Do you ever think about your shoes?

I have bad feet. My mother had bad feet. My grandmother walked funny, as she got older, so I'm thinking that she probably did too. Bunions, arthritis, corns, neuromas, arch problems, tendinitis, circulation problems, neuropathy...
 and the list goes on and on.
It's a little crooked gene somewhere in my DNA that I call Bad Foot Syndrome. Well, that's what I call it on a good day. Bad days have another unspeakable name that I use, but I won't use it here.
So, In the spirit of Thanksgiving I would like to give thanks to my shoes.

The ones that have , in this day and age of over abundant choices and high prices, brought me comfort  in my time of need.  A tribute to these pedestrian, uncomplaining support systems for my deteriorating infrastructure.

From the bottom clockwise I start with the Dexter; a sturdy maryjane/moccasin. Not much arch support but with my prescription orthopedic inserts I can be quite comfortable in them for a few hours.
The next one, the Dansko, is a Sunday go to meeting shoe. I can't wear my inserts with these but they are very comfortable and make my feet look sexy with my toes all lacquered up.
The Birkenstocks are... well... the last vestige of my life before bad feet. I love Birkies and will always have a pair, even though my podiatrist told me to not wear them. He doesn't understand that they are my link to accepting my wide (but somewhat attractive) feet and to the 60's when bell bottoms and tie dyed tee shirts ruled my life.
The Finn Comfort sandals were my mother's. They are very expensive shoes. I find them extremely comfortable in summer or winter(with socks). I will wax them and wear them until the cows come home. They have sentimental value.
Next is the Nicole. It's rare that you find a really comfortable shoe, that is in great shape, the right size ( I have a BIG foot.) and are made well... in a thrift shop. But this is where I found Nicole.
I can't wear any of these backless shoes with my inserts. The doctor doesn't know about Nicole.  She and I never visit the foot doctor together. This pair of shoes were purchased for $5.50 at the local thrift store.

The next two shoes are favorites because they are FELTED... of course.

 Haflinger is the pretty blue one with the embroidery. It's a clog type shoe that is really warm and comfortable. I can wear my orthotics with this shoe. I don't always. They're very comfortable both ways.
The Airwalk boot is brand new.

These were not expensive. I found them at Payless Shoes a few weeks back. Payless Shoes has really trendy (sometimes weird) shoes that are made inexpensively and fall apart fast. But sometimes they get brand names in there that are a cut above and at amazing prices. These are called Airwalks. This felted boot should have a name like Sven or Elsa but someone at Airwalk, for some strange reason, called it Marlynn.  I love Airwalks for there quirkiness (kind of like Rocket Dogs only less expensive.) and their ability to accept inserts without complaint. This pair was $39.99. Shoes made out of this synthetic felt are not waterproof but they are warm and, with socks, they are a good, winter choice here in California. They also have a zipper which helps getting them on and off.
As you can see. I love Airwalks and have a couple of pairs that I'm wearing into oblivion.

These shoes are like old friends. I can only wear them in the house and around the farm now. The left one is falling apart at the seams but I love these shoes. Don't you have favorites like these?
I have tennis shoes and work boots. I have waterproof  boots for slopping around in the goat pen. But these are my favorites and they deserve respect for a lifetime of service to my feet.
I bought a new pair of Airwalks last week.

They're kind of Converse  with some fufu on them. My insert fits perfectly in them.
Black is good. I hope they serve me as well as the others.

This is a tribute to my shoes.
I'm glad I'm not growing old back in my grandmother's day. The choices would have been black, short and boot-like with laces... or maybe, dark blue clunkers with a small heel. They didn't have inserts, orthotics and metatarsal cookies for sore spots. We are so fortunate that we have so many choices to make our lives easier and more pain free.
I salute my shoes and the manufacturers of them. I'm still not sure about the name "Marlynn" on the felt boot. But who knows, it's probably some executive's daughter's name. I can live with it.
Here's to shoes everywhere. I haven't seen them complaining at the Occupy protests around the country.... and if anyone has a right to complain about abuse and unfairness it's shoes.  Don't you agree?
They are thrown, dragged, left in messy closets, separated from each other and lost.
They are lucky if they are recycled at a thrift shop, but they usually meet a horrible end in some land fill.
I just wanted to say something about shoes today and let them know that someone appreciates them.

Love is An Old Friend

What was it that drew us to each other?

We were juniors in high school when we met. We lived in the same suburban houses... she on the northeastern end and I on the west. We went to different elementary schools and finally met in high school because of a mutual acquaintance.
What drew me to this life long friend in the beginning? Common interests or a need for contrast to my undeveloped and blossoming persona? The wanting of a friend with uncommon and interesting beauty in a world of conformity? Maybe it was her beautiful red hair, but I think it was more her energy of thought to my laid back, introspective, poetry writing self. She was an exciting gift of talent and creativity.
But, like a flower that unexpectedly appears in the winter and doesn't have enough sun to develop, she struggled. She would go from totally focused positive energy to anger at stupidity, and the injustices of the world. She was the spirit of protest in the 60's at Berkeley.
She was, and is, a uncommon flower in the storm of life.

This was a flower that struggled. Having been through many harsh winters even before I knew her.

 

My friend suffers from Bipolar Disorder. Possibly because of some DNA passed down from a loved parent who suffered too. She has struggled most of her life to maintain a balance... to look at life in a positive way and to be happy.
She is a brilliant, complex woman who is amazingly gifted. But, as a result of the drugs that give her stability, she frequently finds life flat and disconnected . The drugs take her creativity and interest away.
My friend was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder almost 15 years ago. She is a survivor. But it's not like being a cancer survivor. It's not about getting the tumor out and taking the treatments. It's not about seeing the end of the tunnel and moving on with hope and reassurance.
This is Bipolar Disorder and no matter what drugs you take, no matter how many therapist you talk to, it's an on going battle. Then, there are the scary moments when you realize that the drugs aren't working and the horror of knowing that, without constant monitoring of this insidious disorder, you might never find relief.
You want clarity. You want peace of mind.

The fence gate you see as a new direction might only lead to another set of ups and downs that are almost impossible to navigate and life becomes a series of potholes to fall into.
She dodged the land minds, running uphill until finally coming to a complete standstill, because being out of breath was as much about fear as it was about health.

I have walked this friend's road, off and on, for many years. I've seen her manic, brave, crazy in love, raising a daughter, very happy and very, very sad. I have watched her struggle with anger and be amazed by happy moments  and now I see her, as an older woman, still fighting for a balance.
She is my friend and I can only give her vegetable soup and hugs as if she had a cold or the flu.
I can only give her a place to stay, and comfort... a little laughter and listening.
It never seems enough.

Why does she have to struggle this much?
Where is the god of "Give me a frigging break!" ?

I love this old friend. She knows I do.
We talked about a puppy. She says maybe a Dachshund. She loves Carl and Cutter.
I think this would be a good idea, my friend. Let's do it.
I will be down there soon...

The Other Woman... Revisited

Do you see her? Do you see that ghostly apparition floating around in the front seat. I saw it.
It's probably the young woman who waited for her love to come back from the war 66 years ago. I wrote about it over a year ago and yes, she is still here.
For those of you who didn't know me then. I will direct you to this post and this one so you can understand my dilemma.  Because her beautiful body is back in the Prospector's head...
and she's calling his name.

I've had her locked away... kind of like being sent to Redemption Island on the TV show Survivor. But she never loses. She's always there. Waiting to return and be resurrected. This beautiful woman has survived many  years and she is not going down quietly.
Wednesday the Prospector (out of the blue) says, " I'm going down to the storage place. I need to get the battery out of the Chevy. "We" need to get the car started again... be sure she's OK."
"We"? I asked.
"I may need some help rolling her out of the shed and back in if I can't get to the battery."
 I knew that she was calling his name. He hadn't mentioned her all summer. He had been busy with other  projects. I guess the "honey do" list wasn't long enough.

 So we drove down to the storage place, punched in the 6 digit code for the iron gate, and drove up to our rented garage. I thought I heard a voice from the inside of our space calling my husband's name.
The Prospector jumped out and unlocked the door, then he stood there for a moment and just looked at the car.
Why does he have to be so open about this affair of the heart? It's way too obvious.

I got out of the car and walked into the space to take a look at my things in the back. I have a few pieces of furniture and my mother's living room rug piled in behind Miss America. Everything was there.
Then I turned around and opened the driver's side door and looked in.

She hadn't changed. She still smelled "old" and her windows were still glazed and cracked. I just don't see what the Prospector sees. He has vision.
Then I looked at the back seat.

I don't know how many young folks "used" this seat back in the day, but there is nothing like it in any of today's cars. It's big and it's comfortable.... and it has a pillow. A pillow that  says someone was indulging in comfort back here. I'll bet it could tell some stories.
Anyway, I looked back toward the steering wheel and that's when I saw this foggy stuff.

It was just there...hovering around the steering wheel. It wasn't reflected sun, or fog, on my lens.  I took this photo and look... you can see what I saw.
Yes, Farmlady...  maybe you've been spending too much time alone on the mountain talking to the goats and the deer. Maybe you are seeing things.
The Prospector opened the passenger door and when he did this, the fog disappeared instantly. He spent about 10 minutes getting the battery out from under the floor board. It was in an awkward place  and was strapped down.
We finally got the battery out without having to roll the car out of the storage space.
Then the Prospector looked under her hood... right in front of me.
He has no sense of allegiance to our relationship when he is around this floozy and he has started talking again about fixing her up. He wants to take her back to her original, young, beautiful self.
No wonder she's calling his name.
She better not call mine. She's trouble I tell you.
She will cost him a lot of money and take him places he may not want to go.
I don't know how to fight this woman. She's beautiful in a classic sort of way. She has huge headlights, a lot of chrome and white wall tires.
The Prospector did build me a potting shed this summer. I know he loves me.
We're like good felted fabric... strong, almost waterproof and connected forever, but this other woman is a powerful object of his affection.
I will have to engage in some clever subterfuge.
I will find her weaknesses.
I will let this relationship continue...
for a while.

Wordless Wednesday: Fried Green Tomatoes.. before frying.

From Yarn to Felted Scarf...

I finished the Noro yarn scarf.
I started with this beautiful "Oh my. I think I'm in love." yarn.

Rolled it into a beautiful ball of amazing color that changes magically as you knit or crochet.

 I crocheted the yarn, starting with a granny square, and then I triple crocheted half of the length of the scarf. I made two of these pieces and attached them to form one whole piece.
 This is how the scarf looked before felting...

Pretty but very open and loose. I chose crochet because I wanted to keep the pattern from disappearing when I felted it. As it turned out, I could have made a much shorter scarf because I didn't get the shrinkage in the length that I expected.
 I threw the scarf into a mesh bag. Set the washing machine on the lowest water setting and the hottest water. Tossed the bag in with a pair of jeans and an old towel. Added some liquid hand soap and agitated everything for just 5 minutes.
The scarf softened up but nothing happened.
Another 5 minutes... nothing.
At 15 minutes I started to see the wool tightening up.
Another 5 minutes. and the pattern was really pulling together.
It's fun to watch this happen and it was happening very fast.
(Again I didn't take photos. I'm always so involved in the process I forget to do this... and I was fixing dinner at the same time. Too much multi-tasking for this old lady.)
Finally at 25 minutes I pulled the bag out and checked the scarf for the last time.
It was done, baked... finished.
If I had continued for another 5 or 10 minutes the scarf would have tightened up to the point where the scarf would have been this skinny piece of wool that wouldn't look like the crocheted scarf that I worked so hard on. You have to be very careful not to over felt. You will lose all your hard work and all the colors. The pattern will blend together and disappear.
I took the scarf out of the bag and rinsed it in cool water. Then gently squeeze to get the water out. I rolled it up into a towel, laid it on the floor and stood on it to get as much moisture out as possible.
The whole scarf was very fuzzy and needed to be "cleaned up".
This is done with very sharp scissors and a steady hand. Because this is now a felted fabric, you can trim the edges and cut the fuzz off and it will not unravel. You have to be very careful though. You want to rid the scarf of the fuzz, not cut through it. I have used a razor for this on solid pieces of felting. It works well and is faster than scissors. I also have a lint shaver that I bought online at knitpicks.com This is a nifty little battery run, hand held defuzzer that can be used for anything that needs to be cleaned up or an old sweater that has pilled and looks awful. It's only $3.99 and well worth the price. I still like scissors for edges.
So, here is the finished felted scarf...

The scarf is very long. I really thought that it would shrink up, lengthwise, more than it did, so it's a very long scarf. It's an Isadora Duncan scarf, not silk of course, and not long enough to get caught in the wheels of a convertible car.
It's safe... and warm.
I'm very pleased with it. I stretched it out, pulling and shaping it as it dried, to show off the pattern.
Love the colors. Loved using a granny square on the ends.
Now... what do you think?
Buttons?

Two matching buttons in the middle of the granny squares?

Four buttons.. one on each corner?

Big and gaudy?

Vintage?

One big, one small?

Or no buttons at all.
Tell me what you think.
Maybe this scarf doesn't need buttons.
Maybe it's wonderful just the way it is.

Yarn Wonderland and Fiber Lust

This unassuming little store is call The Yarn Boutique. It's in Lafayette, California. They still called this area La Fiesta Square. If you have ever been to Lafayette you will remember that this is one of the older shopping areas.The store is in the back of the parking lot near a creek.There is ample parking nearby.
This yarn store is like falling into the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland.
I was Alice and I fell into a wonderland of yarn and fiber.

Oh my! You can hardly walk around the aisles. The place is filled to the brim with every yarn that you can imagine... and equipment... and books.. and needles.. and spinning stuff... and ... more yarn.
It is an over-abundant haven ("heaven")... for the obsessed.

And BUTTONS... thousands of buttons.

Samples of completed yarn patterns are everywhere, so you can see what the yarn looks like knitted into a child's sweater or socks..
... or a scarf.

... and baskets of roving sold by the ounce.
But then, as a White Rabbit ran between my legs (It might have been a cat.), I saw the yarn of my dreams.

It's called NORO yarn.
I'm sorry, truly I am.  I bought something that was not Made In America, but there is nothing like this made here in the states. If you know of a good local alternative... comment.... I'm all ears.
I don't think that the sheep care whether they are in Japan or California as long as they are feed everyday.
I know, I know... that's not the point.
I will try harder. I will have more restraint when I'm not so in love with all of this.

Each hank was $10. for... oops, I can't read the wrapper. I think it's a 50 gram ball. Which means (if my calculations are even close) that you have about one hundred nine yards of yarn to knit with.
I bought two balls of this. Noro is 100% wool. The description says Kureyon. I don't see a color name on the tag but there are specific blends in different shades and they are all unbelievably beautiful.

Since I've been home I have taken some photos of the yarn and some of the roving that I bought.

This is the Noro yarn, above. This weekend I finished crocheting  a scarf using the yarn and tomorrow I will felt it.
I will do a post, with photos, on the methods to my madness Tuesday.

I also bought some Merino Hand Dyed Spinning Fiber. for my Nuno felting .
The store had so many lovely blends of colors, but I loved this one.
It's called FOREST.
It goes with my livingroom.
I may just leave it on the side table until I use it.
It's like a magical gift waiting to be opened.

This is called Anzula fiber. Please, look at this up close...

 I know that I get kind of goofy about this stuff but... LOOK AT IT. It's SO beautiful!


Anyway, I have just finished crocheting a medium length scarf with the Noro yarn and, if my shrinkage calculations are good, I will have a really nice felted  neck scarf for... a Christmas present.
Stay tuned...

***************
The Yarn Boutique is at 963 -C, Moraga Rd. Laffayette, CA.
 The customer service is great and the prices are reasonable.  They wind your yarn for you and the owner's are helpful and very nice.

Little spirits, brave and true.

We knew it was coming.
We could see all the signs.

There were ships filled with pirates
adrift on the lawns.

And pumpkins,
and bats..
on everyone's porches.

As it got dark,  then pumpkins appeared,
with sinister faces and strangeness... and leered
at the children reminding them well,
that now was the time
for a Halloween spell.

At last darkness came,
And when, with eager, bated breath,
They shouted "Now?".
"Not yet.", we said.
And, Oh the waiting was so hard.. for some.

Others weren't so sure. The older ones were jaded men.
Wishing more for being costume free and then...

The magic night did work its spell...

 And all the men were ready.
Both SWAT and NINJA faced the night,
To battle fear and steel their nerve,
To brave the unknown, beasts of fright.

 Willing to face the tradition...
With thoughts of bountiful bags of loot.
 Braving the wilds of suburbia..
(As soon as the shoes and socks were on.)

Off they went with Dad in toe,
A "knight", to battle many foe.
To  challenge goblins, keep witches at bay
and clears the dragon "right of way".

 Mom and Noni settled in.
 Ready... as the night,
to see the faces,
hear smalls voices...
( To laugh when a two year old grabs all the neon bracelets with both hands,
  and one just stands there not knowing what to say.. )

A basket of glowing goodies, waiting with joy
For each brave, young girl and boy.
A basket of treats for only the asking
A night of openness, trusting... and ghosts...
Basking in  years of memories. Ghosts...
waiting for their child to return,
With their favorite... a BABE RUTH...

And they came back....

From their plunderers quest...
To consider what fears they had conquered.

To tell of adventures to distant land.
To sit in familiar laps
and talk of raids and bounty.
To laugh...
And feel safe after the great adventure.
On their well lit porch.

 One wonderful night a year when puppies wear glowing jewelry
and don't bark because they are a part of the whole.
Excitement prevails and life is secure.
When nighttime is not quite so scary
and you can stay outside later,
watching everyone and shouting..,
"Hey Noni, Come and look at the moon. It's getting bigger."
And all the world is a wonderful, mysterious place .

Oh yes, it was a wondrous eve.
Sweet friends, the spirits come anew.
Life is long and sometimes weary.
Believe in all things bright and clear..
Walk the nights of bleary vision,
 As a child, brave and true.
Life is trusting,  hoping.. seeing.
This is what I wish for you.