at a camp is not an easy job at all, but it has been a very rewarding job for me.  I had the opportunity to meet many children and teens, and help them to gain confidence in themselves, the new skills they are learning, and in their ability to survive a week away from home.  Many of the skills learned, and empathy developed while working at camp have come in handy on a day to day basis for me as an adult.

These campers are special campers–the philosophy of the camp is to make each camper feel like a valued member of the camp community, and the greater Christian community.  Some campers are sponsored through the Children’s Aid Society, and have difficult home lives.  Some are a part of the Reach for the Rainbow program, and are experiencing  an integrated camping experience for the first time.  Many children are away from home for the first time, and suffer from tremendous homesickness for the first few nights.  Although there are many challenges to working at Hyanto, through all the trials and triumphs, the camp staff bonds together, forming a close knit community by the end of the summer.  Friends made at camp know you better than any other friends.  Even after 10 years apart, these friendships can be revisited or rekindled as if no time has passed.

As a camp volunteer, I am able to participate in camp activities, sing songs, make campfires, read stories, and view life through the eyes of the children for a week in my busy summer.  Many of my youngest campers back when I worked at camp have now risen through the ranks to become staff, and are now senior staff.  I return summer after summer, to one of the most important communities I knew as a teenager, to help out with the program, to provide support to the staff, to help teach and mentor the campers, and to wander through the camp grounds chasing my memories of summers gone by.

photo credit: M.Green

I returned to camp this summer, as I have for several summers, to be a volunteer for a week.  I value the opportunity for me to give back to a community that has given me so much over the years.  I am who I am, partially due to this place, for which I am truly thankful.

Looking back on my year, it has been punctuated by several distinct events. Some events were adventures, full of joy and exploration. Some events were tragic, full of tears and heartache. For me, the musical soundtrack to my life comes from the songs that we were learning/performing at the time of the events taking place. Music is a part of my creative expression, an emotional outlet, and a time-out from my work. I have been singing in choirs, rehearsing at least once a week, for the past 21 years. Many of my great friendships have sprung up from connections made in one choir or another.

This fall, a friend of mine died suddenly.

My world was tossed upside down. I was sad, mad, confused, and broken, and I think I will be for a while yet.

During this difficult time, when everything seemed to be falling down around me, I took comfort in the words of a song we were learning. The words now took on a stronger meaning for me, when seen through the lens of the recent tragedy. They are beautiful words as a poem, but when sung in flowing four part harmony, were enough to make me cry the tears that needed to be cried. The music was arranged by Dr. Mark Sirett, and has not been published or recorded yet.

I have shared these words before, but think they are worth repeating.

Hold On To What is Good

Hold on to what is good
Even if it is a handful of earth
Hold on to what you believe in
Even if it is a tree which stands by itself
Hold on to what you must do
Even if it is a long way from here
Hold on to your life
Even if it is easier to let go
Hold on to my hand
Even when I have gone away from you

-Pueblo Indian prayer

I knit these lovely words into a pair of mittens, and mailed them to my friend’s mother. I hope the words can offer her comfort during the long cold winter.

For those interested, here is the chart for the mittens.

This story, like several others, comes from my vacation this summer in the Middle East. Toward the end of the group tour, we found ourselves in Egypt, on the Sinai peninsula, at the monastery of St. Catherine, home of the burning bush (which burned but was not consumed by the flame) where God spoke to Moses (Exodus 3:1-6, 14).

Our group was about to climb to the top of Mt. Sinai. The group was given two options of how to summit this mountain:

1. Ride a camel
2. Walk along the camel path

“Captain” and I had been doing our research, and had heard of an alternate route up the mountain along the path of repentance 3700 stairs (and I use that term loosely) up the mountain. “Captain” We decided that since this is the one time that we’d be climbing this mountain, we should do it the right way and take the stairs. We had hoped that this would allow us the chance to take our time, and enjoy the experience, rather than lurching up a path on a stinky camel or perhaps worse, walking behind the stinky camel. To our surprise, half of the tour group decided to go with us.

To set the stage: it was hot, temperatures were above 30 C. We were unsure of where we were going, or what pace we would travel at. We had eaten a big lunch, which was not sitting so well in my stomach, and we were climbing up a mountain. I have some difficulties with doing strenuous exercise at altitude (I am such a “sea-level” kid!). Although we had been walking a lot every day, and I been training on the treadmill before the vacation, that did little to help with my “stair” climbing ability.

looking down at St. Catherine's monastery

The journey up the mountain started mid afternoon. We walked, scrambled, and climbed up rough hewn steps and rocks (do you see steps in that picture??), following our mountain guide, appropriately named Moses. He has climbed up and down this mountain three times a week for ten years, leading tourists and religious pilgrims up and down the treacherous slope.

Did I tell you that it was over 30 C when we were climbing? Anyway, these steps seemed to go for ever. We’d climb over a rise, and there’d be more waiting for us. Moses would tell us that we were half way there, we’d keep walking, and after another 20 minutes, we’d still be half way there! I took many breaks for water, air and photo opportunities. I began to question why we had chosen this route. I began to understand why the path was called the path of repentance. For me, it was a grueling climb.

My legs and lungs burned as we kept walking. Thank goodness for “Captain” who kept me going forward, telling me that the next part is pretty flat, or that we must be more than half way now, or that the view from the top at sunset will be amazing. I really wanted to reach the top, I really wanted to see the view, but it took all the determination that I could muster, to make me keep going. The monumental task of climbing the mountain became one of putting one foot in front of the other. The task became a matter of “take that next step”, “take that next breath”–a useful mantra in any challenging situation!

success!

We made it to the top, in good time too, arriving just as the stinky camels did. The view from the top was outstanding. Have a look at this movie that Captain took. (I’d share mine, but all you can hear is me sounding like a scuba diver gasping for air)

We sat at the top, glad to be finally done climbing, and feeling surprisingly chilly. Our group made up 15 of the 20 people at the top of the mountain as the sun set. We sat awestruck by the view, giddy from the climb, and happy for the company of our group.

Our descent started soon after the sun set. We all walked together along the camel path, as the “stairs” would be impossible to use in the dark. If you’ve been reading my other posts, you’ll realize that all it takes are a few glowsticks to start a party. I had brought 15 glowsticks with me up the mountain, and handed them out on the way back down to each of our group members…

Our group with glowsticks

…and to Moses, who had never seen anything like that before. He was so excited to bring them home to show his children. Unfortunately the tourist police men were also interested in the glowsticks, and confiscated several so they could play too.

Moses getting his first glowstick

That night, I slept very soundly. I had conquered my challenge, rising 2285 meters above sea level, in the scorching heat, up 3700 steps. The experience was made all that much better by knowing that we didn’t cheat–we climbed the mountain the tough right way. I am grateful to Moses, for his patience, and to all of my group members for their encouragement. Thanks also to “Captain”, I couldn’t have done it without you!

The Siq

My moment of peace came at the end of a rushed day of sight seeing in Jordan this summer.  “Captain”, my traveling friend, and I purchased bread and cheese at a small grocery store, and set off, separate from our tour group.  We ate our dinner on the walk, listening to the call to prayer echo from the near by mosques.  The sun had set, and dusk was upon us.  We met up with around 100 people all eager to enter the Siq (the high walled canyon) that led to the ancient Nabatean city carved into the rock.

Petra by Night is intended to be a silent candlelit walk through the canyon, however many tourists either didn’t understand those directions, or didn’t care to follow them.  Hanging back at the very end of the group, walking very slowly, we allowed everyone to pass us.  “Captain” and I walked together along the trail.  We could see the high canyon walls rise upward, framing a ribbon of star studded sky.  The warmth of the day was radiating outward from the rock, while a cooling breeze blew past us.  We were walking on ancient stones, on a path that was once lost to all but the bedouin, to a city that was written about in ancient Greek and Roman texts.  The history contained within those rocks, the people who had walked along that path, from ancient incense traders, to the film crew of Indiana Jones, and now us.  Our story seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but those moments in the Siq have left a lasting impression on me.

The path was dimly lit, and the cobble stones uneven, which forced us to take our time and walk with deliberate steps.  I was glad to walk slowly, to savour the sights and sensations of this mystical place, knowing that there is only one first time to see Petra.  Each step was bringing us closer to the Treasury building, something that we were eager to see, but something that would bring this magnificent walk to an end.  Almost scared to break the silence, “Captain” and I would stop, and point out different things to each other without speaking.

I have heard of people being moved to tears, but I never thought I would experience that for myself.  I don’t cry easily, but found myself welling up because of the majesty of my surroundings.  “Captain” and I agreed that this could easily become a place of quiet and calm that we could close our eyes and return to at moments of stress in the “real world”; it is a place that I have returned to in my mind several times in the past few months.

in front of the Treasury

As the Siq opened out in front of the Treasury we could hear the music of a bedouin flute echoing against the surrounding high walls.  We sat, in silence, surrounded by candles and silent tourists, listening to the unusual music, staring at the Treasury that was illuminated by the flashes of neighbouring cameras.  We drank hot sweet mint tea, and lay down to watched the stars shoot across the sky.

None of my pictures of the Siq or the Treasury by night actually turned out.  I am ok with that.  The best pictures are in my mind.

It all started with Swine Flu back in October.  I was sick, and off work for 8 days waiting for my temperature to go back to normal.  I was stuck in bed knitting when I had the energy to do that, and surfing the net between frequent naps.  Up until that time I regularly read a few knitting blogs like The Yarn Harlot, Brooklyn Tweed and Through The Loops…I was using the blogs and Ravelry as sources of inspiration for my future knitting projects, but I was never an “active participant” in the discussion, hesitant to post comments and make my mark.

My philosophy of reading blogs but not interacting with them changed when my brother Neil (aka ninjarunner) gave me a push to start blogging about what I do.  He told me that there are lots of crafty people out there who might be interested in reading about my addiction to knitting, spinning, weaving and dyeing yarn.  So, with his help, at the end of October I started writing my blog, commenting on other blogs, and using twitter.

I am amazed at how fast I was welcomed, and encouraged by those who read my work, and posted comments; my blog find of the year is community!

I joined the Art Every Day challenge for November hosted by Leah Piken Kolidas, where we were challenged to create art each day, and share our process and results with others via blogs and flickr.  I met so many wonderful, friendly and talented people through this challenge.  People from all over the world, creating all different kinds of art from doodling to quilting, from water colour to haiku, from photography to needlework.  I was inspired, and challenged to live a more creative life for a month, and my creativity was celebrated by the new community that I had joined.  What a fantastic welcome to a brand new blogger.  Thanks so much Leah!

At the end of November, I was sad as one community dissolved, but excited when someone tweeted about the Best of 2009 Blog Challenge led by Gwen Bell.  After seeing the long list of intriguing prompts, I joined up!  I have been welcomed once more into another friendly group of creative thinkers, and inspired by the shared memories, the well crafted stories, the photographs of adventures past, and the thoughtfulness of each response and comment.  I have been having fun reflecting on all my adventures this past year, and considering what I should do next year to keep balance in what could be a very hectic schedule.  Thanks Gwen!

If you had asked me last year if I would ever be a blogger, I would have probably laughed….

Thanks to all who have helped me feel welcome!

About a year and a half ago I did something crazy. I bought a full sized floor loom! Not your typical impulse buy….but then again…I’m not typical.

What makes it even crazier is that, at the time, I didn’t know how to weave. I have knit for as long as I can remember. I have been spinning yarn for the past 2 years, and this seemed (to me at least) to be the next logical step in my textile addiction hobby.

I’m not sure what drew me to this particular loom. It looked so sad….it had just been moved out of a garage, and was sitting on milk crates, covered with a tarp…I’m wondering if this is what dog lovers feel like when they go to the animal shelter. Before I knew it, hands had been shaken, money exchanged, and I was hurrying home to remeasure all the doorways and elevators between the outside world and my apartment.

The first big challenge was to determine what kind of loom it was, so I could see what pieces it was missing (not too many thankfully) and figure out how it was supposed to work. A very friendly Ravelry group helped me to identify it as a LeClerc Fanny loom, a good solid piece of Canadian technology. Within a month, the missing pieces arrived in the mail and I was ready to weave….or so I thought.

The hardest part of weaving is “dressing” the loom, and I didn’t have the faintest idea of how to start. I knew that it involved putting lots of little strings in the right places so they will rise and fall when you push the pedals. Before I wasted my treasured yarn on a project doomed for failure, I decided I needed a bit of instruction.

Where do you go when you want to learn a dying craft?

Youtube of course!

No…seriously! I found some FANTASTIC videos. This one was by far the best, in the span of 6 minutes it gives clear and simple instructions, explains new vocabulary, teaches some weaving and textile history, and makes you want to learn more! I watched it probably 10 times while I attempted to dress my loom the first time.

Thanks to this video, I was able to weave something….it wasn’t excellent, but it was weaving! Later I became more adventurous, trying new patterns that I found on
Handweaving.net a great site that provides historical weaving drafts (patterns) in a digital format.

I was learning a lot by experimenting, and by accessing the tremendous amount of information on the internet. My skill was improving, but it still felt like I was missing something, some crucial information that would prevent problems with tension, or help make the woven edges more straight, or stop strings from breaking.

So, last winter, I searched out the local weavers and spinners guild and signed up for a weekend workshop: Weaving for Beginners.

one of my wonderful weaving instructors

At the class we were instructed in all of the skills that I had learned on the net. Within the first hour though, the instructors, sensing that I was not really a beginner, asked me how I had learned to weave. I told them about the videos on Youtube. They looked a bit puzzled, smiled, and muttered something about “kids these days”. I’m not sure if they understood. I’m not sure if they even have a computer. I do know, however, that they took one look at my work, analyzed what I was doing wrong, and gave me excellent tips to help me improve.

McLeod Tartan Scarf - A gift for my Uncle

That weekend I learned that even though I have all the information I need at my fingertips over the internet, it is still so important to learn a new skill from people. I discovered that what I had been missing was the reassurance of an expert watching me work, answering my questions and pointing out little things that I should do differently. I was missing the shared smiles, and the congratulations for a job well done.

I often find myself wondering if this night really happened!

In mid April last year, the robotics team that I help mentor went on a road trip.  Destination: Atlanta Georgia (via Kitchener Ontario) to compete in the world championships of the FIRST robotics competition “Lunacy” (youtube).

This journey would bring us through Ontario, across an international border into the USA, through Michigan, Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee and finally arriving in Georgia….that’s 22 hours on a bus full of teenagers!

The trip started out in the afternoon with the usual bus ride activities….reading, listening to music, watching movies, taking pictures….

but this is not the average group of teenagers….there was also a chess tournament, math homework, recitations and interpretations of Hamlet, knitting of robotics themed hats, debating of robotics competition strategy, and a bit of general silliness and singing “I’m on a Bus!” (Think “I’m on a Boat” but with bus appropriate lyrics)

There were several attempts at sleeping, but with a bus driver break every 2-3 hours, caffeine consumption and increasing adrenaline…we didn’t sleep much.  Instead, we had a BUS RAVE!

Loud techno music, 40 glowsticks, a bus full of teenagers at 1:00 AM on a bus in Ohio.  This was definitely my most memorable “Night Out” of the year!  I’ve never seen a robotics team dance like that before!

We did eventually get to Atlanta…

and competed in the Georgia Dome, winning a trophy for being the best rookie team in our division….the perfect ending for our first season.

Now we wait for kick-off of the 2010 challenge on January 9th, and the robotics season begins again!

First of all, I have a thing for children’s books, good children’s books, the kind with solid advice for life embedded within a story so entertaining that you don’t realize that the message is there. I enjoyed being read to when I was young, and now I read to children of all ages at any chance I get.

My all time favourite kids book would have to be “Oh The Places You’ll Go” by Dr. Seuss. It was first read to me by my mom when I was in university, but since then I have read it to enough people that I can recite it almost entirely by heart. Over the years, different messages in the story have resonated with me at different times.

There is a great optimism in this book. It was originally written as a graduation address for university students. It speaks of choices…

You’ll look up and down streets. Look ‘em over with care. About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.” With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good-street.

It speaks of the balance in life. The good times and, to the surprise of many first time readers, the bad times too. It speaks to the great ups and downs of life, moments of popularity, and fame contrasted with moments of loneliness and isolation. One of the quotes that has stuck with me over the years is:

You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch, and your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch. You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are then, that you’ll be in a Slump. And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

For a “kid’s book” it presents a very balanced view of life, ending off with the following words of motivation and advice

Kid, You’ll Move Mountains!

You’re off to Great Places! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So…get on your way!

A birthday cake made for me by some of the Knitter's Anonymous students

This is a book that should be read to kids when they are little, and then brought back out again over the years at graduations, or times of challenge and change. Teenagers may roll their eyes when you drag out “that book” again, but deep down, I know they love to hear it.

“Look back at your year”, says the blogger Gwen Bell

“Reflect upon books, and your memories tell!”

Answer this challenge, that’s just what I did.

Now what was your favouritest book as a kid?