To think about.

I don't know that this is genuinely an "old Cherokee story" or not, but it's one of those things that, even if some college kid made it up in the 1970s, it's good enough that it deserves to exist. (I found this referred to in some discussion of bad behavior and narcissism of a fairly famous person, sad stuff that's come to light recently).

“The Two Wolves (Source: Unknown)

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.
He said, ‘My son, the battle is between two ‘wolves’ inside us all.

One is Evil.
It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good.
It is joy, peace , love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: ‘Which wolf wins?’

The old Cherokee simply replied, ‘The one you feed .’”

I try to feed that Good wolf. I don't always succeed but I try.

(it also occurs to me that for those of us of the Christian persuasion, that Good Wolf (heh, I at first typed Wolfe there, like Nero Wolfe) embodies a lot of the good old "fruits of the spirit.")

Lynn linked to this "Manifesto" today.

I think it's pretty wonderful. And it got me to thinking a lot, as I sorted through my little samples of soil this afternoon.

I am bad at self-promotion. I always have been. At least, I'm bad at self-promotion in the sense that it's usually taken these days. I believe (perhaps I was raised to believe) that your work should speak for itself. That is, if you're work's really good, people will notice it and pick up on it and good things will come to you. And conversely, I grew up being at least a little suspicious of anything heavily promoted. (That may have come from my parents. First, my mother, snorting over some of the first "infomercials" ever, "If it's that great, why do they have to buy a half-hour television slot to talk about it?" and my father, when I was much younger, teaching my brother and me to watch ads and figure out, in his words, "how they are trying to get your nickels." (I think he borrowed that phrase from a shady character on Sesame Street.)

And as I grew up, I noticed, in enough cases to cause me to stereotype, that the quiet, slightly nerdy sort of people - the ones who didn't talk much about themselves - were very often the people who "had your back" or who could help you out in a serious problem or who were just generally good people. And that sometimes - sometimes, it seemed more frequently than "sometimes" - the glad-handing, back-slapping jovial hale-and-hearty types, who seemed like everyone's friend out in public, were the worst backstabbers ever. And the people who talked about how great they were often were, to use a good old Texas phrase, "All hat and no cattle."

And one of the things I've come to realize is what's important - what's most important to me. What I term "success." And it's not getting my name out there, not doing cutting-edge research that gets published in Trends in Ecology and Evolution (though it would be nice, there are things I'd have to sacrifice to do cutting edge research that I'm not sure I'd be willing to sacrifice). But what's really important to me, what will make me think as I near the end of my life (God willing, many many years from now) that I was a success. And that's two things:

1. Make someone else's (or multiple someone elses') lives better for having been here. Or make the world better in some substantive way. (Even if it's a LITTLE way, like restoring a little patch of degraded land into a healthy prairie)

2. Do kindness when I can.

I think about the people I really revere - the people I look up to and would like to be like. And by and large, it is not so much for the great, fame-producing things that I remember them or look up to them. It is for the things they did to help other people out.

A concrete example: I have forgotten the names of many of my professors from college. But there is one I remember, because of something she did for me. Right after - like, 2 days after - I was asked to leave the program, Dr. Tosney saw me in the hall. Now, I was not one of her grad students - she was in a totally different field from mine. I had taken her Developmental Biology lecture as an undergrad because I just needed the credit hours in biology, and I was (at the time) taking her technical writing class. She asked me something about how I was doing and when it became apparent that the answer was "very badly," she invited me up to her office to talk.

And she spent a very long time talking to me. And it made an immense difference to me. Some years later, I wrote her a letter to let her know where I wound up and to thank her again, but I don't know if she really fully realizes how much of a difference the talk made.

And it wasn't just the advice she gave me. It was the sheer fact that someone was willing to listen.  That someone was taking time out of their very busy day (and I know she was a busy person; she had grants and research and her own graduate students to attend to and could probably ill afford the time to talk to me). To me, it reminded me that I mattered, even in a system that, in the few days previous, had made me feel like I didn't.

And so, I think of her. When a student needs help but I'm tired and harried and really would rather jolly them out my office door as fast as I can. And I, more times than not, take a deep breath and help the student. Even when I'm tired. Because it's important. Important to my idea of what success is in this life, and important because you truly do not know when a few words from you may make all the difference in the world to someone.

I don't even really know what research (outside of the general field) Dr. Tosney did. I never read any of her papers. But I do remember that she was willing to take a scared, confused, and upset 21-year-old woman up to her office and let her talk- and offer her advice and support - at what was, at that point in time, the worst time in that young woman's life.

And that has nothing to do with branding or self promotion. But it is, what I think, is the most deeply important thing in the world. It is serving another person. It is seeing that other person as a fellow human, acknowledging that they have hurts and fears.

And another thing: There was, literally, nothing I could do to pay her back for her time. I had no claims on her time; there was nothing she could gain from talking to me (and from some of the things she told me - about the program - if I had spread them around, she might have gotten in trouble). But aren't we told somewhere that the greatest service we can do is to those who can't pay us back? That, rather than inviting our rich friends to our banquets so we can impress them (and so we can get invited back to their houses), we should invite people who cannot pay us back? Because it's the right thing to do?

I commented the other day - about "Paradise Road" - and how I don't know what I'd do or how I'd fare in that situation. I think the single most difficult thing would be to have to sit with someone while they were dying. But you know? Now that I think about it - if I had been up at the hospital when my grandmother or aunt was dying, and they knew they were dying, and they asked me to be there, to stay with them to see them "off," as it were - I'd do it. I'd sit there and pray with them even if the Lord's Prayer and the 23rd Psalm were the only things I could muster up.  Even though it would scare me. Even though I would worry about the nightmares I'd have afterwards, the aftereffects of it. I'd do it. Because at that point, what that other person needs is infinitely more important than what you want.

And I think that's part of success in life. Determining the times when someone else needs something from you so much more than your desire to be elsewhere. I'm not talking about giving in to every "special snowflake" with demands - I'm talking about the human moments, the times when someone NEEDS another person's presence. When someone they love has died. When they've had a serious diagnosis. When they're at a scary crossroads in life and don't know what to do.

And when I talk about "kindness," I don't mean the kittens-and-rainbows sort of kindness. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do for a person is show them what is commonly known as "tough love." And I've done that. And sometimes - especially for a conflict avoider like me - it's the hardest thing in the world. But again, it's important.

And NONE of that, none of it at all, has anything to do with self-promotion and "branding."

The writer of the "Manifesto" noted that the internet is, when it's at its best, a conversation and not a commercial. And I agree with that. The stuff on the internet that's made me the happiest, and been the most meaningful to me, are the times when I read something someone has written and gone "Yes, yes, that's it. That's what I was thinking but could not put into words." Or when someone writes something and says "This is kind of weird about me" and forty-five people comment that they think or do or feel the same thing, so the original writer can't be that weird, after all. (There's something so comforting about finding out something that you thought was an oddity of yours is actually shared by lots of other people). And Ms. Johnson (the Manifesto writer) notes that we should do stuff, make stuff, put stuff up (like cat pictures) because it makes US happy...and I agree, that you can tell when someone's writing about something they have a passion for, versus when they're writing about something because they think it will get them "hits," and there's a certain sad sterility to those websites that are written purely to attract traffic.

She also says: "Look at what other people are doing, not to compete, imitate, or compare . . . but because you enjoy looking at the things other people make."

I am guilty of this. I am terribly competitive by nature. I feel like a loser and a slacker when someone does something (like writing a book) that I haven't done. I've been known to joke bitterly about Alain de Botton and Wes Anderson - both people born in the same year as I - that they have "actually done something with their lives."

And really, if I'm living in a way that is in alignment with my supposed self-definition of success, I should not feel that. I should not even feel bad that I don't have a knitting pattern published in Knitty, or that I don't get 50 commenters on every post. I should just continue to put up my little quilts and my little socks and my little pictures of soil critters and continue to enjoy it. And be happy for the small band of people (though perhaps, based on the few anonymous comments I've got recently - and I can never tell if they're the same people or all different people) more than a "small band" read here.

But there's also another thing. I wrote about the importance of being kind. I do think, showing human kindness, whether it's in small things, or whether it's in a really huge thing (or sometimes, it's a thing that seems small to the person doing it, but huge to the person who is the recipient - and that may well be the case with Dr. Tosney taking the time to talk with me; she very likely forgot that student she spoke with nearly 20 years ago now, but I will not forget her taking the time to talk with me) is vitally important. Not just because it's all "seeing the other person" and that it's what keeps us from descending into brutality. But I also tend to think that kindness is important on a more mystical level. Sort of a Therese of Lisieux level - one of the things I have seen quoted as her having said is something along the lines of

"Every loving act adds to the balance of love in the universe."

And while, as a Christian, I do believe that the forces of Goodness and Love will ultimately win - ultimately have won, perhaps is a better way of saying it - still, I often feel that what we are all called to do is to do what we can to promote love...maybe somehow the loving acts will call others over onto the side of love. I don't know.

I also think that making an effort to show love to others - especially to those who might be a little unloveable - also works against our human tendency to be selfish, to believe that we are the only one who matters - to believe that we don't need anyone else. (And believing you don't need anyone - or Anyone - else can be seen as the first step to being lost).

So anyway, I really like what Ms. Johnson had to say. I think it's a real danger in our society today, that people are told that they need to be a "brand" and that they need to "sell themselves." And I think perhaps it leads to a dangerous attitude of our age; the attitude that "if someone isn't paying attention to me, I don't exist." (And I admit, that's a trap I occasionally fall into.)

Another thought:

I'm not sure how I feel about the idea of the idea of there being a specific guild for "modern" quilters.

On the one hand, I like the idea that a style of quilting I enjoy doing - and often like the finished product of - is getting bit of recognition. And that maybe people who don't go to a "traditional" guild could find a home there. But on the other hand, I twitch a little when people start divvying themselves up into smaller and smaller groups. A couple of reasons for that:

1. If you only meet with people who do the same style as you do, you don't learn as much. Or you might miss out on inspirations you would otherwise see. I've said many times I don't care as much for applique - like the big Baltimore Album quilts - both to do and in a quilt, as I do for geometric patchwork patterns. But I also recognize the artwork and the skill in doing applique, and I like being able to see examples of it from time to time and watch appliquers at their work.

2. (and I think this is the one that concerns me most) When people split off into factions, it gets faction-y. People begin to judge each other. "Oh, she does (sniff) TRADITIONAL quilts." Meaning, oh, she's an old stick in the mud. Or "She does that modern stuff." Meaning: I don't think she's bothering to develop her skills doing something challenging. Or "He does what he calls 'art' quilts." Meaning: the stuff he makes is just plain weird. Or: "She likes...novelty prints." Meaning: She doesn't have very good taste; her choice in fabrics is frankly kind of tacky."

And we don't need that. We. Don't. Need. That. Like what you like, dislike what you dislike...but it bugs me how some folk judge other people on the basis of choices that are personal. I understand the fact that some people get a feeling of something like superiority - or they allay their insecurities - by trying to make someone else look bad, but really, it's not helpful.

If I see something - say, a quilt - that I really love, that I think is beautiful, that I think is interesting, regardless of the technique, I'll link it here. And comment about what I like about it. If I see something I don't like, or that doesn't appeal to me, I tend to remain silent. Because, for one thing, I realize that what I like isn't what everyone likes, and second, it does seem kind of shabby to run down what someone else has done, when you could just as well either feature stuff YOU did, or praise the stuff people have done that you like.

(It's kind of like political ads, in a way. I'm far more prone to listen to an ad where the candidate says, "Here is my experience. Here is what I think I can do for the citizens" then if the candidate is merely saying, "My opponent is a big doody-head." Which, when it comes down to is, is what most negative ads essentially ARE).

So I express a little concern. Perhaps the idea of a new series of guilds is a good thing, it might let in people who don't feel welcomed in a "traditional" guild (but again: that should not be. Quilt guilds should - if they want to stay alive - welcome a diversity of people and a diversity of experiences.) But on the other hand, I don't want to see some bizarre Sharks vs. Jets rivalry spring up in the quilting world.

People are strange. They seem awfully good at seeing how other people are "different" or "weird" or "wrong" and not so good at seeing that at the most basic and important level, we are all pretty much the same.

I kept wanting to photograph the in-progress "Angee" socks (from Innovations in Sock Knitting), but could not figure out how to stretch the cuff without doing the tricky and risky (because you can drop stitches) maneuver of putting the partially finished sock on my foot.

But then I realized today I could stick one of my drinking glasses in the partially finished sock, and while it's not quite as wide as my calf, it's wide enough to show the pattern:



I'm really enjoying knitting on it; it's one of those "just one more round" patterns where you want to keep going on it because it's fun to see it develop. There's a nice rhythm to it.

And I really like the yarn - it's a Fibra Natura yarn, 100% wool with a nice tight twist, and the autumnal colors are very pretty and soothing to look at.

I like this sock book a lot. The socks in it are complex, but not ridiculously complex.

And I found a pattern that would work "out of the box" for my "yellow stockings, cross-gartered" - the Wannida sock pattern in the book is made so it appears to have a series of overlapping ribbons on the sock (the illusion is formed with carefully placed yarn-overs and decreases). And I even have some super-brilliant-yellow wool and bamboo blend sock yarn in my stash waiting on the right pattern!

So, they're not knee socks. That's okay, I never wear knee socks anyway, and I always wear socks with trousers so no one would know they weren't knee socks. (And anyway, few if anyone would get the "yellow stockings, cross-gartered" reference as it is, unless I explained it to them. But *I* will know, and that's what's important).

So I think those are going to be my next "complex" socks.

I think having a stash is good. Even if you're not worrying about the Apocalypse. Because I don't live near a yarn shop, everything has to be obtained from afar, and so being able to dig in and find just the right thing for a pattern has a particular serendipity to it.

***
Speaking of worrying about the Apocalypse: that show I mentioned, it seems that being a mechanical-minded sort is the main skill that they think is needed. (And also the felicitous finding of, oh, things like helium canisters, just lying around)

I don't know, I kind of disagree with that. I *still* think that if society collapsed, those of us living near rural areas - where we could catch fish (and crabs; I learned last week there are tiny crabs in Lake Texoma and though they don't have much meat on them, I'm sure boiled up they'd be edible) and snare rabbits or squirrels and find wild foods and grow our own food would be ultimately more useful than having, say, solar panels. (Not that I'd reject solar panels were they available; it would be nice to be able to run a small lamp for reading at night without having to make one's own candles). But I think in my mind the "pioneer" model, rather than the "Mad Max" model, seems to be the way to survive. (But yeah, you'd probably need a rifle. If for nothing else to scare off those bigger and stronger than you bent on taking fruit you spent a week drying for the winter. Then again, if everyone was working to dry their own fruit...maybe the rifle would really only be needed to fire up into the air to scare off bears.)

But whatever. Maybe I just think that because I have considerable pioneer-style skills but essentially no "Mad Max" skills. (And sadly, I look nothing like Auntie Entity.)

***

The current Clapotis continues to grow. I'm still working on the "increase" section; to do this as a rectangular scarf knit on the diagonal, you increase up to the desired width, then do a section where you balance increases with decreases so it stays the same width, then the last section is more decreasing than increasing to get the second point.



I wound up switching from the casein to wooden needles; for one reason, the endcap on one of the casein needles came loose and I'm going to have to figure out the best glue to reattach it (somehow, I don't think Elmer's - which is itself made from casein - will work). But also, the casein needles were sufficiently slippery that I kept dropping stitches and that is annoying.

These are an older set of wooden needles. I got them from a friend of my mother's. They were HER mother's; when her mother went into a nursing home (Alzheimer's, sadly), Helen knew no one else in her family knit, and so she passed them on to me. There were a number of wooden needles (as well as some wooden crochet hooks, some of which looked handmade), some older plastic needles (red and white; I wonder if they might have been from WWII?) and a few dpns (not a full set) that were red white and blue - all colors on a single needle (a few left, I suspect, from the "patriotic" sets sold during WWII). And there was one set of metal dpns in a small size that I do use regularly for socks. Otherwise, I don't use the needles much. But I like having them.

One of the nice things about good tools is that they can be passed down. I know men who have their grand-dads' hand tools, cooks who have knives passed down in the family (And I actually have a mezzaluna that belonged to one of my grandmothers). My mom has a set of tiny, incredible carved-bone crochet hooks her grandfather made for her grandmother, and a pair of scissors that were her mother's. It's a nice way of remembering the past and feeling connected to it.

And a good tool is a good tool, no matter how old it is. I did take and run these needles through my hair a few times before starting to knit with them to oil them up a bit (the natural oils in your hair are good for wooden needles; I've also rubbed needles down with wax paper to make them a bit more slippery).

It's kind of sad that the "tools" so many of us work with in our careers (computers, lab equipment, etc.) are things that become obsolete rather fast and can't be passed down. (No one will ever say they wrote their dissertation on their grandfather's computer, unless Grandfather was still living and made a loan of his new Macbook or some such).

Again, I think that's why doing low-tech stuff in my free time is valuable to me. That I can use tools and techniques my ancestors would recognize, even if they would be totally bewildered by what I do a lot of the time during my work days.

This is a post I meant to do some months back, but never got around to. And I was reminded of the subject for two reasons - first, this month's Yankee magazine had an article on "Vermont's Sleeping Roads" (the phenomenon is briefly described here). The upshot is, there are hundreds of old roads - mostly old wagon tracks used as farm-to-markets - that have kind of fallen off the maps, but still have traces out there. There's a new law coming on the books that will make these traditional "rights of way" revert to the landowner (and so the right of way goes away) in 2015 unless communities claim them.

Yankee puts its own spin (which, irritatingly, I am noticing more and more) on the story: newcomers moving into the area are aghast that people have traditionally used these as free rights-of-way for hiking and hunting. Newcomers decided they OWN the land and post it. The locals aren't happy. Those darn newcomers!

(Though as one hay farmer who regretfully decided to post his land - at least for certain activities - points out: "90% of the people are great; 10% are a nightmare" and goes on to observe that people who drop bottles and cans along the trails can mess up his haying machinery, plus, "Who wants to buy hay that has trash in it?" So I would actually lay blame not so much at the "newcomers'" feet, but at the feet of those people who - like "special snowflakes" everywhere - think the common rules of decency and politeness (like, not littering on someone else's land) don't apply to them. Though of course some of them may well be newcomers).

Anyway, the idea of abandoned roads is pretty fascinating. (And also the fact that they are using GIS - one of the things I teach - to help find and plot the roads, and then figure out what to do about them.)

And then Lynn posted a link to a site about abandoned power plants (some of them quite creepy and romantic)

So I was reminded of the link I "saved up" from back when I was reading "The Artificial River" - about the Erie Canal. Canals have always fascinated me.

See, I grew up in Northeastern Ohio. I wasn't far from the old, old site of the Ohio and Erie Canal. I learned a little of its history in school (but not all of it; I had not heard of the 1913 flood that destroyed much of the canal before I read some of the online history sites). I've seen some of the old canal sites. Deep Lock Quarry was a favorite place for school field trips, and also my parents would take me hiking there a lot.

That was where I think - as I've said before - I first really developed my interest in history, particularly the more "everyday" sort of history - what people ate, how they dressed, how they made a living. Standing on the edge of the deep lock (one of the few that held water - cold-looking, slimy, algae-filled water, which was all the more scary to me because of a childhood fear of deep water (though the lock's water was probably only 4 feet deep or so)) I would think about the people who USED to live there - who had worked and traveled and lived and died some 140 years before me - even before some of my ancestors were in this country (though I didn't know that at the time). And how I would never know for sure who they were, and how they probably never thought that so many years later a little girl would stand on the edge of the lock and look in and wonder about what life might have been like for them.

So, thinking about old canals again, and particularly the sites not too far from me, I searched around a little. And I found a fascinating site, which I spent a late-afternoon-into-evening sitting in my office looking at. It is called Abandoned Ohio (and it's done in a very evocative black-and-white theme with Gothic typeface). It has a lot of links, or you can click on the pictures for different subjects - buildings, covered bridges, canal locks. (You may need to scroll down below a picture to get the clickable links. My one complaint is that the "menu pages'" pictures are kind of large and you don't see the links below them immediately). There's a whole page on the Ohio and Erie canal itself, with some history and links to as many of the locks as could be found. Deep Lock Quarry also has a page, but they focus more on the quarry (which I also remember) than on the lock (which is what I remember more - again, I think it's that water-fear that burned it into my mind.)

And if you're in to old canal photos (this being the Internet, I'm sure there's someone out there who is), there's a really good collection - viewable online - from The University of Akron's Canal Photo site

I've often thought it would be interesting to take road trips - especially if one had a good camera or was talented with a sketchbook - to some of these "abandoned" places, and to make records of them, either photographic or artistic. (Of course, it's more complicated in a lot of cases than just getting in a car and going; for some sites you need to get permission, and probably sign waivers agreeing that you will not (a) remove artifacts from the site and (b) sue the landowner if you step through a rotted floorboard and break your leg).

I was going to say that I'm sad there's not really any "old" stuff of that sort in my town - that it's not much fun to drive out of town friends around and say, "Yeah, that's where the Papa John's Pizza franchise used to be" as our own form of Abandoned, but now that I think of it, a lot of the downtown merchants are spiffing up their buildings, removing the old ugly aluminum false fronts that were put up over the brick in the 50s or 60s, and trying to recapture the old "ghost signs" that still exist. I had someone honk at me one day because I didn't see a light was green because I was so intent on looking at an old sign that had shown up on a recently renovated building - I think the building had once been a grocery and the sign was an ad for (I think) Owl Cigars. (I should walk down there some day when I have time and photograph the sign and put it up here; it's pretty interesting).

But, the places (like Ohio) that have seen longer continuous European settlement seem to have more interesting Abandoned stuff. (Though that might just be my personal prejudice). I wonder what Abandoned stuff exists in Europe, or if (because they have more of a premium on land), a lot of it's been taken down or renovated into something useful?

One of the interesting things about learning to play the piano is that, for me as an educator, the learning process becomes more "transparent."

I suppose I don't notice "how I learn" with a lot of the other things I do (like reading journal articles about a topic I don't know as much about - right now I'm planning a side-project on surveying the soil invertebrate population on the prairie restoration site - because it's a mode of learning I've used so long and so much that it's second nature).

One thing I notice is the wisdom of the "work on it some each day." I had this pretty well drilled into me from high school on - if you are taking a difficult class, don't wait until right before the exam to study, do a LITTLE studying each day.

That is also true with practicing. My teacher told me: even if ALL you can practice in one day is 15 minutes, do that. Don't not-practice and then try to make it up on the weekend.

And I see that. Because I see how I progressively get better with each day's practicing. Some days it may be a miniscule, almost-undetectable amount; others, it will be a considerable gain. But the only way to get that is through the reinforcement of working daily.

The other thing I notice is the truth of something I read somewhere, figured made sense, and always tell students about: you learn things best if you have the chance to sleep between sessions of learning. It is as if the pathways solidify during sleep, or something. (Or maybe not solidify, that's probably not the right word. Maybe "strengthen" is better). I can go from barely being able to play a piece one day to being able to play it mostly successfully the next - and that without any practice time or even really THINKING about the piece. It's as if my brain works on it without my paying attention to it.

I assume that is the same way for studying anything.

It is interesting to pay attention to the "meta" of learning something like this. (Or maybe it's just interesting to ME, since I work as a sort of an educator). But I like that a couple of things that I believed to be true about learning seem to be borne out by my experience. (And yes, I know: "anecdote" is not the singular of "data.")

Another thing I notice about practicing, and I think this is why it puts me in a better mood to be able to do it, is that it is one time out of my day when I HAVE to "uni-task."

I know, it's long been said the wave of the future - nay, the only way for us to "adapt" - is to multi-task. To do five things at once. And in my experience, that means doing five things, each more slowly and more poorly than they would be done if I could just stop and devote my full attention to each thing in its rightful order.

I am a poor multi-tasker.

And I know, being able to multi-task is supposedly the hallmark of being female. It is supposedly our genetic legacy from our cavewoman ancestors who had to make sure their babies weren't crawling off a cliff, while simultaneously scanning the horizon for predators, looking for edible leaves and berries, weaving together a new mat of grass for the cave floor, and wondering just WHERE Og was with that giant sloth steak he promised to get?

But I just don't multi-task well. I notice several things when I multi-task:

1. I make more mistakes. I have had to have more assignments and exams re-copied than I care to admit because I was trying to talk to someone on the phone while writing them - or I was toggling back and forth between that and entering grades.

2. I don't work as fast. It seems like the "toggling back and forth" eats up time.

3. It distresses me. I find I am far more stressed out at the end of a time period where I've had to juggle five different things than I am at the end of a time period (even if it takes more time) where I could do each thing, as I said, in its proper order. I think it's because multi-tasking creates a false sense of urgency.

I think a sense of urgency - especially false urgency - is one of the great malaises of our time. The idea that we have to DO something, NOW - that we cannot take time to contemplate and plan - that we have to be busy or at least LOOK busy - that time is money (no, it isn't. Time is more than money. Time is the only thing that the richest man on earth and the lowliest beggar in Mumbai get the exact same amount of each day. Time is the only thing you can't get BACK, even if you spent all the money in the world).

I think it is one of those things - like the drumbeat of bad news stories, that the economy is failing, that we will all be out of work soon, that everything in the air water and food will kill us AFTER giving us some kind of hideous cancer, that we have probably irreversibly poisoned our world and just haven't seen the canary in the mineshaft keel over yet - that if you pay attention to it, it can kill you. Oh yes, I think it can. I think a person who is too driven to be busy - too driven to achieve - can make themselves very sick. I know I've made myself minorly sick by pushing myself to the degree that I ever do.

And so I think we need to be able to do things where we can take a breath and say, "This is the ONLY thing I am going to pay attention to for the next 40 minutes."

In its own way, it is like prayer or meditation. You cannot pray effectively if your mind keeps pinging off on other things. (Though maybe the "you can't multitask" isn't all that true; I've actually prayed while knitting or weeding or doing some other simple repetitive task and found I actually stayed on my thoughts better, and derived a greater sense of peace, than if I was just trying to sit still. And there is also "walking meditation" where you walk a labyrinthine path of inlaid tiles). But at any rate - you have to give your full concentration to it to be effective.

And I think that's the insidiousness of multi-tasking - it fragments our concentration. It, in effect, gives us a sort of ADD. (I wonder how many people who were diagnosed with ADD as adults may have come by it through years of multitasking. I know, it's a neurotransmitter thing, but I can't help but wonder if sometimes behaviors and thought-patterns affect the production and uptake of neurotransmitters).

So it's a relief to be able to sit down and do one thing - and one thing only. And not to have to fear interruption. (I don't work as well in my office as I do at home, because of the constant stream of phone calls, people knocking on my door, noise in the hall...)

I think this is also why I like piecing quilt tops - while I can listen to music while doing it, I really can't do anything else - I can't multitask.

I guess in a couple of ways I tend to run counter to trends. I've said to people that I think in the future the ultimate luxury will NOT being "reachable at all times" (when cell phones were first available and were still a status symbol, being reachable at all times was a mark of an Important Person) but to be able to go somewhere WITHOUT being able to be reached.

And likewise, I think perhaps the hallmark of good time management and someone who does their job well may be someone who doesn't HAVE to multitask; who can plan and do one thing at once without feeling torn in fifteen different directions.

I do think we will have to, at some point, come to a saner pace of life: I don't doubt that the being pushed to be available 24/7 and to extend the workday more and more hours. Oh, I know, in this economic climate people will tell people to do just that - to make themselves "indispensable" by turning themselves into a version of those robots that work on the car assembly lines. But I look at where we're going - a utilitarian world where things are valued based on how they can advance us or how much money they will make us - and it makes me kind of sad.

And not just because two magazines I used to subscribe to have closed down. And a tea room I used to love. And an antiques shop that was one of my favorites in the world.

I just fear a grey uniform future - where everyone is a cog in a machine, and where the concept of doing something for your own amusement or your own edification is seen as perhaps a dangerous aberration.

And while I hate the whole activist-we-are-saving-the-world-through-craft attitude that some people take, I do like to think of my setting aside an hour a day (if I can at all manage that much time) to work on learning to play the piano as my own little quixotic protest against a culture that tells me that the only things worth doing are things that put more money in my pocket or more accolades after my name.

(One of the things I hate about myself: I get the feeling of "You're wasting your life!" on a more or less regular basis. Because I haven't done anything BIG. I think it's almost as damaging to a child to raise them with the expectation that they will do Great Things as it is to tell them they Will Never Amount To Anything, because then that child grows up, and if they don't want to go in for the near-monomania that it takes to do truly Great Things (spending 20 hours a day working on research, for example), then they feel like a failure - and like they are wasting their life. I kind of had to stuff that emotion down a little at the Quammen talk the other night, when, in the introduction the person talked about all the stuff he'd done. And he's not that much older than I am (I think). So I don't know. Part of it is that so much of what I do is intangible - it's not like a book you can point to on a shelf. But sometimes I do wish I had someone to remind me that I'm NOT wasting my life when I get to feeling like I am...)

(This was written Monday afternoon. When I was hamstrung from doing what I wanted to do because of NO PRINTER CONNECTIVITY (boo). Depending on the weather and cancellation-whims of a particular group tomorrow, I will either be at home, comfy knitting, or risking my neck trying to drive safely through likely ice to go to a workshop over in Ardmore).

Anyway. More on the blogiversary.

Ironically enough, A Very Popular Blogger (Yarn Harlot), who even Has Written Several Well-Loved and Well-Received Books is having a blogiversary - as noted inwhat this post.

(I don't read the blog regularly - pop in now and then - I figure if she's said anything particularly earthshaking I will hear it on one of the blogs I do surf through regularly, or on Ravelry.* Nothing against her, it's just, I guess, I prefer to give the less-well-known blogs a little reading love with my limited reading time.)

(*I know I don't have near the commenters, or the readers, that she does. So when she refers to her Blog as a sort of collective of her writing + comments from readers, that doesn't really apply here.

I WILL say I love and cherish every comment I get, even if I'm sometimes bad about responding to them. Hint hint).

Anyway, one of the comments she makes about the blog rings true for me, even if, as I said, some days I open up my mailbox and am a bit saddened to find 40 people who will happily sell me a "fake genuine rolexxx watch" (or at least take my money for same) but nary a comment-notification.

As she says:

I am less lonely because of The Blog.
I feel welcome many places because of The Blog.
I am less of a crazy knitting person because The Blog is crazy too.

Less lonely: that is true in both an immediate and a more cosmic sense. "Immediately" speaking, I often feel lonely because I am, quite literally, the only person I know in real life who is as craft-obsessed as I am. Some of the other people I know MAY quilt once in a while, or MAY do embroidery, or knows how to knit. But I don't know ANYONE (well, outside of my mother) who ALWAYS has some project - let alone more than one - going on at a time.

But in the blogworld, that's more or less the norm. People who knit have several projects going (except for a few smug sorts who claim they ONLY buy the yarn sufficient for a single project and then ONLY work on that project until it is done). Life is messy, people are weird. But there were a lot of times that I felt like the only one that was weird in this particular way until the blog.

Lots of other people don't understand. My colleagues try to, and they comment favorably on things I've knit, but I don't think they really understand the drive to make stuff. I've had a few people (not friends, more commonly random strangers when I was knitting somewhere public) speculate on WHY someone would "bother" to do such a thing, when as we all know, you can buy socks for next to nothing at Wal-Mart.

The explanation I could give would not only take too long, but I sometimes wonder how well it would be received. So I just smile quietly and shrug and affirm to myself that I may be "wasting my time" knitting socks, but I am also sitting in the doctor's waiting room doing something other than just sitting...

But the blog also makes me feel less lonely in a larger sense. I have a few regular commenters, a few contacts, people I've come to think of as friends.

I'm not that great at making friends. I have to be honest about that. It seems that it was easier when I was younger (I seem to remember, though this is probably a false memory, that my friend K. and I became friends while standing outside the Intro Bio classroom waiting for the class previous to ours to end. We had a brief conversation and as I remember it, one of us said something along the lines of "You seem cool. Want to be friends?" and the other one said, "Cool. Yeah" and it went on from there...but as I said, it probably wasn't that simple in real life, even though that's how I seem to remember it.)

But now, it's hard. Everyone gets fossilized into their own beliefs and rituals and such once you pass out of your early 20s. Some people have families that take up all of their time. Some people seem to have more drama in their lives than seems right.

Most of the people I regard on a friendly basis are busy enough that I do not feel comfortable calling them up and going, "Hey, want to go grab lunch together tomorrow?" As easy as that was in grad school, it's different when you're out in the workforce. When you have meetings. Or when you have kids prone to getting sick. Or when you have a spouse you'd really RATHER eat with, not this crazy-haired socially-awkward bespectacled woman who just called you up and asked you to EAT with them, of all things....

But somehow having the blog, and sometimes getting feedback (hint, hint) makes it a little easier to live in a world full of those closed-door nuclear family units.

As for Feeling Welcome In Many Places...maybe not so much for me. I presume what she is saying is that the fame generated by the blog has opened doors for her. That she's been welcomes (even lionized, I dare say) in places where her presence as an "unknown" would probably be ignored, or as an author-but-not-blogger would be met by 40 rather than 400 at a book signing.

So of course that does not fit this little blog. And I don't always feel welcome in places, even places where maybe I should. And while I am (at times) socially-awkward enough not to realize that I'm being "frozen out" or that people are consciously trying to make me feel uncomfortable so I will leave, the blog has little to do with that.

Perhaps, well...I have met one other blogger. And I'd meet (and even eat lunches with) others if schedules and locations ever worked out. (Being in the literal middle of nowhere has its drawbacks). So maybe that's some form of feeling more welcome.

And then finally: being less of a Crazy Knitting Person because The Blog (in the sense of the collective of readers and commenters) is Crazy too.

I don't know as much about this. I'd never presume to opine on the Craziness (or lack thereof) of readers and commenters. Perhaps I would be more prone to say I FEEL less Crazy because every time I post some worried screed on how I think a certain way or do a certain thing, and I think that makes me Officially Crazy, some kind commenter will talk me off the ledge, so to speak, and reassure me that whatever it was, while perhaps not statistically "normal" (in the sense of "The norm is for American families to have 2.5 children" - and of course there's no such thing as .5 child), is really not that dangerously unhinged. That some of the things that I think certify me as Too Weird for the World are really actually things a lot of people feel or do or think about, but because other people are maybe better at dissembling to the world (and perhaps, to themselves), I never see The Weird that exists in other folks.

And that perhaps, in even a few cases, the traits that I condemn as Weird in myself are actually, perhaps, even a little bit endearing, and certainly traits that make me different from the mass of humanity.

I do also think the blog (lower-case, here - I am talking about my own writing rather than the Collective Blog of the Yarn Harlot - where the comments take up more space than her individual posts) perhaps makes me less crazy because it serves as a sort of safety valve - a place where I can post about things that bug me, or things that make me wildly enthusiastic, or things that I worry about, so I'm not going around SPEWING them to colleagues or people at church or the few friends I have outside of either of those circles. And that makes me less crazy, or at least it makes me APPEAR less crazy, which is maybe enough of the same thing.

So, happy birthday little blog. Seven years is a long time in the Internet world - long enough for the Really Cool People to have abandoned blogging (apparently in favor of Twitter or perhaps some app I haven't even heard of). The fact that I've stayed at the same place and with even the same template shows either an extreme interest in content over style, or an overblown sense of loyalty, or perhaps stuck-in-the-mud-ness. Make of it what you will.

Now we begin year eight.

Some thoughts, seven years (well, minus one day) into the blog:

A lot of things have changed in that time. There have been changes in the larger world (most recently in the news: we have our first African-American president ever). There have also been changes that have happened in my life:

1. I successfully received tenure and promotion at my first "real" job. Unless there is an extreme change-for-the-worse (which I do not anticipate), I expect to stay here a while longer. Maybe even the rest of my career, as odd and possibly-suspect as that is these days.

2. I published part of my doctoral dissertation as a paper in the Journal of the Torrey Botanical Club.

3. I've traveled - for the first time - to the "big city" (Chicago) all by myself to attend meetings. I've gotten a lot better at making necessary arrangements like trying to find a hotel room close to the convention center.

4. I've taken on more responsibility at church, even being an elder (women can serve as elders in my denomination) because

5. I lived through an extremely nasty, and still-occasionally-with-repercussions split of the congregation I belonged to. (The same fall as I was going through tenure stress. Yay.) It felt very much like being at the center of a divorce. It is not something I would recommend as an experience to anyone.

6. Perhaps partly as a result of fall 2003, I started noticing grey hairs. There are more now, of course, but they are fairly well hidden at this point. And truth be told, they are actually white rather than grey, which I kind of secretly rejoice over - one of my grandmothers had white hair and it was very pretty and nice, but I've also seen women with grey hair - that sort of steely grey - and I don't think it would look good on me. So, I'm pulling for the white hair.

7. I had my first-ever crown preparation and installation.

8. I replaced a roof, a hot water heater, and a dishwasher. (And hopefully the next thing I have to replace - most likely my stove, I'm guessing - won't be too soon)

9. I found someone who will machine quilt for a reasonable price and as a result rediscovered my love of piecing quilt tops

10. I lost far too many people who were important to me. But I suppose that's just a part of life.

There's been stuff I've learned to do. (I may add to this list later on)

1. Change out the wax seal on a toilet.

2. Knit a sock from the toe up (this one just recently)

3. Knit a sweater from the top down (the Fibonacci cardigan)

4. Identify (more or less; I'm still not an expert) lichens

5. I've learned to use a digital camera. I'm still not perfect at it and I'd honestly like a smaller, more-megapixels, better model with a good macro lens, but it still does count as something I've learned.

6. I learned a little bit of German but didn't continue with it the way I thought I might.

7. I learned how to successfully make "real" bread (as opposed to bread from the bread machine). I used to over-knead and it would get too dry.

8. (Added) I learned to use the "symbolcraft" symbols for crochet instructions (rather than the line by line instructions) and find I like them a lot better. (I also prefer charts for knitting. I guess I am primarily a visual/spatial person when it comes to things like that - I do better if I can see the "big picture" all at once)

9. I learned some yoga but have not kept up with it. Not enough hours in the day.


There are things I am still learning:

1. To play the piano

2. To be less conscious of/worried about what people think of me

3. To feel less bereft when recognition and popularity pass me by, as they have most of the time

I also find that I have (pretty well, for now at least) come to terms with the fact that I will be turning 40 - which used to be the Official Turning Point Where You Became Old - in just a month now. (Stay tuned, though, there may still be a freakout or two between now and then. I've been saying it to myself a lot, referring to myself publicly as "fortyish" to begin to accustom myself to the idea. But I still reserve the right to at least one little meltdown if I feel I need it).

More on paint-by-numbers, because I tend to get a thought in my head and turn it around and around kind of like a stoneroller with a shiny pebble...

There is a website about the history of the whole "fad" here.

A quotation from the site: "paint by number had a peculiarly American virtue. It invited people who had never before held a paintbrush to enter a world of art and creativity."

I think that's perhaps part of why I like the concept of paint-by-number. But I think also part of it is the whole "middlebrow" ideal that seemed to exist in the 1950s.

I say "seemed" because I didn't make the scene until nearly 10 years after the 50s had ended, but from what my parents talk about from their early married days - which actually would have been the early *60s*, but still - they subscribed to classical-record clubs, they were interested in light opera, they learned to cook "ethnic" foods - there seemed to be this general attitude (again, this may be unique to my parents, who like me, have always had restless minds that get bored easily, and look for things to learn) of self-improvement. Or not so much self-improvement, but learning for learning's sake - that it was cool to know about great art and literature and to know the rudiments of philosophy and to generally be what was regarded as a "cultured" person.

Perhaps it was because "culture" was more monolithic in those days, or that "high culture" was what grown-ups partook of, and "pop culture" (rock and roll, teen movies..) were for adolescents and were something that one grew out of. I don't know.

It does seem now that there's more fragmentation in the culture. And there often doesn't seem to be a sense of "graduating" from the passions of youth to something more mature. Which I would argue isn't an entirely bad thing, unless you're talking about the fart-joke-studded "unrated version" movies that seem to be so common among the dvd offerings these days. (However, I will say that I rejoice that I can watch Miyazake and even Disney movies without needing to have a child as my cover-story.)

And yeah, I realize, there was stuff in the 1950s and 60s that wasn't so great. (But I don't think the much-vaunted, "It was a CONFORMIST HELL, especially for women" idea that seems to be the popular mindset now must be entirely true...I mean, my mom - as a woman - got her Ph.D. and while maybe she was UNUSUAL for doing that she does not report anyone being rude or shunning of her during the process.)

I think that the paint-by-numbers reflect the same kind of aspirational quality that the Everyman's Library concept I wrote about earlier. (Everyman's Library was established some 50 years before the popularity of paint-by-numbers). The idea that everyone could "better" themselves - or at least enjoy some really good literature - the idea that learning was not just for the elite. Those are all good ideas.

You probably realize, if you've read this blog for a while, that I do tend to be an elitist in the sense that I think it's silly to reject literature or high art or classical music as "boring" or "not for me" or "something those old farts do" or "not in touch with the way we live now" or "something the Rich Oppressors have generated" without actually giving it a try first. I tend to think that Bach's pieces are beautiful regardless of where, when, and by whom they were written. (If you don't like Bach after listening to his work, that's fine; that's figuring out your own taste. I personally do not like Stravinsky, though I have tried to. But I know many people who do. What I don't agree with is rejecting Bach out-of-hand because he IS Bach, or because of the things you've come to believe, second-hand, about classical music).

Heh. Second-hand beliefs. Not quite as deadly as second-hand smoke, but potentially dangerous none the less.

And actually - the idea I quoted earlier, about the sort-of-democratic nature of paint-by-number, that it put brushes in the hands of people who perhaps believed themselves "uncreative" (and maybe some of them went on to paint their own compositions later?). It seems to me that that's not unlike some of the ideas in the "New DIY" movement - the idea that we can all create, that we can all make stuff - stuff that is beautiful, stuff that is useful, stuff that amuses us.

Perhaps that's why some people are getting involved with collecting the old paint-by-number canvases, saving them, celebrating them - the whole idea that people can make stuff - that it's circling around again, and more people are getting interested again in creating (however they may create) rather than merely consuming.

Or perhaps, as is entirely possibly the issue, I'm reading too much into it.

But, I do know the pleasure of taking a pillowcase "blank" that has been stamped with a design, and slowly, inexorably, working the necessary cross stitches or stem stitches or satin stitches to transform it from a bland, blue-stamped piece of cloth into a garden scene or a picture of a cherub with a flowery wreath.

(I really should photograph the cherub pillowcases I made sometime. They please me immensely, especially the little cherubs - all those densely packed cross-stitches, it almost is like a beaded or a mosaic surface. There is something agreeable in both a visual and a tactile sense to it.)

And only part of it is the joy of having the finished product. A big part of it is the peace of working on it - of slowly filling that ground with "medium pink" or "light purple" or "gold" or whatever.

It - like quilting the quilt in the frame, like knitting a pair of socks - is one of my "happy places" that I can go to quite easily.

But when we stop working with our hands, we cease to understand how the world really works.

I like that quotation - and I like the premise that doing things with our hands (be it gardening, knitting, sewing, woodworking, basic electronics work, repairing bicycles, making bread, playing an instrument, whatever) can kind of bring us back to ourselves, that it can help us mentally and spiritually. (And yes, I don't shy away from that word. I do think the spiritual dimension of a person's life is utterly important and that we neglect it at our peril. Whatever your beliefs, I think we all do have a spiritual component to us).

What I'm not so sure I agree with is the concept that "DIYers can Save The World!"

Because I guess I tend to be - not exactly cynical, but maybe a little doubtful - of the "outreach" or "evangelism" of DIY. (I have to admit I'm kind of uncomfortable with any kind of major evangelism. If someone asks me about my faith, or if they say something like, "You seem a pretty content person, what's your secret?" I'll tell them, but I don't like stopping relative strangers on the street and asking them pointed personal questions or wanting to "share" with them).

I guess it's because I fundamentally see things - like my faith, for example, which I know I don't talk much about here - as things that inform MY life, that tell ME how to live, and not so much directing me to tell others how to live (unless, as I said, they ask.) I guess it's not unlike the writings of a moderate American Muslim I read not too long after Sept. 11, 2001, where he said that from all he had been taught, the viewpoint that it was good for Islam to take your fight out there, to forcibly convert or even kill unbelievers, was wrong, that it was a misinterpretation of one of the terms using in the Koran - that the word used, which was a word that could, I guess, be translated as "fight," actually referred to an INDIVIDUAL'S fight with his or her baser nature - not giving in to temptation - rather than fighting against others out there.

And I guess that's kind of how I see a lot of things (not just my Christian beliefs) as primarily affecting me - that they are a guide for me, for what I am supposed to do, and that because I am not perfect in that I need to keep working rather than to go out and harangue people who are not a willing audience about what they should do and should believe.

(And I know I'm not perfect. As much as I read about, as I talk about, as in my better moods I think about making the effort to love everyone and see them as children of God, I still find that when I wind up boxed in in the Wal-mart parking lot, because there are people who have pulled up behind me so they can sit 5 minutes to wait for a "close" parking place to open up rather than walking that extra 40 feet, I find myself grumbling and saying things "to" them [which they can't actually hear] like "MOVE it! Some of us have lives we want to lead! Do you really think you are entitled to block everyone so you can get a closer spot? You're being a fool, you could be IN the store by now instead of sitting waiting burning gas!"

And yeah, when I get back home, I feel bad about it. Because it really is only 5 minutes. And maybe there was some reason - they had a relative with them who couldn't walk far, but who didn't have a handicapped tag, or something. But still. My patience and love of humanity get to be kind of thin at 4:30 pm in the grocery store parking lot).

But anyway. Back to craft. I enjoy doing it because, yes, I do think it re-connects me with a part of myself that too often gets overlooked. It allows me to do something purely for myself (or for myself and the other person for whom I am making the object). All the self-criticism and self-undermining can go out the window, which is kind of a relief.

(And now I think about it - another place where self-criticism and self-undermining kind of go out the window, and I relax into who I really am, is also in church. It is one of the few places where I feel "normal" when I'm having a bad week, doubting myself, wondering if I'm "too weird" to survive in this society...but there I have this feeling of OK-ness, that it doesn't matter that there are things about me that it seems parts of society would think were bizarre and borderline pathological)

And you know? I feel like it's enough for me to work on hanging on to what is good about my soul every week, without having to have the added burden of feeling that I'm saving the world. I guess that's what it is about the article that gets me - I do tend to have, if not exactly a Messiah complex, certainly mother-hen tendencies, where I want to FIX things and CURE things and say the just-right thing that will make a student's mind open up, and I get frustrated with myself when I don't seem to be living up to my expectations of what I think I should be able to do.

So I guess for me, the value of craft is primarily in that it brings my mind and my spirit back to a place where I am more "whole" than I am after a day of dealing with people who have different agendas than I do, or trying to fix things that won't fix, of being out among people who think it's deeply weird that I have something on the order of 7500 books in my house but that I drive a nearly 10-year-old car.

And I have to admit, I'm reluctant to attach all the weight of "saving American ingenuity" to the little socks and little toys that I make - because I'm not sure my craft is strong enough to support the weight of that hope. And I'm not sure I want to take on that responsibility. For me, it's enough that my craft heals some parts of my soul that get a few pinpricks or even holes in it every day...

I think an interesting cultural-studies paper would be an examination of "fan culture" and what particular cultural icons are "adopted" by crafters and turned into craft items.

For knitting, Super Mario seems to be really big - I've seen Super Mario characters on afghans, and toys of the little power-up mushrooms (those may have been crocheted, though). And today, there was a link to a hat made to look like one of the chain-chomps.

It also seems that Futurama is big. And Invader Zim. And, of course, Harry Potter - the whole Harry Potter universe had been so subsumed into the crafting world that it's almost a cliche to mention it.

Lord of the Rings was a lesser thing - I've seen scarves made to look like some of the hobbit-scarves, and there's A Cardigan for Arwen. But it seems there are fewer possibilities there. (Perhaps Lord-of-the-Rings-world is not "cozy" or "safe" in the way that Harry-Potter-world often is? Or perhaps there are fewer color combinations and knitted items to consider?)

And though there's not much Star Wars inspired crafting, there are an awful lot of people who've made Yoda dolls of various sorts. (And there is, of course, the Kenobi jacket).

I just think it would be interesting to look at the intersection of these two pop-culture phenomena: crafting and the different entertainment media.

It also seems that among the toy-making knitters and crocheters, octopi and squid are very big. I am not sure why - I have a couple I've made but they're not the first thing I'd think of. If I were sitting down to design a toy based on an unusual animal I was particularly fond of, I'd probably choose anteaters. Or pangolins. Or a giraffe. Or a kangaroo, or some other marsupial.

****

Dragonknitter, I THINK your gift came. The book on the history of plumbing? It came without a note or anything so I assume it's from you.

If it is, I have to say it's most excellently amusing to get a book on the history of plumbing as a Valentine's Day gift. Thank you.

I have figured it out.

A couple days ago, before Lent, I was talking about how I couldn't think of what to do? I don't come from a tradition where "giving stuff up" is common - or at least not in the time and the place I came from it. So the idea of giving up chocolate, or tea (horrors!), or meat (which I probably could do) doesn't mean as much to me, I guess, not having been an ingrained part of my upbringing.

But I thought of it today. And it's something I'm going to list as a "working on," not as an "I will give up" because I don't know if I can give it up completely, and I am quite sure I cannot successfully train myself to give it up in a mere 40 (well, 38, now) days.

I am going to work on giving up my need for other people's approval. Or, more specifically, giving up feeling bad when I don't get some crazy little "award" that's making the rounds. Because that's just stupid, to beat myself up because I'm not an "You make my Day" blogger or because I haven't won one of the three "excellence in teaching awards" that is awarded every year on a campus with 200+ faculty.

I am going to work on believing that I am good enough even without some external validation of that fact. I am going to work on not craving that approval.

(Yes, that counts, spiritually speaking. Needing other people's approval is, as I word it with my Youth Group kids, "stuff that gets between you and God." I know what is right and what is wrong. I know when I am on the right path and when I've stumbled off of it. So I need to trust myself more and not look to external sources for validation).

I've been doing too much doubting of myself lately - a while back I wrote about, "Should I chuck the mode of teaching I've done for years, that I'm comfortable with, and frankly that I think I do well, because some educational pundits say we need to be more entertaining and interactive?" And while yeah, I probably could open up things more for discussion in class, I shouldn't have to try to be a dancing duck or have Powerpoint explosions in order to convey the information.

And really, that self-doubt was in a big part trying to chase after better evaluation scores. Or after one of those 3 danged awards. Because some part of me has got convinced that without a piece of paper with some muckety-muck's signature and a gold seal on it, I'm not good enough. And that's crap. And it's making me unhappy, it's making me less effective, and it needs to go.

So I'm going to work on doubting myself less. I'm going to work on not going into puppy-at-the-pound mode in front of other people, where I want them to like me, to really like me. Where I want them to shower me with awards so that I can be convinced I'm good enough.

Because, you know? The God I believe in accepts that I have value as who I am, and that value is not contingent on what my neighbors think of me, or my colleagues, or my students. And in fact, in some cases that value might actually be watered down by my being untrue to myself just to get people to like me. (And although my faith tradition teaches that we're not "good enough" by ourselves as we are, the point is - that's EVERYONE. It's not just me that's not "good enough." It's not that everyone else has found perfection and adulthood and I'm still sitting eating paste like Ralphie Wiggum. It's that everyone screws up, not just me.)

And while I'm not going to become an, um, "applehead," or start acting like a jerk to the people around me, I'm going to work on accepting this:

Some people - probably a lot of people - will like me for me. And that's cool. But some people, for whatever reason, won't like me for me. And that's their problem and not mine. It is not my job on this Earth to get everyone to like me, that's an impossible task. I can continue to be nice, kind, all that good stuff - because that's part of who I am - but I am going to work on being done with turning myself inside out for other people just because "they might not like me."

And it's also not my job to win awards. It's my job to do the best that I can, the best I know how to do. And sometimes even what I know to be best may be counter to what some people want...and in that case it is my job to do what I know is best, even if that makes some people unhappy.

I don't know. Maybe it's still a self-indulgent goal. But I do know I expend a lot of psychic energy - energy I could spend working or praying or heck, playing, obsessing over how people see me, what they say about me behind my back. And it shouldn't matter. Like the old saying that's attributed alternately to Mother Theresa and to Billy Graham (which probably means neither of them actually said it), it's not between me and them; it's between me and God.

Thanks for the nice comments on the Snicket sock. It's a timeconsuming pattern to do but I do like how it turns out.

I've been thinking about socks, thinking about making up some of my own patterns again for socks, thinking about using some of the mounds of self-patterning or busy variegated yarn I've accumulated.

I'm seriously thinking about doing an ongoing "study" (if it's not too pretentious to call it that) of different types of ribbing. Nancy Bush has four examples of ribbed socks at the start of Knitting Vintage Socks, there are other combinations of ribbing (either where you do a sort of welted rib where you alternate wide and narrow bands of knit st inbetween the purl st), there are waffled ribs, there are things like fisherman's rib and lacy ribs...and I think most of them would work well with a yarn where a more detailed lace or cable pattern would either get lost or fight with the yarn.

I have, once again, referred to my various stitch dictionaries. (And you know? I think in terms of prettiness, the Stansfield book that Lark put out is my favorite. And it seems to be a widely used one; things like Sensational Knitted Socks refer to patterns like "Stansfield #12" and such. So why not just go back to the source?)

I really love the stitch dictionaries. (Even the ones that aren't as great as the Stansfield). I can look at them and just start thinking about all kinds of projects I want to make - socks, and fancy scarves, and vests with panels of narrow cable stitches on either side of the button band (that's what I'm thinking of for the Nashua yarn I bought over Christmas - just a simple button front vest, but with two narrow cabled bands just to either side of the button band.)

I have a lot of stitch dictionaries. Several of them were purchased at JoAnn's with a 40% off coupon. (I have to admit I'm kind of bad about that. I get the coupon, I take it with me when I'm down that way, go to JoAnn's, maybe don't see anything I totally NEED, but then I'm like, "But you drove down here and you have this coupon, just find a book or something" and I wind up coming home with yet another book).

I have the 3 Barbara Walker treasuries (each ordered from Schoolhouse Press - bought them when I was a grad student and so the cost of each one was comparatively kind of large).

I have the previously mentioned Stansfield book. (Another reason I love it is all the stitches are charted)

I have one of the Harmony guides - the old format, the big slim paperback. All of the stitches are kind of crowded on the pages, it's harder to look at, IIRC there are no charts - I don't use this one as much.

I have the three Vogue books on knitting stitches.

I have one called something like "Super Stitches" which is a funny little paperback thing. It has three swatches on every right-hand page and on the left-hand page, the directions on how to do the stitch. I think this is the one I bought most recently and I do have to say I like the layout.

I also have a big Reader's Digest hardback of stitches.

There are certain stitches that are repeated between the books - between all books, I think - but every book has its own unique stitch patterns that aren't anywhere else.

It kind of amazes me, how many different combinations there are of knit, purl, yarn over, kfb, work through the back loop, decreases, and "weird" things like multiple wraps. I wonder if anyone's tried to work out mathematically how many different potential stitches there could be. (I suppose you'd have to constrain it somehow, and say "how many different stitch patterns with a repeat of 8" or something like that).

But it's one of those little things that makes you marvel at human ingenuity - many of these stitches are hundreds of years old. Someone had to come up with them for the first time. Did they do it just by playing around and found that what they made was pretty, or did they say "I want to make a pattern in my knitting that will look like the ripples waves make in the sand" and they set out with their knowledge of yarn overs and decreases from other projects and actually invented the Crest O' the Wave stitch?

How does someone invent a new stitch pattern? It seems to me almost like figuring out a new way to shake hands.

"So what have we learned so far?"

This month is my birthday month (39 on the 27th, if you MUST know), and I was thinking over the weekend - spurred on by this post by "une femme d'un certain age" about what I've learned over the year.

(warning for parents with kids who might read: there's a coarse word or two in that post).

So, at any rate: what would I tell my 20, or even my 30, year old self?

1. Don't take it personally. This is something I am STILL learning. I will probably STILL be learning it as I take my last breath. Sometimes when people show you rejection, it is not YOU they are rejecting - they are not in love with the idea you promoted, or they're cranky, or they've seen the same thing before (or they think they have) in another form and it messed with their head, or something.

2. And even when people reject YOU for YOU, it shouldn't matter. I had a friend who used to shrug and say, "if they don't like me, **** 'em." This is something I'm still learning as well - I have a terrible desperate need to be liked. I almost go into puppy-dog mode when I'm around someone new, I want them to like me so badly. I do not know if that's simply a part of my personality or if it was something forged at a young age, as a result of a lot of the teasing/perceived rejection I dealt with from my peers.

3. The only person's behavior you can control or change is your own. Once I figured this out, I got a lot more peace.

4. Exercise. Make it a part of your life. While I doubt I've lost much weight through the process, I do think it's made me healthier. And more resilient - I can deal with the slings and arrows of everyday life better somehow.

5. Sometimes it's better to let someone else try and fail than for you to continue to do the thing for them that they should be doing for themselves.

6. You cannot fix everything, nor should you try I used to have this hanging over my desk in grad school, to remind me that sometimes, it isn't really necessary for me to jump up from my desk at the first sign of someone in difficulty. There's a saying out there that goes something like, if you help a chick to hatch, it will die. I'm too good at wanting to (metaphorically) help chicks hatch.

7. You deserve time for yourself. Still working on this as well, but I've gotten better at either not offering to do things (when I get a strong sense someone's hinting they'd like me to take on their duties) or even saying "no" outright.

8. Sometimes getting a decent night's sleep is preferable to getting something completed, or completed perfectly

9. Life is messy and people are weird This is not a condemnation; it is an acceptance. And it is kind of freeing once you come to accept that. (and similarly: I am weird too, and that's okay.)

10. Everyone has some kind of a burden they are carrying. Everyone is messed up in some way. Even the people who look like they have it made (vide any of a number of celebutantes/pop singers out there). Knowing that inspires both increased compassion, and decreased jealousy.

11. Being grateful drives out a sense of self-entitlement. Stop and think of all the good stuff you have. Feel grateful for it. And that can help you realize that that one little thing you DON'T have, doesn't matter so much.

12. Everyone that you encounter in the course of a day, no matter how lowly they may seem, is a fellow human being and is deserving of some measure of respect. I think this is perhaps the most important thing to learn. The person checking you out at the Wal-Mart, the cranky old lady in front of you in line at the post office, the cop who pulls you over. They deserve respect not because you might get in trouble (as with the cop) but because they're people too. (And sometimes treating a cranky person with a little kindness can get them to be less cranky, I've found).

13. It may suck being single on Valentine's day, but there are a lot of things that suck worse (apologies for the slightly strong word but I think it fits here). In other words, when you feel sorry for yourself, think about the things that you do have that are good - or the bad things you've managed to avoid.

14. It's okay to find stupid stuff funny. You don't have to be highbrow all the time. People get tired of people who are too intellectual, who never let the facade slip and show the "real" them, the one who likes dumb jokes or Mel Brooks movies or silly cartoons.

So there's 14 things that might have made me happier if I had known them when I was younger.

Interesting blog that merits more of a look on my part: Layers of Meaning. It's about art and creativity and particularly how those things "intersect" with every day life.

I found it by doing a Google search on "Crochet and math" in response to this post at Dustbury about a crocheted isocahedron. (I was mainly looking for proof of, "I'm not the only one interested in this!" but also that I couldn't remember exactly if "parabolic figure" was the thing I was thinking of).

I have a pattern for one of those odd little parabolic figures, in "Kooky Crochet" - it's pretty simple; you start with a short chain and then do 2 sc (IIRC) in every stitch until the thing becomes unmanageably big. (There might be more to it than that; been a while since I checked the book).

The particular "crocheted math" post I found is here but her more recent posts are pretty interesting as well. I particularly like the 8th Rule for Designers: "Remove thy Pride."

I think that applies to a great many things, not just designing. I can completely see that from a different angle - not so much about "accommodating the client" but, for example, removing one's self (or, more importantly, one's sense of self-worth) from projects such as journal articles, so it is not so devastating to one when said article either gets rejected or sent back for some kind of revision-cum-disembowelling suggested by the editors.

I also like #2 - "Fail Triumphantly" but I doubt I'll ever be at a headspace where that idea is comfortable enough for me to put it into practice. ("Failure Bad!" is one of my most deeply entrenched thought patterns, way down there in the alligator part of my brain).

According to some Welsh social scientist, yesterday (Jan. 21 - the third Monday of January), is supposedly the most depressing day of the year - it's claimed it has something to do with the weather (and thus, I suppose, would be only a Northern Hemisphere phenomenon), distance from Christmas (which then I suppose makes it a Christian or at least Christmas-celebrator specific phenomenon) and generally not having things to look forward to.

But I tend to figure that life is what we make of it. And actually, yesterday, I was pretty content. I stayed home


Lit the candles I had scattered on the mantel and the fireplace



Read, both seriously and frivolously (and no, I do not know why it's called "Aranzi Machine Gun." It's a book of short comic strips that tend to be that kind of inscrutable-odd-cute that only the Kawaii Movement of Japan can be once it's translated into English. And now I want the other two volumes).



And knitted on the newest Clapotis, which I am making out of some Cleckheaton Wool Silk.

And of course, it being the day it was, I reflected on how we may not be PERFECT as a nation (in how we treat each other, especially in how we treat people who look different from us), but we're a lot farther along than we were before Dr. King.


****

Addendum:

Charlotte, you can use cooking spray. I would have but I was out. And you can also cover the onions - I suspect you could even do them in a covered pan (like a Dutch oven or something) on the top of the stove over low to medium heat as well as in the oven.

Next finished item: a toy elephant from the Elefante pattern.



I used Knit Picks' "Wool of the Andes" in the Buchanan "hand-dyed" colorway.

It took almost the entire skein of the yarn...in fact, I had to do the tail as a braid of the remaining scraps as there wasn't enough left for the little i-cord tail.

And his ears came out wonky - they're a little too small. I think that was because I only had a crochet hook a size smaller than what the pattern called for, and I do tend to crochet a little tightly.

The elephant's name is Dudley, mainly because I watched "The Bishop's Wife" not to long before knitting him.


*****

I got to thinking last night about questions of security, self-confidence, overanalysing things, etc. Carol (at Go Knit In Your Hat) had a post up about pricing...about whether she was wrong for trying to price her yarns low ("what does it say about handwork when prices are low") and she was wondering if not having fancy frou-frou stuff might hurt return business...and she finishes by saying, "Geez, it's hard being an overanalytical pointy-head who thinks too much."

Oh, I know all about that.

I do that with everything. If I make some off-hand comment that was intended to be funny but someone reacts badly to, I obsess over it for days, and wonder if the person will forget it or if it's better for me to go and tie myself into knots of apology. One of the reasons I think I have a hard time, sometimes, in interpersonal interaction is that I'm so terrified of offending people that sometimes I don't express my own opinions, or I'm too neutral....if someone says something to me that I (possibly) mis-interpret as their being offended with me or upset with me I feel bad for days...

I've also been suffering some of the typical start-of-the-semester angst....do I throw over my "classical" way of teaching and attempt to go to a more discussion-oriented format? Do I stick to my guns even though "everyone who's anyone" in education says you Must Not Lecture? What about the fact that previous attempts at discussion have sometimes kind of fallen flat...I know not whether it was because students didn't have the necessary background, or they were shy of speaking, or they just wanted ME to talk, or if there's some weird thing about my personality that seems to shut down discussion, or what?

And it made me think of something I read years ago...it was in that Making Things book by Ann Wiseman. I don't have the book in front of me so I can't quote exactly, but I can give a general idea of the fable...

It was a story about how the forest animals decided to start a school. But they could not agree on a curriculum...the rabbits wanted it heavily weighted towards running, the beavers toward building. The owls said flight should be a component. In the end, some kind of mixed-curriculum was decided upon. But the poor rabbit children, no matter what they did, could not fly - they were made to stay after school and keep trying, they kept flapping and working their forelegs until they became muscle-bound in such a way that their running suffered, and the beavers, from trying to run, injured their tails from having to drag them on the ground and they found they could not build as well...(The bears, finding nothing in the curriculum to their liking, withdrew and founded their own school....)

I guess what the fable says to me is that we all have our own particular talents. And when someone tells us that we need to do something that is counter to our talents, we have to consider carefully - will doing this make me happy? Or will it impair my ability to be who I really am?

I don't know. I'm just thinking out loud here. I'm going to TRY to incorporate more discussion in my classes but I also have to recognize that sometimes being an "instigator" or "gadfly" isn't really who I am...that my ability to analogize and synthesize and explain should also get some time.

I'm back. (Standard operating procedure: pictures of objects finished, and discussion of the trip, will come later. The first because I must recharge my camera, the second because I have a number of other things to do - a couple calls to return, a Sunday School lesson to prepare, the Christmas decorations to take down - yet today.)

Traveling back I did get to thinking about New Year's Resolutions. So often they seem to be presented as some kind of a punishment - you know, the old "you ate too much over the holidays so now you must lose 20 pounds as fast as possible" kind of thing. Or the "You've been bad about money in the past so now you must cancel your cable and turn the heat down to 60* and sit under a single light bulb at night and not buy anything other than what's needed to keep body and soul together so you can save money."

And one problem with these is that they're mightily hard to stick to. There's a reason that some parents use the words "discipline" and "punishment" as synonyms. If you make someone (such as yourself) go too hard at something that's a Thou Shalt Not, and specifically a Thou Shalt Not of something you used to blithely do without too much repercussion, it does feel like some kind of cruel and unusual sentence.

And there's the whole "Love yourself as you are but now change" pop psychological idea, which rankles those of us with more logical minds.

And one thing I wrestle with is the whole "not good enough" issue - I can get myself very easily wrapped up into a fury of "I must make myself 20 pounds thinner at least - I must exercise more each day and include strength training and aerobics and yoga - I must eat 9 servings of vegetables (or whatevertheheck it is the USDA claims we need these days) - I must remember to put on moisturizer - I must stop reading those bubblegum-for-the-mind mystery novels and delve into the Great Books of Western Civilization..."

And it just gets kind of exhausting, listening to your inner drill sergeant.

(An aside: at one point I joked that I was "overly Prussian" in the old stereotypical sense? One of my uncles, who is interested in and has the wherewithal to investigate family history, made little charts for each of us with all the ancestors he could trace down. Several of them ARE Prussian (though a greater proportion are from Hanover...I'm not quite sure where that is). So I suppose I come by my rigidity somewhat naturally).

But anyway. I got to thinking about what I really, truly would like to do in the coming year - what would make me HAPPY as opposed to what I would be doing out of some vague sense of duty to the USDA or the Health Police or the Harold Blooms of the world. And I decided there are really three things, and possibly a fourth:

1. Get back to "New Rule" (the work-an-hour-a-day-except-Sundays-and-Wednesdays on research related stuff). Partly because I do have a couple articles that could go out with minimal spiffing up, and partly because I have two unfinished projects I want to finish, and partly because I have a third that's well on its way and will probably be a presentation at next, I mean, THIS year's Prairie Conference.

But mainly because when I was sticking to that, I was happier. And I was getting stuff done. And I think my teaching was better, not just because I was happier but because I felt more up-to-date and secure in what I was talking about. And because it was something different - I mean, I could have a bad day of teaching where it just felt like one big dropped connection but I could go and read some good articles and that salvaged a bit of the day, it made it feel like I hadn't done just a great big nothing.

2. Finish the quilt that is in the frame so I can get another one put in. And so I can have the finished quilt.

3. Try thread crochet again (crocheting using the really fine stuff, like knit-cro-sheen or that thin cotton yarn). I even bought a book on it. I tried this when I was a young teenager but my tension was really tight, and I was using the wrong size hook (I think) and I wasn't really aware that there were different thread weights and it was just a big mess. But I think with having had more practice crocheting I will probably get the hang of it this time.

Not that there's a huge need for more doilies in the world, but there are pretty things you can make, and it's another thing to know how to do. Another string to one's bow, as they say.

4. The possible fourth item is to try my hand at some simple sweater or vest designing. I have a copy of "Knitting in the Old Way" and the Vibekke Lind book and I look at them and it seems the "body logic" of knitting a sweater in the round without referring to an already-made-up pattern should make sense to me. But I've never really gone for it, mainly because I feel like I should spend my limited knitting time on something that's fairly certain to work out. But I've been thinking again about trying to do something that my great-grandmothers (or, certainly, my great-great grandmothers) did: knitting from the combined logic of gauge and body measurements (plus trying the thing on from time to time). You know, just to see if I can do it.

Part of this is also because I bought 880 yards of yarn with a vest in mind...but the pattern I planned to use calls for considerably more (it's very cable-dense). But I loved the yarn - Nashua Handworks wool/alpaca worsted in the color "Blue Pine" and the knit shop had only the 4 balls. So I bought it, thinking idly, "maybe I can design a vest for it". So maybe. I don't anticipate throwing over my career as a professor to design sweaters full-time (Because, honestly? You put even more of your heart and soul and who you are into a design than into a manuscript of a journal article, and we all know how I react when a journal article gets rejected...and there's also the matter of my needing, for my own psychological comfort, to know that there will be a paycheck forthcoming at the end of each month).

It occurs to me, on further thought, that all this kerfuffle comes down to something that some people may overlook:

We each need to define success for ourselves. And "success" will mean something different to different people.

One of the worst graduation speeches I ever heard - I was already out in the workforce but it depressed me and made me want to move back home with my parents a little - was a woman who exhorted the "kids" to "succeed." By her own narrow definition. Which was climbing the corporate latter, rung by agonizing rung. She told them to arrive at work before their bosses and to not leave until they were sure their bosses had. She exhorted them not to take vacations, because apparently, if you didn't make yourself seem indispensible, you'd never hang on to that precious, precious job. She never said outright - but it seemed that the implication was - you were a fool if you had hobbies or did volunteer work or spent more than minimal time with your families.

I couldn't believe it. She didn't allow for any other definitions of success - she didn't suggest that one could be an artist or a teacher or a stay-at-home-parent and be successful.

And you know? Thank goodness different people do have different definitions of success. Because if we didn't, there'd be no one willing to do different jobs - everyone would want exactly the same thing. It's precisely because we differ that there are people who really, really want to teach. Or people whose life's dream is to become a cardiac surgeon. Or people who sign up for the Peace Corps and go dig wells in some developing nation.

I think young people would do well to take some time to think about what their own personal definition of success is - and think about it seriously (Hrm. Maybe that could be next week's Youth Group lesson). I know when I was an undergraduate, I started formulating mine. What I came up with was this:

1. I wanted a career where I wouldn't have to worry about sacrificing my deeply held moral and ethical beliefs.

2. I wanted to make enough money to support myself in a certain degree of comfort (but not make lavish amounts of money; as I've said before, I don't think I'd fit in with the American aristocratic class, and that's mostly rich folk)

3. I wanted to do something I enjoyed, where most days I got up and looked forward to going to work.

4. I wanted to feel like I was making the world a better place, or at the very least, helping people out a little.

I also realized partway through that I really, really wanted to go to grad school (which was good, because it turned out I needed that for goal 2 and probably goal 3 as a biologist).

Later on, I realized I needed a goal five:

5. Have enough free time to have a life away from work; be able to read books for fun, pursue my needlecraft hobbies, and generally have downtime to recuperate.

And you know? I feel better having written those because I realize that despite all the things I think I'm NOT getting done, I have achieved those basic five, more or less. (Don't know so much about #4 some days, but that's a hard one to evaluate).

So anyway. Perhaps some of the conflict is that there are folks who don't recognize that everyone defines "success" the same way, and you need to pick and choose what is right for you?

(It could also come down to the fact that Britain is fundamentally more classist than the U.S. and the people attacking Jane Brocket see her as an "upper middle class twit" and just feel sort of jealous or are wanting to take her down a peg. Something.)

But yeah. I don't understand why we as women (my experience being purely as a woman - no Tiresias I - I don't know if men do this kind of thing to each other. I've never witnessed it, but it could happen in more private, "just among us men" situations) feel the need to do this.

Whatever you do, as long as it's legal and moral and it makes you happy, God bless you and keep doing it.

*****

On to pictures.

I finished the left front of Kenobi last night.



This has now become my "mainly work on THIS" project, partly because I can almost see it being done, and partly because it's gotten cooler again and I can imagine a time when it would be good to wear.

I searched out the remaining yarn for the rest of the sweater (I have two half-balls left from the left front).



My six little alpacas! I had to search quite a bit for all of these; I had moved/tucked away/hidden yarn in different places during different phases of house cleaning. It took me a long time to find that sixth ball; at first I was afraid I was misremembering how much I had used already and I was going to come up short, and then I found one of the ball-bands so AT LEAST I had the color and lot-number if I had to re-order.

But I kept searching. (I'm always reminded of the Parable of the woman who had the lost coin - how she turned her house upside down looking for it, and then rejoiced when she found it, when I am looking for something [often a ball of wool I have misplaced]. I am kind of like that.)

So now these are waiting - I have two half-balls left over from the left front, which will begin the right front, and it will probably take the better part of two more balls to do that, then I have the sleeves (which shouldn't take more than a front each) and a little bit needing to be leftover for a collar.

Also while searching I gathered up all the yarn for Samus, which I want to re-start. I'm almost done with the bottom band (and thank goodness, the row-counter telling me where I was in the pattern was right there with it). I'm telling myself once I cross the Khyber Pass of picking up allllllllll those stitches, it will be nice easy stockinette for a long while.



It's hard to see the colors in these but these are my new knit-and-read socks - they are the Kaffe Fassett "Mirage" colors (in the earthtones colorway) that Regia puts out. I bought two balls as soon as it came out because I love Kaffe Fasset's color sense, and I love the subdued earthtones look. I've done about 3" of ribbing - I wanted these to have a very deep ribbing - and then I'm going to do about 4" of plain stockinette before doing the heel.