Teach, Be Taught and Reminded

Remember, this teaching concept is pretty new to me. Unlike the one on one situation in my studio, the shawl pin workshops are taught in yarns shops, community buildings or, as this one was, a private school. I start by saying that although it is billed as a shawl pin workshop you can make anything you want. I do a simple demonstration detailing simple forging, bending and finishing techniques then I switch into hovercraft mode to be on hand for any questions. Susan Levine, my high school boyfriend, Ben's sister taught me this way when I was about 19. Today I have a studio full of tools, but in watching a new student working through the concept of making metal do their bidding using just a few simple tools, I remember all the feelings of wonder I had. I miss the simplicity of that process.

I knew Anne from our days at Curves. We had spoken occasionally and always with a shared style of directness and honesty. I didn't know she worked at the school where the class was being held. I did know she wove beautiful baskets because we had both shown our work at the annual Annisquam Art and Craft Show. At first she asked a few questions and I remember doing another quick design. I don't think she had a goal to make anything specific. She picked up some pliers and some wire and started making a spiral. I love that shape as it stands for growth and change, two things I am wanting for myself. She completed one and then decided to try a different metal in a different gauge. Somewhere along the process the elements were linked together and leather chord added. The end result was this beautiful necklace.

With independent study I "show and tell" and they go home and work on their own. I miss being witness to the "Ah Ha" moments like I saw with Anne. It is seeing that moment happen for someone else that is hard to describe. It reminded me of my own "Ah Ha" moments and also gave me that hard to define feeling that came from knowing I had helped someone else to experience it. What a gift!

Blog On,Leslie

The Secret is Out

Or the jig is up.

The last two days here have revealed Mother Nature's secret. She will deliver spring this year. The air is milder, the wind a mere breeze, the birdies are tweeting. (Leslie can identify individual bird calls. Me - I can tell a mourning dove coo from a woodpecker tapping, but that's about it.)

The days are longer, the light in the sky less gray and more mellow, the cove a bright turquoise and not gunmetal gray. The cats have new nap spots for daytime; instead of downstairs close to the propane stove, they're taking over my bed upstairs under the skylight where the sun now streams in. I'm finishing up wool projects and thinking longingly of crocheting with cotton or silk.

Yeah, I know we're supposed to have a storm tomorrow. That's just a conspiracy by the supermarkets and the TV weather reporters to sell bread and boost ratings.
- Maureen

PS. It's now Friday. The rain is coming down in sheets, our street is flooded a quarter of a mile away, and the wind is howling. I still maintain it's a SPRING storm as there is no snow. Hope springs eternal, as they say.
-M

Theater Therapy

Tonight was the 4th performance of the Vagina Monologues at the West End Theater in Gloucester, MA. This is the second time I have been in the cast of this amazing work. Both times they have required me to stretch. Both times have been the catalyst for growth. That, I am beginning to realize is what happens when I push myself out of the comfort zone. One minute I have a hard time imagining myself doing something with confidence and ease and the next moment I can't conjure up why I ever could have doubted my abilities. Truthfully there is occasional back sliding, but on the other side always dwells an expanded self.
The other benefit it the amazing cast members I met. They represented all levels of acting experience, a variety of ages and professions yet with all that mix there was a wonderful camaraderie. As with the last group, I know I will always feel a special closeness to the woman with whom I shared this time.
So if you ever are presented with the opportunity to be a part of local theater, jump at it! The rewards are unique and lasting.
Blog On!
Leslie

Never underestimate a Bull Terrier

With Leslie in Portland, I'm here in charge of the shop, the cats, and the subject of today's blog - my mini bull terrier, Joon.

Joon is an old lady now; she sleeps probably 20 hours a day, spends a lot of the rest of her time eating or peeing. But in her younger days - what a rapscallion!

I first got Joon when she was retired from the show ring and couldn't be bred due to a heart murmur. The woman I got her from warned me that Joon needed to crated when I wasn't home. One of my friends (who had never dealt with a bull terrier) said, "Oh Maureen, just dog-proof the kitchen. You can put a baby-gate on the door and let that be Joon's room while you're out."

First time I tried that, Joon got the doors open under the microwave cabinet and had herself a Tupperware party. Exit all my plastic containers as every single one had been chewed on. So now that cabinet was empty, so the kitchen was safe, right? Hah.

The next time I went out, Joon got the door open to the half-bath off the kitchen. She found a big jug of laundry detergent in there, somehow got it to the middle of the kitchen floor and started chomping on that. When I got home, there was a rapidly-spreading blue puddle in the middle of the floor, and Joon was walking around smacking her lips with distaste. Not knowing what would happen to a dog who drank Arm & Hammer for an evening cocktail, I called Angell Memorial (the wonderful animal hospital in Boston). The vet tech who answered the phone could hardly control herself. This was the funniest thing she'd heard in a while, and she really lost it when I reported that Joon was burping bubbles. That was the end of Joon's Reign of Kitchen Terror. Back to the crate went she.

On her second birthday, my neighbors and I had a birthday party in our shared yard with Joon and their lovable Golden Retriever, Dillon. Joon shook off her party hat, ate her own treats, stole Dillon's while nipping him on the nose, and then puked. I could imagine the story in the local paper "Teen strips naked at party, assaults boyfriend, vomits in public."

Her most recent birthday (her 13th) was much more sedate. I'm hoping to see at least a couple more for the old girl, as long as they're happy ones.

January- yes Portland, ME- yes Mondays- NO!

Leslie here, reporting from Portland, ME. just seeing what the world off Cape Ann has to offer. In a few short weeks I'll be here at the Doubletree Inn for the Spa Knit and Spin event. I planned on seeing some museums and galleries and introducing myself to the local yarn shops who might want to host my Shawl Pin Making Workshop. Good idea on the wrong day. Museums are closed as are many of the galleries. That said, it's still great to be here. For those of you who visualize me sitting in a trendy cafe with a fancy laptop, sorry. I'm here in the Portland Public Library which is spacious and modern, using their computer.
Well off to find some more LYSs who don't care if it is Monday.
Blog On!
Leslie

Long Live the Reflector Queen

It was the winter of 1968 and all the girls were getting ready for spring break. When it was sunny many of us skipped class and sat outside the cafeteria where is was protected from the wind. There we slathered ourselves with baby oil mixed with iodine to "protect" our skin and opened up our reflectors. These were large, three foil covered cardboard segments that opened to direct the sun's rays. Most of us were content with one but I do remember one girl with a short late '60's asymmetrical platinum bob who owned three ( face, torso, legs) to keep her mahogany skin, well, mahogany. We were told to wear those tiny plastic eye protectors that look like a cross between a lorgnette and Barbie's push up bra. Yeah, right! I remember being told I would be wrinkled when I was forty. I swear I remember thinking "Me? Forty? (another) yeah, right!
My mom never used a reflector but she gardened and played golf. She literally had a tan line through her shirt from her bra. I remember her regular visits to a dermatologist to undo years of unprotected sun exposure. She began to resemble a raisin. I started using high number suntan lotions.
I spent part of this morning in a waiting room that served many doctors, waiting to see a dermatologist. This was my first visit and I had been warned that I should expect to wait. By the time I saw him I had moved beyond being edgy from the wait to grateful. Sometimes waiting rooms will do that to you. Besides, I live in a small town and there were several people also waiting that I knew. I chatted until my name was called.
He looked: he sprayed; we talked; I left.
Long live the Reflector Queen.
Blog On!
Leslie

Haiku

Bright sun shares no warmth
Sea smoke drifts above the cove
Winter's coldest day.

- Maureen