I have been thinking alot (Damn, was a lot one word or two? Can't remember, and leaving it the way it is and all of this wandering mind along with it is more fun than looking it up. I think one word, beacause "a lot" sounds more like a place you park now that I think of it...)
OK, start over.... I have been thinking alot about footwear lately. For years, I have contemplated making my own shoes. Why I have spent so much time thinking about it, and so little time doing it, I am not sure.
I guess I am afraid that they will look very handmade, and people will think I have gone coo-coo. They could be right.
So, take a class? Expensive! I would like to do that someday, but I am afraid it will be quite some time before I can justify the trip to a shoe making school. Although, there are 2 I have found that I would be interested in:
http://www.shoeschool.com/shoeschool/index.html
Would be my first choice, it looks like a great place to learn, they have videos to get me started in my dreaming, and they are located in Port Townsend WA, which is a place I once imagined living in. They have a kinetic sculpture parade there, and now that I know they also have a shoe school... I feel the wanderlust rising in my soul! (Soles?...lol)
The other one I have found that I like is:
http://www.simpleshoemaking.com/
The website and courses are run by Sharon Raymond. I have not spoken with her, but I can get a sense of her personality through her website, and she seems like somebody who would be easy to learn from. Another bonus to her school is that it is not that far from where I am now. And, I think this would actually be my first choice. I would love to have a reason to go to WA, but I think I would get more out of "Simple Shoemaking" for the beginning. But, they are both just weird dreams, instead of decisions I really need to make...
So, since I will not be going to either of those schools in the forseeable future, not just because of $, but also time and ability to get away for consecutive days without my entourage, I have to think of a new course of action. Figuring it out myself. I checked out a book from the library yesterday on how to make moccasins. I think that will be a good beginning. Tomorrow, I am going to the Alpaca store, (East Valley Alpacas) I am thinking it would be fun to crochet up some slippers, and socks and things like that as a beginning too.
I want to make my own footwear because I think it would be fun, and liberating. I would not have to choose between high cost and low quality. I could buy my materials locally, and feel satisfaction with every step. I am glad I am finally going to make the leap to do this.. Now I just have to get the nerve to begin! :)
Friday, November 4, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
There was an old woman
I entered this story into Reader's Digest cshort story contest, vote for me here:
http://apps.facebook.com/yourlifecontest/node/2396
http://apps.facebook.com/yourlifecontest/node/2396
Maytag Performa draft 1 (Something to read on my blog :)
After several attempts at slowing time through the magic of the snooze button, Emilie was finally up and ready for her morning routine. The warmth of her skin hit against the cool of the morning. She pushed her arms through the rough, worn terrycloth of her robe, and pulled it in tight around her chest. "I will have to turn on the pilot to the heater soon." She thought, as she quietly made her way toward the childrens' bedrooms. It was a dark, still morning, wetness hung in the air, reminding her of the storms outside her window the night before. She peeked in each room, and smiled to herself as she saw her children in peaceful slumber, oblivious of the impending school day. The steps creaked as she descended, and their creaking seemed to play harmony with the cracks of her stiff joints. The centuries-old home she lived in had taught Emilie to use many tools in the 3 years she had lived there, but the creaking stairs had yet to make it to the "to-do" list.
Emilie made her way into the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of coffee, and with a smile, marveled at the ingenuity of man, silently thanking the genious who thought of adding a timer to a coffee pot. She also thanked herself for remembering to set it. The heat of the caraffe poured outward, and filled the air between itself and the fingers she had clasped around the handle. It's weight tested her morning muscles, and reminded her to do her stretches. "After my shower." she thought. Rarely did she get to the stretches, always putting them past the next task at hand. In fact, she had good intentions for many things, such as the coffee she poured. Usually, it was left on the counter to cool down, forgotten, and discovered hours leater, after it had become cold. Then she would drink it anyway, with one giant gulp while rushing through her day, always trying to catch up. Today was no different. She took a sip, and felt the bite of heat as the coffee reminded her to wait. Setting it on the counter to cool, she opened the kitchen window.
Her handmade curtains were designed like roman shades, with cords that pulled and lifted them up. Emilie pulled up the cords, and wrapped them around an old wooden spool she had screwed into the wall for this purpose. Bits of fabric had been carefully cut and sewn together to form her "window quilts". She felt a sense of balance by using scraps saved from her children's old clothing, those memories still fresh, but fading slightly like the fabrics themselves. Also infused into her work were scraps found at estate sales, bits that had been saved for a rainy day, only to have their owner pass on, leaving behind good intentions disguised as junk. Emilie loved to create things out of these pieces that had been treasured by her kindred spirits. Friends she never got the chance to meet. She understood the importance of those years of saving them, and couldn't bear the idea it had been done for nothing. So, the scraps became curtains, clothing, purses. Lots of purses, but that is another story.
She opened the kitchen window, and looking out into the morning light, saw a gold and red leaf float down across the air , swirl around, and land on the dampened driveway. The rain last night had washed clean the surface of the earth, and laid way for a clean crisp fall day. The clouds were parting, and a feeling of beauty and hope was hanging on the morning. "It will be a great day to hang the sheets out to dry!" She thought, and hurried into the laundry room to put in a load before the kids woke up.
Emilie made her way into the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of coffee, and with a smile, marveled at the ingenuity of man, silently thanking the genious who thought of adding a timer to a coffee pot. She also thanked herself for remembering to set it. The heat of the caraffe poured outward, and filled the air between itself and the fingers she had clasped around the handle. It's weight tested her morning muscles, and reminded her to do her stretches. "After my shower." she thought. Rarely did she get to the stretches, always putting them past the next task at hand. In fact, she had good intentions for many things, such as the coffee she poured. Usually, it was left on the counter to cool down, forgotten, and discovered hours leater, after it had become cold. Then she would drink it anyway, with one giant gulp while rushing through her day, always trying to catch up. Today was no different. She took a sip, and felt the bite of heat as the coffee reminded her to wait. Setting it on the counter to cool, she opened the kitchen window.
Her handmade curtains were designed like roman shades, with cords that pulled and lifted them up. Emilie pulled up the cords, and wrapped them around an old wooden spool she had screwed into the wall for this purpose. Bits of fabric had been carefully cut and sewn together to form her "window quilts". She felt a sense of balance by using scraps saved from her children's old clothing, those memories still fresh, but fading slightly like the fabrics themselves. Also infused into her work were scraps found at estate sales, bits that had been saved for a rainy day, only to have their owner pass on, leaving behind good intentions disguised as junk. Emilie loved to create things out of these pieces that had been treasured by her kindred spirits. Friends she never got the chance to meet. She understood the importance of those years of saving them, and couldn't bear the idea it had been done for nothing. So, the scraps became curtains, clothing, purses. Lots of purses, but that is another story.
She opened the kitchen window, and looking out into the morning light, saw a gold and red leaf float down across the air , swirl around, and land on the dampened driveway. The rain last night had washed clean the surface of the earth, and laid way for a clean crisp fall day. The clouds were parting, and a feeling of beauty and hope was hanging on the morning. "It will be a great day to hang the sheets out to dry!" She thought, and hurried into the laundry room to put in a load before the kids woke up.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Work in progress
Hello Carol! (And, of course, anyone else who might be reading!) Just letting you know I have work in progress. I hope to have it finished by the end of the week. While working on it, I thought of you when I spelled "a lot" wrong, and self-corrected. Thank you for your input.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Learning to Fly
As I float along on my back, blissfully distracted from life's uncertainties by puffy clouds and blue sky, my mind wanders to earlier days when I was young and had no time limit on floating. I loved to swim. It seemed as if I had always known how to swim, like the water was a natural extension of my own being. Swimming lessons were boring and seemed unneccessary. However, I do recall a time when I was pushing myself to swim underwater. My father suggested he be the target, I should pick a postition in the pool to make it to, and he would stand there to act as the marker. My lungs filled with air as I prepared for my plummet. Down into the water I went, and pushed off from the side wall with my small wrinkled feet. Underwater, my eyes locked tight on the distant, blurry shadow of Dad's hairy belly, I knew I could make it. But just as I reached him, arms outstretched and desperate for breath, he took a step back! In his way I think he was trying to teach me I could push myself harder than I knew possible. I wonder if that was the lesson I took away with me that day? Pushing myself is something I do with frequency. On the other hand, I also get fed up quickly when the target won't stay still. Hmpf.
I lift my head out of my floating daydream and awaken back into the reality of the energetic public pool all around me. "Cannonbaaaall!" is shouted somewhere off to my right, and my trip down memory lane is washed out by a giant wave and water in my eyes. Rubbing my vision clear, I look across the pool, there is Randy, laughing with our children, teaching our daughter to swim. She does not quite grasp the floating yet, so far just a lot of flailing and sinking, all with with a very determined expression. I smile at them. "Mommy! Come here! I am swimming!"
Gliding across the pool, the water feels smooth and refreshing. It is clear and brilliant in the afternoon light. I approach my family and watch as my daughter shows off her new found skills. She actually has the kicking part down pretty well, but her hands and feet are working against each other. I put my right arm around her back, allowing me to hold her hands so that I can help her with the paddling. Her hands are small, and fit under my own curved palms like the stacking cups she had as a baby. We push the water down together with strong slow strokes. I tell her to feel the water pressure against her hands, and to push the water down with purpose. She chants at each stroke, "With purpose! With purpose!" And then, magically, she is swimming! I let go, and she is off on her own, flying across the pool as though she has done it all her life! She is ecstatic, and glowing. Today, she believes in her heart that she can do anything. I think she might be right.
I lift my head out of my floating daydream and awaken back into the reality of the energetic public pool all around me. "Cannonbaaaall!" is shouted somewhere off to my right, and my trip down memory lane is washed out by a giant wave and water in my eyes. Rubbing my vision clear, I look across the pool, there is Randy, laughing with our children, teaching our daughter to swim. She does not quite grasp the floating yet, so far just a lot of flailing and sinking, all with with a very determined expression. I smile at them. "Mommy! Come here! I am swimming!"
Gliding across the pool, the water feels smooth and refreshing. It is clear and brilliant in the afternoon light. I approach my family and watch as my daughter shows off her new found skills. She actually has the kicking part down pretty well, but her hands and feet are working against each other. I put my right arm around her back, allowing me to hold her hands so that I can help her with the paddling. Her hands are small, and fit under my own curved palms like the stacking cups she had as a baby. We push the water down together with strong slow strokes. I tell her to feel the water pressure against her hands, and to push the water down with purpose. She chants at each stroke, "With purpose! With purpose!" And then, magically, she is swimming! I let go, and she is off on her own, flying across the pool as though she has done it all her life! She is ecstatic, and glowing. Today, she believes in her heart that she can do anything. I think she might be right.
Monday, November 20, 2006
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