Markers of Age

May 8, 2015May 8, 2015 / Lisa / 6 Comments

What are the little realities in life that make you suddenly pause and think ‘how can this be?’ (with a slightly panicked tone of voice)?

What little clues rear up and bite you in the rear when you’re not looking, that make you whip around in shock, thinking, rather hysterically, ‘hey now!’?

Let’s list them, shall we?

When your little sister is older than you and you don’t know how that happened.

When your baby comes home for a visit. Think about that a moment. And then, when you ask your husband if he has any cash so you can get a coffee to keep you awake for a work meeting, and your son pulls out his wallet. It’s just SO wrong when your child gives you money instead of the other way around.

And let’s not even talk about gray hair. Well, okay, let’s talk about that by gloating first and saying that both older and younger siblings as well as friends, have had gray hair a long time. At least it happened to them first. And if you’re reading this, neener, neener.

Then there’s the little things.

Realizing that you’d rather go to bed when it gets dark than stay up all night debating what’s wrong with the world and making plans to save it.

Learning, way too late in life, to say what you mean, speak up for yourself, be blunt, be honest, and no longer care what others think. If only that wisdom could have been in my brain during the tortured high school years.

Realizing that you have friends who have been best friends for longer than you ever would have dreamed when you first met them. Over forty years now that I think about it, which blows me away because in my brain we’re still in our twenties.

And speaking of that, the weird dichotomy of your brain convinced you’re considerably younger than the calendar says.

Outliving your parents and realizing you’re never too old to be an orphan, and how wrong that is.

When the doctor says specific, humiliating physicals are needed because you’re now at ‘that age’.

Or, if you have a doctor with a sense of humor, like I do, tells me that out of the Celtic female trilogy, I’ve flown past ‘maiden’ and ‘mother’, and am now a ‘crone’. I told him I prefer ‘wise woman’. He laughed.

When you read obituaries and see the deaths of those in their seventies and eighties and realize those ages are starting to appear on the horizon. Still distant, but starting to peek out at you.

Okay, I’m depressing myself. Think I’ll go borrow some money from the kid and figure out something to do that will embarrass him.

That’s the flip side. The ability to throw off society’s expectations and do whatever you want, knowing people will whisper ‘poor thing, must be getting senile’ and that they’ll be too polite to make you stop.

Hmmm. This could be fun.

Remembering War

May 1, 2015May 1, 2015 / Lisa / Leave a comment

The anniversary of the end of the Vietnam war today. I remember that ending. Sadly, I saw this anniversary mentioned in few places in the internet world/news. NPR had a story about visiting the memorial wall, which I have also seen. But other than that the internet seems to be full of the usual celebrity fluff, cat videos, and tag lines such as ‘When I saw this it blew my mind!’ and prompts such as ‘Hit Like if you agree!’. Oh, and please let us not forget invitations to play games.

This anniversary though, is especially poignant for me because these were young men, 18, 19 years old. The age of my son right now. I worry about his ability to grocery shop let alone heading over to be part of things no one should have to go through. And yet, have we as a people learned anything? At the end of each war we think, now we know better, now there will be no more. At least until the next one. I would like to start a debate, even at the risk of that debate becoming a shit-storm.

Please don’t interpret my comments that follow as support of Hilary Clinton, or as a slam against specific religions or even about race. I don’t mean to slide into arguments/discussions that can’t be resolved, such as religion and politics. I’m talking war here, nothing more. Although, that topic, too, will never be resolved.

It seems, throughout modern history, we have been led by men and there has been war. I have no facts to back this up as I am not a philosopher, sociology professor, anthropologist, or historian. Yet it seems to me when there have been riots as are happening frequently now, the looting and destruction are predominantly young men. I ask, what is it about men of a certain age, to seek out violence? Of all the murders committed throughout society, what is the percentage of male killers vs. female killers?

When a man sends a son off to war it appears to be a fearful moment of pride. When a woman sends a son off to war it seems to be just fear. Yes, yes, I know that’s a broad generalization. I know there are exceptions to everything we say. Yet I still can’t help but wonder what would happen if we returned to a matriarchal society, to women who were healers and mothers first. To religion that recognized the female as equally divine, such as goddess and god, not just a male God. Again, I am not slamming or supporting one religion over another, just wondering what would happen.

Honestly, I think in these days not much would change in spite of a somewhat idealized hope. After all, we have women in the military, women are strong and capable and able to fight, shoot, and defend. And as a woman I’m proud of that.

But would there be war?

I guess we won’t know until a day when our leadership is not made up of only old, rich men.

For today, I remember Vietnam, those who never returned, those who returned but never healed, and those who had to let them go. I remember all who were touched by that war, on all sides of the conflict.

A Home For Lace

April 23, 2015April 23, 2015 / Lisa / 5 Comments

Back in the 1980s I took a class for bobbin lace because it was a dying art and I thought it should be preserved. Unfortunately there weren’t enough people to keep the Lacemaker shop open and it closed before I moved much beyond the raw beginner stage. And then between moves and life changes, the lace pillow was packed away. Now that I have a home again and more time in my life, I have unpacked.

Bobbin lace is how lace was made before machines. If you research the history of lace you will find that the task of making it was so exacting only royalty or extremely wealthy people wore it. When a girl was born, her family commissioned a lacemaker at the time of birth, so the lace would be finished in time for her wedding. Young girls around age four began training to make lace, beginning by learning how to make the pricking, or pattern. These children were tied to chairs to keep them still for hours, and they worked around a large table with a single candle in the center. Each child had a bowl of water in front of them to help refract the light. Most were blind by the time they were in their early teens. Such was the value of lace.

Now, however, it’s a handicraft you might see at county or state fairs alongside spinning wheels, crocheting, and knitting. In the 80s when I started, there were roughly 3,000 lacemakers in the States. Now I’m sure there are many more.

There are different styles of bobbins. I have both Belgium and English. Belgium are shaped like a pear and use the ‘bulb’ to weight the bobbin. I prefer English bobbins as they have interesting beaded spangles. In mediaeval times some beads warded off evil spirits; some brought luck. Then, as now, the beads work as weights to keep tension on the threads. Below, I am beading English bobbins. Rather than buying expensive beads at a craft store, I go to thrift stores and buy old necklaces and cut them up.

Old necklaces repurposed to English bobbins

Next, a pricking is created. As I’m still a beginner, this is a Torchon lace pattern, meaning the lace is worked in straight lines. To make a pricking, a drawing on plain paper is attached to card stock. A tool called, originally enough, a pricker, is used to poke holes through the card stock. The card stock then becomes the pricking. Years ago I had a wonderful tiny wooden bowl filled with beeswax. All I could find now was a plastic box with candle wax. The pricker is stabbed into wax frequently to make the needle pass through the card stock easily. The lines on the paper version show which direction to work and will be drawn by pencil onto the pricked card stock.

Creating the pricking.

The bobbins are then wound with thread. Because lace is done by working with pairs of bobbins, two bobbins are wound from each end of a length of thread and then secured with a slip knot to keep the bobbins from unwinding while using. Below I am using a bobbin winder which saves wear and tear on your wrists.

Tea helps with the winding process.

Another thing that helps is a place to hang the pairs as they are filled with thread. Years ago I had a handy wooden frame just for this. Now, a chair back works just fine to keep pairs from tangling.

Pairs on chairs

Once all is ready, the pricking is pinned to what is called a bolster, on a lace pillow. The bolster turns so as you work the completed lace feeds off the back. Holding pins are placed above the pricking to hold the bobbins ready to begin. You’ll see, next to the ever-present tea, another pricking. This one is a handkerchief edging I made in the 80s, curved from years pinned to the bolster. You’ll also notice four bobbins in the center, separated from the others. This is a worker pair and a weaver pair, ready for the first stitch. The stitches are done by weaving one pair through the other. After a pair is worked it is set aside and the weaver moves on to the next pair. To work the pricking, a stitch is done, a straight pin placed in the hole in the pricking, and then another stitch is worked to ‘close the pin’. The straight pins stay in place until at least an inch of lace is completed, then the pins from the back can be pulled and moved to new stitches in the front. This moving of pins allows the bolster to turn and the completed lace to feed off.

Lace pillow with pricking, pins, and bobbins

In spite of having the direction to work penciled on the pricking, I had to pull the stitches out three times because I went the wrong way. Remember, I never made it past the beginner stage, oh so many years ago. But below, finally, is the beginning of a bookmark.