Rhode Island

Hey, fun-loving New Englanders. Here's a ride that you
alone power. None of that new-fangled electricity here, nosiree.
Work up a sweat to try to get this giant metal cage
ALL THE WAY AROUND! Maybe even induce
a heart attack, if you're lucky.

Candy colored Lincoln Park. I have no photos, but the pictures live strong in my mind of the glorious tack that was a 1970s family style New England amusement park. Mom would pack a lunch that I would dance through with anticipation in the parking lot. I was tall enough that my father took me on the Comet coaster and it's not an experience I'll soon forget: if not for my father's karate chop to my waist on that first hill, I was falling forward onto the tracks. Clack, clack, clack! Good times. My sister would invariably get sick on fried clams. Many rides I wouldn't consider tackling because I was certain my parents wouldn't go for it, but those cages that could, in theory, swing 360 degrees sure looked dangerous. I always felt bad for the people in the Monster ride ("Monster Ride") who would emerge on the second floor. The humans pinned against the circle ("The Round Up") had nope written all over it.

CHiPs for the tykes

Basically the same ride, but
not motorcycles, storks

Who could focus on sandwiches

when all this awaited?

I couldn't understand my mother's
aversion to this. I think I know
now. Back problems, anyone?

But what I did ride I'll always remember. Storks, motorcycles, boats, cars with horns and steering wheels that did nothing, some sort of garish barrel, rocket ships, cars, and the flimsiest ferris wheel this side of a carnie. I got into one of those bucket seated multi-armed deals ("The Scrambler") with my little sisters and misjudged the centipedal force to crush my baby sis. No one cared about safety or intestinal health back then. No padding on "The Whip". Very few seatbelts - just a bar to grip. No one seemed to have planned anything besides my mother's lunch: we'd see families strapped with massive plushies that would take the entire backseat on the ride home. Ugly, cheap, HUGE eyesores that they already regretted winning for $100 in today's equivalent. 

 

Burlap in use

I know this reveals my age, but times were different. By today's standard, I'm amazed that Lincoln Park didn't have a class action lawsuit daily. Nothing preventing the kiddos from bailing out of the boat ride into the brown water. Most rides just encouraged you to hold on as their risk-avoidance mechanism. We "rode" the big slide by climbing stairs and, get this, using half of a burlap bag as protection from the searing heat and friction burns. It is a wonder as many of us survived to adulthood, truth be told. Far scarier than "The Monster" ride, was a total lack of safety. But, it was fun.

You couldn't say you weren't
warned

Clinging to life

That "safety belt" I'm
quite sure does NOTHING

This is incredibly girly, but many of those arcade games had dolls made out of nylon stockings and outfitted like Mae West in a riot of pastels and pouf. I'd dream of these visions of femininity all night as I could still feel my body sliding down "the big slide". 

Yes, this is what a 9-year old girl dreams of in 1977.
She was the epitome of femininity in my eyes.

Nostalgia is a powerful thing. I have lost touch with that young, wild girl who was brimming with excitement. The world seemed so magical. It was magical.

clams!

Clams, 

clams,

You certainly had options to eat
a few clams

Cigs were encouraged. Leisure
suit optional.

My father drove me out of Rhode Island in an Oldmobile Cutlass Supreme in 1979. I just drove my own self out of Rhode Island and I couldn't believe I'd do the same horrible thing to myself. It is magic. Every corner has the cutest pre-Revolutionary homes with their diamond lead glass windows. I found the homes in Providence I remember thinking even back then, special. I visited Federal Hill finally and felt the presence of Guy Alba cutting hair until close to 100 years old. I grew up in a magical place and it's still breath-taking. Rhode Island gives you a sense of discovery. Maybe it's because I didn't actually have an itinerary and my co-pilot was Tootie Pie, but I am counting the days until Rhode Island is mine again.

Chandelier/Mobile Creative Direction

Fishy

I suppose I could have a convertible chandelier: that's the beauty of the hook idea! It's about time I put up the kitchen chandelier and I can develop the mobile portion later. I may have found two great creative directions. I don't want to make hundreds of tiny beaded fish only to discover that it doesn't quite look right. So a quick mock-up was in order and I think it may work. The chandelier is just over 20 inches in diameter, and the fishy is 1 inch. There are 6, 14 and 22 concentric sets of rings, or 42 strands. If each ring has 4 fish, that would be 168 fish, and if it has 6 fish, that would be 252 fish. That is doable.

Fishy x252 (but here only 52 of them)

Here is a mock-up of just the outer most row half completed. It already looks like it will appear full. We don't want a constant reminder of overfishing over our kitchen table! This project is on tap for tomorrow. I am putting off the switch because I'm not 100% sure that the electrical box will hold this heavy fixture. But, I know that the six arms will put out much more light than the current 120V inside a plastic coated fabric shade. 

So I must talk myself off the edge, but beads are so sparkly! And by now I've made 6 whole fish. They're mostly blue. I could justify this by saying that I am using up the beads that I have on hand, but ain't no way I have 252 fish worth of beads, who am I kidding? And I have bubble beads, but maybe only 5 or 6. Fun!

Ran out of black flower sequins so 
resorted to some sort of flanged deal
for one fish.

I kind of like the look of the ridged white crystal on the one and only green fish. To supplement my used up supply of eye sequins, I have a bunch of clear ones on order. And I have one more tube of light blue beads before I can justify purchasing more, but that day will come! I heard there are two separate hobbies: beading and collecting beads. They both sound doable!

And becoming a small
school

Now 14 fish start to
cluster

As I work on the fish and work through my bead stash, I am working out how they will be attached. I will most likely attach a jump ring and hang from clear fishing line. Only the hook will be in their backs, not their plump lips. Did you notice their luscious lips?

 

Bonus Marimekko Free-Form Rugs

A view of rectangular mate reflected in mirror

Beauties. I thought that hemming the contours of these rugs would be disastrous and I was pleasantly surprised. Because I tried to hem the rectangular base rug with yarn instead of thread, most of my problems with this simple job could have been avoided. Having switched to quilting thread makes things so much easier. Like with the rectangle, I couldn't manage to figure out the whip stitch so I just straight stitched both. That was another part of the problem with the larger rug.

So now the question is, do I do one more, in kelly? I think it's time to give the kitchen some love with the new chandelier and cushions (finally for the banquet).  

A rather unfortunate
worn spot on oak floors

Arial view reflected

Am I Self-Made? Not Society-Failed, At Least

Things went wrong in my childhood, naturally. I once was sent to the principal's office for successfully scaling a drainpipe to the 2nd floor. I carved "I hate Mom" into the softened wood of our window sashes when I was deprived of some long ago forgotten luxury. She absolutely could not deal with my grass stained knees. Normal stuff. So I was woefully unprepared for when, at 10, the wheels came off the bus and I moved from my idyllic New England town to Cleveland. Poor Cleveland is finally failing on its own merits instead of its poor comparison to Rhode Island. Puberty timed its entrance perfectly, making this life's earthquake all the more difficult, but as much as I was up against, I had a secret weapon: my three ladies. My sisters seemed like my world, because we were on a different level than Mom, but I'm the oldest, and Mom and I had a special friendship that was kind of unhealthy, I am realizing now. We built up a boogey man for our problems, and he had a face and name: Dad. Despite the fact that she was brutally ripped from her home and family, she faced the Midwest with her typical spirit of total dominance, done with a beautiful smile. 

I had my struggles with her, of course. Most notably, London. Oh, my, how we argued over that! I broached the topic one night of maybe trying out London for a summer because my roommate was, not because I actually wanted it. I paid for school on my own and was practical, and so it wasn't really an option, until my parents went code level orange because I floated an idea. Then my mind was made up and I was going to London whether I felt like it or not. Three months later, when I told my parents that we needed to talk, she said, "You're not going to London." I can be dominating, too, Mom, so it was too late. The tickets were bought, passport obtained, and it wasn't as if they could threaten to cut me off. Quite the chess move on my part! I was going to be self-made and visit abroad! And, so, I did.

So, I did do it solo financially the minute I was an adult, but whose idea was this? As long as I remember, I was going to college. Then I realized there was no money for it, but that was okay, because I'd been working hard at school which came easily to me, so I got grants and scholarships. A complete success story and I did it alone. I went back to London, then Paris. I got a frantic phone call one night from her because there was a problem with the lines and she made me pick a date to return and so I did: Thanksgiving. I wish I could have lived out my little adventure on my own time instead of artificially truncating it, but I was breaking Mom's heart.

So I returned to fucking Grand Rapids, Michigan, to live near Mom and Dad. It was a memorable year! Dad insisted on going to swim with me and always wanted to race. Mom did her pristine breast stroke so as to preserve the 'do. I introduced her to my date and she said, "Nice to meet you, Kurt". We left and he said, "That's weird! Your mom called me by my brother's name!". I had no idea what my date's first name was and had to look him up in the phone book. It turns out, he was unlisted, but not his brother! In any case, I had a true friendship with both of my parents, I guess you could say. Although, if you do say that, I'll have you know that Dad was a friend of my real friend. I hated that they were a package deal.

Picnic at one of Mom's secret beaches
and a custom summer dress for Lucy.

It is not fair that my friend is gone. I was planning on at least 10 more years. But, I have to look at the bright side which is that I had her for 53 years. And as for self-made, there is no such thing. Everyone once needed help. But there is such a thing as society-failed and it is only the luck of the draw that makes us one or the other. Many of my students were facing puberty without a solid parental figure helping. It is of course usually the female that helps these "self-made" individuals. I am fortunate. I had the best.

I just celebrated my daughter's 17th birthday at a wonderful Peruvian restaurant. Reminder: I have a minimum wage part-time job. She has a pretty awful parent, but I like to think that I am the parent she chooses to align with. I know that 95% of the rationale for that is our shared female connection. She is as independent as it is possible to be at that age but still in that weird area where she relies on us for cash and rides and food and - basically we're staff. Then we're vacation rentals and ATMs, I get it. I want to make college easier than it was for me, at least financially. She did the real work, though, which is getting her education and taking it seriously. 

I may be the only generation who got to sort of envision a future that actually panned out. Mom thought 4 years of college was impractical, because lengthening college shortened the amount of time she'd need to work, which would just be until she became a mother. Until me. But, ten short years later, she was back in the work force and I had to "prepare" dinner twice a week. She could have been the leader of the universe, but she constrained herself using the information she had available at the time. I lived the dream for a moment: I had a career in a male-dominated industry and I made a killing. I made a nest egg and now I can enjoy it. I did it, Mom! I wish you were here to celebrate your success. I wish, I wish, I wish...

Marimekko Rug - Status and Lessons Learned

My wacky arm is rising up in protest

My math is off! I finished less than a quarter of the marigold flowers and I have, of course, used half the yarn. How? I want to blame poor quality control for my miscalculations! So, here's what I learned so far:

• It is tedious! I need traction and I'm not even 1/5 done. Past Linda didn't consider Future Linda and wanted to get the 5' wide canvas in the 8' length (bought by the yard). I'd need to apprentice the next few generations if I had done this. Carpal tunnel is looking likely.

• 

  Inch by inch
  

  I was worried about the white flowers, and I never thought about kelly green not really being a big floral color outside of leaves. The colors looked juicy until I added the black center in the kelly flower and that cut the Zebra Stripe gum vibe somewhat. And the marigold could more accurately be called mac 'n cheese...
• Fuzz: we all know that new rugs shed. I can confirm. AND, the yarn isn't in its final, cut state. Oh, well, that's why I have the German vacuum cleaner.
• Right to left and bottom to top is the way to latch hook if you're a righty like me. In other words, exactly the opposite of my instinct and most likely how I did my Lucy rug. But then, I ride snowboard goofy, so find what works for you.
• Soothing. Maybe because I did it during the good old days of my childhood, maybe it's my female ancestors echoing in the wool that they spun and crocheted to make spending money, but it feels comforting to do this. It calls to me to do one more row.
• Yarn quality is mixed. I bought a Cascade 220 white to test and mixed it in with the Hobbii white and I cannot tell the difference. The thickness does seem to vary more with the Hobbii brand, but it holds its ply better than the Cascade, so I think it is better for latch hooking, IMO. When all the threads are shmushed together vertically, you cannot see that some strands are fraying, again, IMHO.

I will let you know how ordering more yarn from other color lots goes. Let me finish the two cheesy flowers I started and I will address this problem later. Maybe Jesus will perform a miracle and fish occurrence and it will all go to plan, tee hee hee!

Will I persevere and finish or will this languish in a closet while my arm recuperates? Stay tuned!

Breaking Away from Convention

I was a teacher. Once a teacher, always a teacher. It is impossible to not want to enlighten people once you've developed a taste for it. I spend a great deal of time thinking, and when I'm not thinking, I'm talking. Talking clarifies my thoughts, but so does putting emphasis on reflection.

So much wisdom to impart. So, I documented here on this blog my health scares that resulted in my attention to every moment of every day. Nothing is guaranteed, and I am now on my 3rd major health scare, and, even if it doesn't actually get easier to deal with fear and pain, it is my fear and pain and I am feeling something. That's life. It can be sublimely ecstatic or dreadfully painful, but it's an experience! Feel the wonderful life that is within you; let nothing be lost upon you - Oscar Wilde

I look to the greats for bits and pieces of my philosophy. I also look to travel to broaden my mind and see things in a way I never would have expected. I cannot plan travel for quite some time due to my health issues, but I can still read the greats, who did travel. Here's some of their unattributed wisdom:

• The Paris slums are a gathering-place for eccentric people - people who have fallen into solitary, half-mad grooves of life and given up trying to be normal or decent. Poverty frees them from ordinary standards of behavior, just as money frees people from work.
• And there is another feeling that is a great consolation in poverty. I believe everyone who has been hard up has experienced it. It is a feeling of relief, almost of pleasure, at knowing yourself at last genuinely down and out. You have talked so often of going to the dogs — and well, here are the dogs, and you have reached them, and you can stand it.
• It is fatal to look hungry. It makes people want to kick you.
• He might be ragged and cold or even starving, but so long as he could read, think and watch for meteors, he was, as he said, free in his own mind.
• Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things can not be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.
• Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.

This is one of my favorite books, by a famous author, but I bet you can't guess the author. No cheating.

Right now, my convalescence that was a gift from my sister and father is coming to a close. I need to get back to the grind and yesterday, sick or not. I have used this time, amongst other things, to travel back in my mind. It has been one of the best trips I have ever taken. I have an old friend to thank for that: a very, very patient friend who may not have pure intentions but neither do I. I am very lucky. Even not feeling well, I am enjoying myself. And, hey! if this great author can be cold, ragged and starving and yet broad and free, I can do it warm, ragged, and starting to finally fill up.  

Easy Tutorial - Starburst Mirrors

Picture is intentionally framed to show a peek
of the beautiful hot pink silk saree
I got a Goodwill Outlet (mmmmhhhhmmmm,
you heard that right), where you buy
BY THE POUND! Due to elaborate beading, it weighed 2 lbs!

 

And, I think new to this 

blog, my Bjorn Winblaad 

print and matching 

starburst mirrors!

Tape protects what's left of the mirrors

Yes, again. Starburst mirrors again. This time, they didn't match and many of the mirrors had long since disappeared. But, I might have paid $2 for a bag of 5. Spray paint on hand, tape on hand, tarp on hand, mirrors on hand. 

Maybe not so much a tutorial as, pictures, and, well, figure it out! Montana Black spray paint in Power Yellow. Mirrors: Michael's, years ago. 1 inch? No tag left. Makes them wonkier. I would have gone for gold, but I haven't had positive experiences with gold spray paint, and I wasn't painting spokes by hand in oil paint. Talk about a high!

Finished product on tarp, off-gassing

A tiny touch of overspray

Total cost: $2! 

Welcome Back, Dear Readers!

Still living in Queens

Warning: many, long-saved, not posted, blogs are on-deck now. I am mostly home alone during the day, making phone calls (remember those?), getting costumes ready (it IS that time of year), getting to the bottom of the laundry (that trip to Bushwick didn't help in that department), etc. Very interesting stuff!

These posts aren't about costumes or cake. No. They're about the DOE. That might be a problem. Whatever. Buckle up, people. There's a lot of them.

In the meantime, I am looking up bathroom codes on my phone when studio women appear in the middle of your triangle of bathroom would-be enterers. And opens the door with the keypad on the handle. Editing videos of skating and the Nutcracker. Living life.

For those eager students out there, start by looking up the 3020a process. Charlotte Danielson. Michael Bloomberg. I'll stop...

So, be warned. I'll see about adding an unsubscribe button to the homepage.

Who Am I? A Rambling Attempt to Figure Out My Life.

6/17/14 2:15 PM I had a minor meltdown at work today where I lost control at a student.  Nothing physical, but that sassy - no, rude - child received the full force of my anger.  I had a similar moment immediately after I returned to teaching after my stroke, and the scary thing about that craze was the instigating infraction was trivial compared to the diatribe it provoked.  I chalked that incident up to what, in essence, was my brain injury.  The thing about a stroke is that it changes you; the essence of who you are is your brain, and your brain is not the same after a stroke.  My brother-in-law is a quadripelegic, so physically he is completely different than he was before his spinal injury, but he is still the same person.  I, on the other hand, look the same as I did before my stroke; it is the inside that changed.

So, back to today.  One of my collegues passed away one week ago, and she was a gentle, caring teacher who lived her life following the model of God.  Because she was suffering from stage IV cancer, her honors class that she intended to loop with for a three-year stint was given to me after only a year.  I'm sure this ripped at her heart, and she would come in during my classes with them often.  Even during her chemotherapy, she continued to come to work, because she lived to teach, and loved her job.  Those of you who know me, know I no longer love teaching.  I did, and in theory I still do, but the joy and love of it has long ago left. 

When I attended her service, I listened to the Rabbi and swore I'd model my life after Mrs. S. and show love, love, love, especially to those poor, hurting children I share a building with.  And then, today happened.  Can I use the excuse of my stroke, which is now five years in the past?  Am I grieving my coworkers loss?  Am I just making excuses?  Who am I?  What do I stand for?

Ladies and gentlemen (are there any male readers out there?), is this an e-midlife crisis?  Should I tweet my pre-menopausal angst? 

10/20/23 1:58 PM 
Okay, Update! It is now 9 years later and I had another meltdown and I am now retired. Very much post-menopausal now. My brother-in-law, the quadriplegic, passed away just before the pandemic. Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around every once in a while, you might miss it.

Retirement! Art! Murano Glass!

Hi all! I have been gone quite some time! I did Grand Jury duty here in Queens in February of  2020, and after that, everything is a blur.

Now Tootie Pie is 16 and a junior in high school. We still second-hand shop and I found a Ziploc bag full of Murano glass. Actually, I found 2, but I left the one with just the balls behind and took the one with the flowers! I retired just under three weeks ago from teaching, and I'm getting creative again.

Found canvas from former gym near Tootie Pie's former dance studio.

Gold paint, glitter, iridescent medium...all is off to a great start!

Extended lighter shade of gold up higher. Added blue.

Trying to arrange the glass. Not quite it with the flowers and bursts. Certainly the stems aren't popping against the black. Added green middle.

Green stems on white background?

Glass finding its home now. New York, New York, New York is on fire!

Flower color explosions.

Firework explosions.

Adding in a detail from my niece!

Now adding some origami from Tootie Pie.Green stems obviously stay on green background.

Paint containers temporarily supporting the more vertical structures.

Process in detail, and then a detail. I call it, Find the 14K Cultured Pearl (with tear and misfire). It will go in Tootie Pie's room where the star chart is temporarily.

It is an ode to New York, obviously, but with heirlooms and treasures unearthed in Sarasota and in the bead district and during our still current crystalling phase, and from Rhode Island (I challenge you to find the Avon daisy earring! My first communion cross! I Spy!) and little girls in the Midwest and love. It is also a redoing of the little girl undoing I did to my Nana's lovely shell doodad, a memento of her one tropical vacation, the Bahamas. I picked off every pearl and shell on that thing. I couldn't help it. Guess what I had to physically restrain Tootie Pie from doing when I unveiled this? And most of those pearls were my Nana's...

Almost found its way into the thrift bin (sadly, the thick custom acrylic shelf DID), but then...

I peeled off the circle scale things, painstakingly removed the hot glue, and had to cover up the poorly hidden Corona, Queens based art that was originally, um, flesh-colored...

Made with: thrifted AND reused canvas, white paint and gesso, vinyl tarp, Liquitex iridescent medium, Murano glass, coral, semi precious cut and smoothed gems, faux and one real pearl, barnacles, beads, sequins, origami paper, hand lettered beaded chain, turquoise, Mod Podge, E6000, Aleene's fabric glue, flat back crystal glue, walnut in shell, shells, charms, sterling silver, craft paint, fabric paint, 3D puffy paint, 3D puffy glitter paint, stickers, Testor's oil gold paint, Dutch and Swiss coins, a Euro, pendants, glitter, glitter card stock, tassels, Jelly Belly, Scrabble tiles, ceramic tiles, math manipulatives, plastic, pompoms, nail polish, buttons, plushies, bells, wood, earrings, many custom Golden products from long-ago A.C. Moore's closeout sale, marbles, Angelus leather paint, faux fabric flower, rocks, metal fittings, matching faux peridot earrings from Ann & Hope that didn't go through my sister's digestive system, thank you. 

It feels good to get this out of my system!