Crafting

Classes, part 1

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I wrote up three new classes for the members of the maker space I belong to. I’ll be offering a class in using our heat press to make unique gifts. This will include training on our Cricut cutting machine for cutting vinyl for stencils and transfers.

Our heat press has attachments for applying vinyl designs to shirts and other flat items, for mugs and tumblers, ball caps and two sizes of plates. We actually had it sitting around disassembled for almost a year until I finally put it together and taught myself how to use it. I’ve given classes in its use before but it doesn’t get much use since we got screen printing set up.

What I plan to show my students is that the combination of the Cricut and heat press can give them more options for unique personalized gifts. I recommend screen printing for runs of multiples of the same t-shirts or fabric goods. We do have several members who use the Cricut or our big vinyl cutter to make stencils for screens, but for a one-off, the two machines work well.

My second class is basic book binding. I’ve been repairing and making books since 9th grade. I had a open period and started working in the library during that time. We would be given discarded books that had missing pages or wrecked bindings. My job was to make a page template and type up the missing pages from a borrowed copy to be bound into the book. This was ages before copy machines were a thing.

I found it much more interesting work than taking what was called Home Economics which was a course for only female students to prepare them for a home and family. Now Home Ec has been repackaged for both female and male students to teach them some life skills, but not nearly enough skills.

I actually have a side business of repairing older books by hand. I’ve restored both leather and cloth bindings and rebind those that need it. I no longer type up missing pages, but I do use acid-free tape to repair torn pages.

My bookbinding class will have the students build a book from making the signatures and cover to assembling the signatures and cover to make a useful notebook. In the interest of time, I will make basic kits containing the papers, and chipboard, decorative papers, and permanent glue sticks. We won’t be making books to last for ages – just something easy and usable.

Stuff

Chainsaws and lilacs

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I have three dying lilacs in my back yard. The trunks lean out and most, while they are not dead, produce only leaves. They’re also over 15 feet tall. When they do produce blooms, it’s out of season. I’ve had blooms appear as late as November. Not many flowers, and they don’t last as long as spring blooms.

So I’m cutting them down almost to the ground. What portions of trunks left will sprout and they will be easier to maintain. The current trunks are 6 to 7 inches in diameter. The heartwood centers of many of the trunks have rotted out. Some trunks are rotting at the base; I can wiggle them.

Two winters ago, a trunk fell over. I used my chainsaw to cut it into 6 foot lengths so I could haul it to the street. Sometimes I say “haul it to the curb,” but my street is curb-less. Most of my immediate neighborhood has no curbs or sidewalks. We’re not due to get any yet, but we will, when the city gets around to redoing our streets.

Some of my male friends want me to call them so they can use the chainsaw for me. I keep reminding them that I’ve been using the saw for 10 years without problems. It’s electric and the second I release pressure on the trigger, it stops. I don’t have steel-toed shoes, but I’m not wearing flip-flops or sandals either.

I have my safety glasses, ear plugs and long pants, and I try to keep the fence at my back, so I can see anyone approaching. Same as when I use my table-saw. I place it so I can see out the garage so I’m not surprised by someone coming to my rear.

I ordered a couple of new chains for the saw and I’ll use the old ones to learn how to sharpen them. I’ll have someone at the maker-space show me how. No, I have not been using a dull chain for 10 years. That’s a good way to get hurt. The saw usually only got used when old man maple or old lady evergreen dropped large branches in my yard. The last branch was was from the maple and was 25 feet long.

The first branch that dropped into my yard was from the spruce or whatever evergreen the neighbor’s tree is. The branch was 14 feet long and destroyed my clothesline poles by falling across the lines. We have have an 8-foot maximum length for branches put on the street for pick-up. So they have to be cut. Since I’m just a little old lady, I generally cut them into 4-foot lengths.

The straighter of the lilac pieces will go to the bottom of the woodpile to dry out for future burning. I’ll be shifting the pile to the side fence so the neighbors can grab some without coming into my yard. It will take a few days to shift. In addition to the new lilac wood, there’s still a tree’s worth of split firewood from before I bought the house 18 years ago.

Over the the years, I’ve burned or given away a tree’s worth. When I bought the house, the wood from two trees was stacked behind the garage. That was a woodpile than ran about 10 feet across the rear of the garage, by 3 feet tall by 2 rows deep. Each section of trunk or branch was about 15 inches deep/long. Long after my kids toss me into a nursing home, the new owners will have firewood.

I haven’t burned as much as I could, because for a long time, and maybe even still, you couldn’t bring your own wood from home to a campsite at the State parks. That was enforced to curtail the spread of the Emerald Ash Borer.

Once I get the wood done, I’ll be working more on my craft room and get back to crafting. I have more classes planned for the maker-space including melt and pour soapmaking and book-binding. I’ll keep you posted.

My own damned opinion., Weaving

Today

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Today, I danced and played air guitar. I can’t play a real guitar. Arthritis sucks. For some reason only my middle fingers are weirdly crooked. I can’t make a decent fist with either hand. I have trouble holding knitting needles and crochet hooks. So I’m left with the world’s almost largest yarn stash.

There’s yarn in two closets, in bins under my bed, in baskets on a bookcase, bins in the basement, and in a box in the garage. I swear yarn breeds if you keep odd balls of it in bins and such. You toss the odd ends of skeins into a storage bin and the next time you look, the bin is full of half-grown skeins.

Put a few of them in yet another bin and that one fills up. I keep giving yarn away and yet there’s always more. I gave away two large boxes of yarn from my stash. By large, I mean two boxes of the size that would hold a two-drawer file cabinet. There’s a guy that belongs to the same maker space as me whose partner works as a social worker for the Corrections Department. Once a year, I fill up a box with yarn and give it to him and his partner takes it to be used by inmates in the system as occupational therapy.

I have reduced the stash somewhat. A friend died a few years back and left me all her yarn and unfinished projects in 15 plastic bins, each the size of four shoeboxes, and a floor loom. I have two bins left in the basement from her. There’s an under-bed box of yarn still in the garage and four bins still under my bed.

I’ve kept the best of the yarn for weaving shawls, table runners, and towels. Last year, I sent handwoven placemats to my daughter and oldest granddaughter for Christmas. I currently have what will be hand towels on the big loom.

Weaving is rather relaxing. I’m using variegated yarn for both the warp and the weft with white also as weft thread. For those of you unfamiliar with weaving, the warp is the threads tied onto the loom and the weft is the threads that go over and under the warp threads. Think of the warp as running north and south and the weft as running east and west. I should have 4 towels done by Christmas.

I’ve been watching various videos about the ongoing kerfuffle known as political campaigning. It’s both interesting and disturbing. This country needs to find a viable third party to give us better choices – or not. Different choices then. I’ll vote. I have to. There’s too much at stake not to. Maybe it will make a difference.

Ta ta for now.

My own damned opinion.

Good Morning, People of Earth.

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This is Stretchen DeTruth of CSX News. We have finally been given the go-ahead to reveal that Presidential Candidate, Donald J Trump and billionaire mogol, Elon Musk are on a mission in space to meet with a race of aliens called Stav-Ings. The aliens sent a message to Earth requesting to meet with our important people. The two ego-maniacs. Sorry. Strike that. The two self-important men…

…Hold on. Whoops. Can’t say that either.

The two men departed Earth under the cover of setting up a new type of communications satellite to communicate with the aliens. The alien ship has begun moving toward them. We eagerly await…

What’s that?

This just in….

Translators from NASA have decoded the aliens’ message. What? Can you repeat that?

Oh My God!!!

THE REAL MESSAGE FROM THE ALIENS SAYS “WE ARE STARVING. SEND MEAT!”

About me, Crafting

Paper Tube Figures and Memories

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I’ve started making some cats and birds with the cores of toilet rolls based on similar things I’ve found on Pinterest. They’re small and currently covered in torn book pages. I need to put another layer of torn paper and methylcellulose. I’m out of wheat paste and the better white glue, but have plenty of the methylcellulose powder. A tablespoon of powder, hot water, and then cold water make a bit less than a cup. More than enough for a couple of papier-mache projects.

I’m going to use handmade paper for the final paper layer to give texture to the figures. Then they will be painted with acrylic paints. I’ll use them as examples of what people can do with imperfect handmade paper scraps.

I collect cat-related things – hot pads, towels, earrings, live cats. I’m down to just one cat. She was once feral and doesn’t trust other cats. When she first came here, I had two elderly cats- a tortie and a grey tuxedo. Sadly, they both crossed the Rainbow Bridge to join Greta, Claire, Spooky, Mao, Nermal, Perrin, Shmoo, and a few whose names I’ve forgotten.

I’ve forgotten them not because I didn’t care for them, but because I realize that my elderly brain is forgetting a lot of my past life. Most of my childhood is gone. That’s no great loss, except I don’t remember too many good times. I remember getting my piano because the workers had to remove a window and use a block and tackle to hoist it up to the front room of our New York Apartment.

I remember my youngest uncle coming in drunk and throwing up beans and franks on my baby brother who was sleeping in his crib. I think my uncle was living with us and sharing the baby’s room. I was in either first or second grade at the time.

I remember chasing after this same brother when we lived in Connecticut a few years later. I used to take him with me to the little store that was located at the end of a wide wooded path. He made it there once by himself and the owner called my mom and told her my brother was there.

The time I chased after him, I was supposed to be watching him outside, but he escaped. I thought he went into the house, but he hadn’t. I took off for the store and caught up with him halfway there, chanting, “found penny. Going to Mike’s!” Mike’s was the name of the market. I didn’t want them calling my mother again. I feared the wooden spoon she used on me. That I remember.

I also remember I was in 9th grade when I got my last whipping with my father’s belt. Afterwards, he asked me why I made him do that. Well, Daddy I didn’t mean to jump into you, but I got stung by a bee. Excuses were not allowed.

Some memories are best forgotten, but those are the ones that pop up from time to time. Now that you’re depressed, don’t be. I survived my parents and moved away from them. They’re both dead now and I don’t miss either of them.

My siblings have different, kinder memories for the most part. I don’t know how they did it. My youngest sister is permanently branded from when our mother hit her with a hot steam iron when she was 5. The oldest of my two brothers was abandoned by both my parents at age 15.

The sister 10 years younger than me was made responsible for our 4 youngest siblings at age 11. She finally ran away and was put in a foster home at age 13. She allowed our mother to live with her for several years when our mother was homeless.

I kicked my mother out of my apartment by calling the cops on her when she left my 5 year-old son alone in my apartment when he was home sick. She wound up in a shelter until one of my younger sisters took her back East, where she was kicked out of three nursing homes for scaring the other residents.

Mental illness is strong in our family. It doesn’t just run; it hops, skips, dances, and pirouettes.

Crafting, Stuff

Craft Room

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I was actually in my craft room last evening for several hours. I made a painting of a cat. It’s “ugly-cute” as my youngest grandchild once described my former dog. It’s not one of my best, but it represents an effort to get back into creating art, and books, and other types of crafting.

My goofy cat painting

It’s been almost a year since I’ve actually created anything. The depression has been bad. Before The Road Trip From Hell, I was up in the craft room almost every day making junk journals, drawing, and making collages. After TRTFH, I was deeply distressed after the breakdowns of the car, the unexpected extra hotel bills and the lies about being reimbursed for the tows and the extra stays.

My sister called me last week, asking if I had a passport and if I wanted to take another trip with the two of them to Europe. I declined, citing the need for a new roof. My next trip will be to Pennsylvania for my granddaughter’s wedding. I don’t plan to travel with any of my siblings again. I might visit some of them next year if the world doesn’t end.

I’m not certain my son will be going to the wedding with me. He called yesterday after visiting his doctor and he broke his pelvis. I know he fell down stairs, but I don’t know if it was work-related or if it occurred at home. So long as he can still work and not move in with me, I’m not going to worry about him. He can only lift 10 pounds for the next 4 months which affects his work. I’m not certain how comfortable he will be sitting in the car for the trip to Pennsylvania.

Mostly me, My own damned opinion.

Shed and Pain

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So now, my son has fallen and hurt his back. so he can’t help assemble my shed – yet again. There’s always an excuse. I don’t doubt he fell or that he hurt his back. However, he’s one of the biggest drama queens other than his father, that I have ever known. Where did I go wrong? Or is it just him?

I guess that I just naturally work through whatever pain. When I was in college, I had to finish a hike with not one, but two sprained ankles. This was way before any type of battery operated phone. No one knew where I was. I was alone and wasn’t anywhere that I could hobble to a phone.

I was in pain for days after that, but I made it across campus to class. People asked why I was limping and I didn’t want to admit that I had jumped a creek and landed with both feet in a hole. The hole wasn’t big enough for one foot, let alone two. I was just glad I hadn’t broken one or both of them.

If I hadn’t been able to hobble out, my bones would probably still be in that ravine and I would have my own episode of Unexplained Disappearances. “She was a quiet girl, but we really didn’t know her that well. She just up and disappeared one day. We thought she left for her parents’ home in Connecticut. It was odd that she left her stuff.”

Other painful episodes involved the usual female problems, a bad gallbladder, and assorted blood clots – DVTs – not congealed owies. Not to mention childbirth. Twice. And a bunch of misfires – not too many know about those, but the aftereffects were not great.

So anyway, back to the shed. It’s been two months since I bought it and two weeks since I took it out of the box because “I’ll be there Friday at noon. That should be enough time before I go to work.” So he said, except he didn’t show up because he was called into work and the next day, he was scheduled early. And he has this excuse and that one, and he made plans, and there was a concert, and…and…

Enough. so now, his back is hurt and he’s off work. I don’t know how he survives himself. He quit the job with the retirement, the holiday pay, paid time off, and the comprehensive medical plan to go back to working for pennies and tips and no insurance. Alcohol has seriously damaged his brain.

Alcohol dependence is not the complete issue. There’s a good chance his brain is doing an A-type misfire, but he’s never been diagnosed with any of the big A’s – Autism, ADHD. I can’t diagnosis him. My medical knowledge is bits and pieces gleaned from copying medical articles to send to doctors. That doesn’t qualify me to even say someone has a cold.

Some of the articles changed my perception of human intelligence, especially considering the recent pandemic. And don’t get me started on politics. The only thing I have to say is that when the Founding Fathers added a minimum age to be President, they should have added a minimum and maximum age as well, with term limits, for each of the branches of government. No one should be able to hold a public office for as long as their grandchildren are alive. End rant!

Stuff

Lawn mowers.

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My gas mower became hard for me to start. When I was still able to start it, I had to use a bungee cord to keep it running. It was just too difficult with my bad shoulder to keep yanking the pull cord. Eventually, the pull cord became too difficult for even my son to start it.

I bought a battery powered mower and have been keeping up with the front lawn until this year. We have had so many alternating days of rain and sun, that the electric mower can’t keep up. I only get 45 minutes to a charge, but it takes both batteries to run and the chargers takes at least 4 hours to fully charge them. The mower originally came with just one charger for both batteries so I bought a second charger so I wouldn’t spend all day charging two batteries.

Yesterday, I wheeled the gas mower out to find out what the problem was with the recoil starter. I disassembled the housing then pulled out the cord casing. I rotated the motor fins a few times and it was moving freely, so the motor hadn’t seized. I did check the oil and it was clean, since the mower got a tune-up and oil change when I did the snowblower.

I tried to start it and I’m not strong enough to pull the cord to start it, so I asked my neighbor if he would get it started. It was a little rough but did start. I used a bungee cord to wrap the handle and managed to get my front yard mowed. Yay me!

The mower conked out when I tried to cut the back. It’s gets like a hay field back there sometimes. I finally hauled out the battery powered one and most of the back is now done. It was too hot to finish.

Tomorrow – weed whacking.

Crafting

Current Mood

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I started this a couple of gloomy days ago. Grey. Grey skies again. Raining – good for plants, bad for me. it’s so dark at 8 am. This will be another day of not getting my shed assembled. I can’t do it alone, but my help is really bad on the follow-through. Is it bad parenting? Or is the alcohol?

My family where I live consists of two people other than me – my son and my youngest granddaughter. I rarely see either of them. My son has to work, made plans with a friend he hasn’t seen in 5 years, doesn’t have gas money, promised someone he’d help them do their yard, or some other equally obnoxious excuse. The only time I hear from him is if he needs gas money or food.

My Granddaughter works, and when she’s not working, watches her younger sister, or hangs with friends. She’s still a kid at 16, soon to be 17. I cut her plenty of slack. I’m not her responsibility. If I call her and say I need her help, she’ll figure out a day and time. But I don’t impose on her.

So my shed is in its component parts waiting. If it wasn’t a two-person job, I’d have done it by now. Enough bitchin’ and moaning. You’re not here for that. You’re here to find out if I ever made it to the Quilt Museum. Yes I did. The Wisconsin Museum of Quilts & Fiber Arts, located in Cedarburg, Wisconsin, has been hosting the traveling exhibit 25 Million Stitches: One Stitch, One Refugee.

This exhibit is an artistic collaboration from many different nations and people about human displacement, immigration, and solidarity. It consists of over 25 million hand-sewn stitches, each representing a single displaced human being. The stitches are sewn on muslin banners of varying lengths, which were connected to form banners each 14’ long. Completing this physical representation of this huge statistic required participation from over 2,300 stitchers from 37 countries and all 50 U.S. states.

I spent several hours there at the Museum, actually looking for my panel which I could not find. Several other guests helped after I showed a photo from my phone, but I never did find it. I thought I had, but it was not clearly visible from the floor.

The center aisle of the exhibit.
Some of the panels from the left side of
the room.
An example of some of the intricate stitchery that made of the exhibit.
The center panel of this image vaguely suggests the panel I made. I’m not certain it is actually mine.

That last photo was taken from the floor, looking up at the panel. It seems to be washed out by the overhead light. The picture below is what my panel looked like before I packed it up to send out.

My entry to the 25 Million Stitches Project.

I did find my name on the list of contributors so I know they received it. The exhibit has been traveling for several years not so there’s bound to be fading and damage even though they pack the banners very carefully. It was worth the drive even though my GPS kept trying to get me back on the selected route after I had to detour because one of the bridges was out of service for replacement.

Crafting, Stuff

Storage Shed and Other stuff

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The big project today was to assemble the shed I bought a month ago. The Boy Wonder came over early to finish laying the pavers for the shed base. But we didn’t finish because we both got over-heated preparing the ground for the paver base.

Tomorrow we need to re-do the pavers we did today. I totally forgot to put down the weed barrier. We still have one row of pavers to finish. Then we can assemble the shed and the yard equipment and furniture will no longer have to be stored in the garage. I might finally have enough room to pull the car all the way into the garage and be able to walk around it.

I’ve been working on my Will. That’s a lot of work. I spent 4 hours typing 5 pages. I’m not the best typist for words. Nor am I any longer a great number typist. I worked retail for so many years, and I was fairly fast with either hand, depending on how the checkout counter faced. But now I’m Miss Pokey. I never learned to touch type. That was taught in 9th grade, but I worked in the library at that class period.

The funny thing is that to replace missing pages in a book, we had to borrow a copy from the local library, create a page template, and then manually type the replacement text. So I did type but never learned the keyboard properly. Those replacement pages were then cut to size and inserted into the book. That’s how I learned book repair and re-binding – a skill I still use to make my own books and journals.

Today was supposed to be the day I held a paper-making class, but only one person had signed up. She’s willing to attend the August session which should have more people signed. Several who were interested had planned vacations for this July weekend.

I need to drive over to the Quilt Museum. I actually have a piece on display as a part of the 25 Million Stitches Project. It will be interesting to see the full display. Sad as well. Each stitch represents a refugee from an area with war, or drought, or other life-changing disaster. At this point in time, 25 million stitches is probably too few. I did 2500 stitches on my piece. Not nearly enough, considering the current state of the world.

And that is today’s update. I promise I will get back to crafting and posting pictures. The depression still has a tight hold on my brain, but I am getting better.

A blog about my crafting life.