a little red hen

Two-and-a-Half Reasons I Knit

"Grandma, will you teach me to knit?"  This request from Zach, my grandson, was on my mind on our recent trip to Portland.  What led me to knit?  I had no grandmothers.  But there was Meta Weigert, an older family friend.  She and her husband had come to St. Louis as German-Jewish refugees in the late 1930s.     I'm sure it was the combination of her seeing that we both could use some companionship and a European bias about 13 year old girl should learn to knit that brought me the gift of her fiber expertise.

Reason One, then, is that Handcraft is very satisfying for itself.  Reason Two--the connectedness with others--especially, my grandchildren.  Fills the granny-less debt in my own past.

If I'm a good European-style knitter, it is thanks to Meta, my excellent teacher. At five, Zach is not quite ready to learn.  I'd thought finger knitting might be a start.  But that's harder for me than regular knitting!  So we just played with Matty, the Bear, the stuffed teddy I'd made last winter and his two sweaters. 

I was surprised that he especially likes to button and unbutton one of the sweaters.  Together we wrote a story about his bear and my Roxy Robot mechanical toy-- purchased before there was a real life grandchild named Roxie!  As we wrote a story about our respective toys, I thought additional clothes might be good for Matty.

Zach agreed to my bringing the sweater home so I could have an idea of size for a pair of Matty pants.   The pattern is for "Jeans" in Sandra Polley's The Knitted Teddy Bear.  Adjusting for yarn thickness, I did only 25 stitches for each piece.

And the half reason I knit? To pass the time as I wait  in line to mail the new pants and sweater to Portland.  Here I am passing 20 minutes at the Columbia Post Office .  Is your P.O. like mine:  many customers, no clerks?  But there are more of them lurking in the back; are they shy? The arm of the Federal government that administers Medicare needs to do some oversight on the mail.

Empire State to Feds, "Hell, No!"

"New York is rejecting millions of dollars for federal grants for abstinence-only sex education, the state health commissioner, Dr. Richard F. Daines, announced..." New York Times, September 21, 2007.

Daines called it a "failed...policy...based on ideology rather than on sound scientific-based evidence..."  Not in this important story was something much scarier.  I believe that the Christian conservative right is out to destroy all of us they see as "different."

As in the people described in the billboard at the left.  I wish that all of us different people--secular Jews, feminists, people of all sorts of colors, uppity old people--would realize how much we have in common and how much to lose unless we come together.

Tardy, an explanation

Are you wondering, or is it just me?  My desk piled with half-written posts and lists about adventures  in Portland and ongoing life in the Big Apple, I feel my blog commitment is off.

Two days after our return Ron got one of those gastro-intestinal things.  Knocked him out.  My turn was this past Sunday morning on my way to more zinedom.  Thanks to "Best Zine Ever! issue five," produced in part by Independent Publishing Resource Center in Portland, I'd found Elsie Sampson who makes art books and delightful zines and was giving a workshop in Peekskill, N.Y.  We exchanged emails, I stuffed some zines she might like to see in amongst the condon amulets.

About to step into the car, I whispered to Ron, "I believe I'm going to faint."  Quick return to the 21st floor: my turn for the gastro thing.  There went this week.  A side effect is it seems to have triggered something I had several years ago, known in the family as  the mystery illness.  Aside from internal hives--which only children usually get--it has never been fully identified nor diagnosed by doctors.  Under control for five years, it was under control until the other day.

So, I missed Elsie's workshop, a lovely day in the country.  She has a beautiful website, www.chinesesweatshop.com where you can see why she is a special zinester. 

On the positive side, worst aspect of "the mystery" occurs late at night.  (What is that all about?)  But leaves me not-too-energetic in the daytime.

Last night I went to a new playwriting class on the lower east side at The Abrons Art Center at the Henry Street Settlement House.  Enthusiastic playwriting (and blogging) instructor and nine students--women and men, range of ages/backgrounds.  Looking forward to chance for more exchange about "Knitting in Public". And what are they writing?

Bookmark above from Oregon Department of Transportation.  "Get Street Smart" is the message on the reverse side.  Picked it up at the Belmont carfree Street Fair.  Even in mellow, we-stop-when-you-want-to-cross Portland,  a Little Red Hen has to watch her step.

Portland: Adventures with Festivals

  Our two weeks in Oregon were rich with family and the difference of how life is lived in the Northwest. Ron and I  scoop up experiences with our grandchildren to carry us through the next visit.  All were well, the weather was perfect, and there was always  gelato only a block or two away. 

The picture on the left is Mt. Hood, a good view from Hood River Valley and the second time we discovered how faulty our east coast assumptions could be.  The first was our drive to the 5th Annual Tomato Festival.  Ron can never get enough of these.  We'd read in Williamette Week, "Farmington Gardens understands your tomato lust."   What could be bad?

We got lost on the way to Beaverton, another city in the Portland metro area, one still surrounded by farms and fields.  Luckily we found help at a car wash where a customer gave us careful instructions.  This was important because there were no signs heralding "Tomato Festival!"  It was lunchtime when we arrived and walked up to the food table, "What tomato dishes do you have?" 

A  student from Gaston High School, selling food as a fund-raiser, answered, "We have bratwurst and corn."  Turns out the festival had a low profile even on site.  We ate corn, entered a large area where talks were given about tomatoes--and about 60 types of tomato were arranged for sampling inside an open tent.  You picked up a toothpick and went for it.

At Hood Rivee, still following the siren song of the Williamette Week, we went--this time with our daughter and grandchildren-- to "Millions of Peaches."  Trying to find Apple Valley's Labor Day Peach Celebration and BBQ was an hilarious quest.  Turns out that pears and apples are the local produce; the peaches were in jam jars.  The coleslaw with the BBQ was delicious and Zoe got to see goats.

On the way home Zach's intense interest in maps was indulged with the present of a huge puzzle map of the United States.  Though we almost ran out of gas, I had a good time talking with my daughter and the just-in-time, one pump gas station had popsicles.    

We did buy some great produce on the way home.  We laughed at ourselves as New Yorkers who think that events called "festival" will be very big.  As several people in Hood River explained, it's a way to get people to come out for the end of season furits and vegetables.  That worked! 

NYC Back in View as We Return from Portland

Sunday we had an easy trip back to the City after two mellow, experience-filled weeks with family and inhabitants of the Oregon city now known as PDX.

Tuesday, September 11 arrived too quickly--today, just as it did six years ago.  Many New Yorkers, myself included, struggle with how to acknowledge the day.  I listened to Brian Lehrer on our local NPR station who asked, "What has changed?" Intermittenly, the program switched to Ground Zero where family and friends  read the names of the dead.

"Yes," I thought, "read them slowly, very slowly."  I wanted to remember how it was  in 2001 when we honored our difference, when the America we were at that time was inspired by the wonder of who had come together in those towers to work--descendants of 19th century immigrants, 20th century women and men who have yet to gain a legal place as immigrants. 

Safe Sex Alerts from O'Folks

Vuee who blogs at O'Folks (off their rocker) is a source of amazing links.  She believes that these fit my interest in getting the safe sex message out in alternative ways.  We are not yelling at you here, waving a slide of an HIV virus in your face...

From July 11, ABC News  Condoms of all shapes and sizes...wedding gowns, hats made entirely of condoms were on display at a Beijing fashion show.  Models fought through soap bubbles as specia effects to show off outfits made entirely of condoms--as in the pictured pink gown and hat. The event was the Fourth China Reproductive Health New Technologies and Products Expo.  Organized by the country's largest condom manufacturer--Guilin Latex Factory--promoting the use of condoms in the fight against HIV/AIDS.

How about this, she next asked.  Seems the Girl Guides in the U.K. voted on new skills they wanted to learn.  Number One was managing money--Number Four:  SAFE SEX.   Someone designed the subtle badge for (not sure if the idea is that the only safe sex would be kissing). 

"Flat pack" would be for Number Eight choice:  how to assemble flat-packed furniture--perhaps from Ikea.

You know how it goes, this led me to Mary Yaeger, a U.S. artist, who has designed 28 badges that best represent the female experience--much more colorfully.  These include mastectomy, breast-feeding, pregnancy.  It is possible to order a poster.  Think I need to contact her about one for Condom Amulets.

Thank you, Vuee.  This stuff is very inspirational.

[Posted as a little red hen travels to see grandchildren in Oregon--and  meet with Donna Durchanas, co-designer of  upcoming Condom Amulet Zine.]

MAW, an exercise in supporting new art

This is an experiment.  I have invited a young (anyone of fewer years than myself)  emerging artist, on hiatus from blogging as Xtreme English, to contribute words and images on climate change.                                                           

Introducing MAW*

MAW* has a well developed intuition. It talks to her via POETRY and SONG. Her latest message, which comes to her from an office worker in DC, goes like this:

God bless my little blue knees...
Freezin' through my dungarees...
MAW!!!! Wontcha help me, please??

MAW hears and wakes up her DEPUTY:
"Rise an shine, lil chicky!! We need to ARREST these folks who INSIST on setting the thermostat at FEBRUARY temperatures!!!!

The LRH steaks off to PECK AT THEIR FEET!!!!

while MAW finishes her MEDITATION, the better to gather her POWERS!!

*Most Arresting Woman

Today's question:  are you a patron of the arts?

One Family's Choices

Because I wanted to take better care of these two photos from my husband's family, I scanned them.   On the left are Ron's maternal grandparents, Haim and Ruchel/Rochel Kaplan of Bialystok, Poland.  Their two daughters emigrated to for United States.  Ruchel died in 1932.  Haim survived the 1939 "Red Friday" massacre of half the Jewish population and died in Poland in 1942.

Rebecca Kaplan Bloom and Morris Bloom, were newly married, living on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, in the photo on the right.  Becky, as she was known, came to New York in 1913, roomed with relatives in Mt. Vernon, New York, worked as a seamstress, on the Lower East Side.  Within a year, she brought her younger sister, Gittlel, to the City.  She also worked in the sweatshops of New York. 

She and Morris, a Jewish Socialist, moved to the Bronx before settling for most of their lives in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. 

Morris' oldest brother, Hyman, was the first of three brothers to come to the U.S.   At Ellis Island, an official told him to select a name beginning with a "B."  And so the Bialystok brothers, three altogether, morphed into Blooms.  Two of the brothers were typesetters for the Jewish Daily Forwards.  A printer, Morris opened his own shop in the 1920s.  He specialized in advertising labels and posters--many for the Yiddish theatre and Manishewitz wine.

The elder Blooms, now deceased, were non-observant Jews who brought extended family together for a meal on Passover--without religious ceremony.  Becky was a patient, good-natured, hard-working matriarch.  Once her children had left home, she was familiar to neighbors on Brighton First Street. She sat on the bench in front of her house and listened to neighbors' travails.  Morris learned Spanish after he retired and befriended and assisted a young family from Peru.

In August,  Claude of Blogging in Paris posted thoughts about her own Jewish identity as a response to another Elderblogger's discussion.    A number of others from different backgrounds joined in.  I've returned several times to read the growing comments--all thoughtful and glad to join the conversation.

        [Posted while a little red hen and spouse visit family in Portland, Oregon]