Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Basil to the Rescue - Preview

These are some of the colors for the next B-List group of Bears.


Stitches and Carmel

           I finished Bear 234 and Bear 235 today. It shows that a stern reminder from my imaginary shrink works. Unfortunately he didn't pay attention when I bought one of those little chocolate bars that are displayed prominently on the counter of my craft store. Medium Thyme Red Heart Super Saver and "this" (points to the chocolate next to her yarn.) By the time I opened the car door I had inhaled it; only the packaging was left. I stuffed it into my purse.
          Already my mind wanders to the next color scheme. It has to do with Basil and Beets and Brussels Sprouts. Back to the B-List.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Taking Care of the Loners

Bear Yarn Wound into Balls   

During a yarn ball winding session this morning Dr. Steinfeld said, “Take care of the Loners first.”
I didn’t answer. Winding yarn balls means that I am restless; I am searching for a new line of bears. It is a mindless distraction, like counting steps to keep from shivering on my walk when the wind blows. Letting the yarn run through forefinger and thumb of one hand; circling the hand through the air in record speed; slowly turning the growing ball with the other hand without taking my thumb out of the hole at the top; occasionally shaking tangles until they fall apart – I can’t think of anything less creative or more absorbing. 
After a while I tired of the task and began to stuff leftover woolly ends into a plastic bag for my teddy bear DNA project. I flicked a tiny cloud of polyester fiberfill off my black sweater and watched it sail through the air.
“I was talking about the bears you started last month and never finished.” My imaginary shrink is persistent.
Yes, I try not to think about them, those two unrelated bears whose flat bodies, sealed into their individual zip lock bags, rest next to the group of Spring Babies in my sewing room. The first one I had started on the Light Rail ride to Stitches West on February 18. I knitted half the body sipping latté and waiting for the doors to the Fiber Paradise at the Santa Clara Convention Center to open. I was working on the head while I volunteered at the Mother Bear Project Booth. It was a convenient conversation piece and teaching object when somebody had a question about Bear construction.
“See! One piece! Very easy to make. I can knit while I walk around and talk to you.”
The problem with this Bear – I call him Stitches – is…….hmmm….. the problem is: he doesn’t belong in a group.
The second loner Bear began in Carmel, (I named him Carmel) the next day, a Sunday, while I visited Mother. He owns his existence to two “emergency balls” I had left in the closet of the guest room in case I ever ran out of knitting stuff. He didn’t make it to the sewing, stuffing, face-embroidery phase either. By the time the weekend was over I was fully engaged in “The Sound of Music” Bears. Mentally engaged. Drawing was in full swing. I had become obsessed with googling Lederhosen and printing Dirndl images.
But Dr. Steinfeld always nudges me when something bothers my conscience. He hangs around until an issue is resolved.
There is only one thing to do: finish the loners. I flashed a few shots before I packed the Spring Babies away. Then I grabbed the polyester fiberfill bag and the two Bear shells. Stitches and Carmel will be ready for their mug shots by tomorrow. And I promise to give them a few good words for their journey to Africa.
PS. I wound 25 balls today. My left hand is still spinning in a counterclockwise circle.


Spring Baby Bears - One by One

Bear 230

Bear 231

Bear 232
Bear 233

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Cat and Crows


Georg von Trapp


Maria

While I was in Germany in January I saw a play by Michel Lengliney entitled “Who Are You?” The play is about a woman with dementia, her interaction with her son and daughter, and her declining grasp on reality. In the brochure accompanying the ticket I found a very short poem by Mascha Kaléko that had a strangely soothing effect on me.

The Night
In which
Fear
Lives,

Also has
The stars
And the moon

In the phone calls with my 99-year-old mother-in-law I try to end the conversation in the safety of her moon and stars - her cat sleeping in the armchair and the crows pecking at birdseed on the porch. Until a few months ago Mother loved to discuss politics; she still reads the paper every day at her reading machine, but she no longer remembers what she has read. This morning her fear was that nobody would be able to come stay with her because the highway is closed. I tried ten different ways to make her understand that the highway is closed a few miles south of her and that we all live north; that her son had just been with her, that her daughter would come on Wednesday, and she would see me next weekend. She insisted that she is better informed than I am because she just read the local paper. She wouldn’t let go of the fear; even though I reassured her several times that a caregiver is with her until one of us arrives. I gave up on the subject and asked how the cat is doing. She said she wouldn’t leave her cat, even if they wanted to evacuate her (which “they” don’t) and besides, who else would feed the birds in this rain. The tension in our conversation eased and we talked about crows and blue jays and redwing blackbirds. For a while everything seemed like old times. Until I talked about the Mother Bear Project.

Mother is a major contributor to my “bear fund.” In February she wrote a check for $60.00 for the last 20 bears I had knitted. Her handwriting was very shaky and it took great effort to put the right amount and words to paper. This morning, when I told her that I had finished “The Sound of Music” bears and would bring a picture with me, she had no idea what I was talking about. Suddenly she remembered that "you always stand around with needles in your hands.” But it was only a flicker of recognition, no trace of previous conversations about bears and Africa and knitting. It is this “dimming of the light” that makes me so very sad. I think of it as a gradual sinking of spirit, grace, dignity, intelligence, care, love – all drowning in a big dark pool of muddy thoughts. Mother used to talk about memory loss; she doesn’t any more. And so, quickly, before I hang up, I try to erase fear in my own heart by promising a sunny day and a large gang of crows perched in the bare treetops, awaiting my arrival.

And here is the von Trapp Family in no particular order (that's how they loaded). Eventually, if and when the rain stops, I will take them out in the field for a proper group photo. I sing to that!

Captain Georg von Trapp. Bear 229

Liesl, Bear 221

Kurt, Bear 223

Brigitta, Bear 224

Marta, Bear 225

Gretl, Bear 226

Louisa, Bear 227

Maria, Bear 228
Friedrich, Bear 222

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Moving the Sky



How well I remember last April’s three in the morning tui tui twees. The musically impaired mockingbird, though trying very hard for a long time, never learned new melodies. My morning hours this March are quite different.  A mastersinger has taken residence in my pine tree and entertains me at just the right time – seven a.m. – with his endless repertoire. His song accompanies me into the kitchen and to my desk as he takes a seat high in the redwood tree in front of the house. He is an “early bird” and the only one I have heard so far, though I can’t be sure until I actually see him fly from one tree to the other.
Today my mind is preoccupied with Bear number 226, little Gretl from The Sound of Music, and the mockingbird offers a sweet harmony for my thoughts about knitting, about the factors that guide the fabrication of a group of bears from concept to shipping. I sort through metaphors, chase symbols, wade through considerations and convictions as I jot down Gretl’s finish date 3.5.2011.
I’ve found in the Mother Bear Project a perfect vehicle for artistic interpretation. I see a little gift box, wrapped and stored on a shelf in my mind’s storage room, for each group of bears. Looking at these boxes I realize how much fun I had and how much I learned from the Blues Brothers, Carrots and Guacamole, Mango Salad, Pigging out on Pink, Melonberries, B-List, Purple Rain, Rainbow Kids, and now Sound of Music. I muse about my involvement with loose ends and my determination to draw a baobab tree. I grin when I think about the time and money I spent shopping for as many browns as I could find; I still have the chart and the piece of cardboard with yarn samples.
In The Sound of Music I added two new considerations to the gift box: imitation of leather with ordinary yarn and addition of human hairdo to an animal face – I had resisted both at first, but now I am happy about the experiments.
Photography is an integral part of my bear making, and since bears don’t photograph well I stash these experiences in the gift box too. Bears are not easily poseable, the way my fashion dolls are, and they are more or less expressionless. But yesterday, as I was photographing Gretl, an interesting incident made me pay attention. I had noticed that my background – a poster board sky – was too narrow. Shortly after I moved the sky Gretl tumbled down because I had also moved her support. When I printed the photos I saw that I had caught the instance in which Gretl started to fall. She looked different – she looked surprised. I laughed. That’s when I had the thought that “Moving the Sky can cause your image to change.” A rather symbolic gesture – sliding the sky into place - considering the implications for the self. The picture quickly became my “artistic journal of the day.” Journaling is just another aspect of the gift box, a kind of packing list and timeline, though sometimes it looks more like a letter to my favorite psychiatrist.
But the most important part of the gift box is the journey the bears take after they leave my home. As I say farewell I sprinkle them with a final dose of good wishes and hope that they will bring a bit of happiness to a child in a far away land. Occasionally a bear’s image pops up again on my computer screen – in the arms of a child – and this, of course, is a special treat. The gold ribbon on the memory box.
I give little Gretl a hug before I confine her to the plastic container that holds my finished bears. The mockingbird must be taking his mid-morning nap; only a hum from the freeway enters through the screen door. A neighbor’s cat peaks in, then she runs off to chase a squirrel on the lawn. I pick up Louisa to give her a face.
For now the sky is in the right spot.  

Bear 225 - Marta from The Sound of Music

Bear 224 - Brigitta from The Sound of Music

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Whistleblower


          I’m uncomfortable with reporters who outdo each other in floods, fires, and tornadoes. They step deeper and deeper into rushing waters, inhale more smoke, hold on to crumbling walls and broken railings, and dodge flying objects. But today I heard the most amazing words coming from the CNN Newsroom. The anchor woman said to Ben Wiedemann something like ”you had enough wits about you to hit the report button.” It was half question half admiration, to be followed by the video. I turned off the TV. Had to concentrate on my blog, which was to explore the von Trapp Family father – the Captain.
            But my thoughts kept coming back to “YOU HIT THE REPORT BUTTON.” Not, “I hope you took yourself to safety as quickly as possible.” Not “ OMG, I hope you’re all right.”
One hundred feet away from a falling bomb in Al-Brega, Libya, a bomb that killed and wounded and set in motion a panic to escape, and the main concern is documentation – hitting the “report button.” Goods delivered. Had B. W. died in the incident, his last video would have become a goldmine. His tombstone would have become the ultimate tribute to DIGITAL DATA – note the pun – I wonder which digit he used to push the button. With this thought I returned to my own digital contribution to world peace – knitting bears.
          What would I do if I didn’t have at least a small part in this effort? With every bear I try to address a tiny bit of misery. Sometimes I even create a temporary little world within my four walls. This time I reconstruct a few scenes from the movie “The Sound of Music.” I bought the 45-year anniversary edition of the video and can now sing along with the children. Of course the special features are hidden from me while I watch the feature film; one needs a Blue Ray player to take advantage of the extra data collected on a separate DVD. But I really don’t want to know the difference between the film and the real von Trapp family. I want to hear Christopher Plummer sing “Edelweiss.”
          Captain von Trapp undergoes such sweet changes in the musical that I have to follow him around and observe his antics. And then, suddenly, he gives me an idea. Or better, it is his whistle that forces me to be assertive…. and a bit mean, I suppose. I gather the finished bears and those in various stages of development, then I find a whistle and line up the bears on the table on my front porch. The wind is blowing props around. I am cold. Bears fall on their faces. I run for clothespins to hold the curtains to the backboard. I poke metal knitting needles through little bear bodies and anchor them on the foam board that serves as floor. One final whistle blow and all have lined up, in order of their size – Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta, Gretl. Their father would be proud of them, though he might object to loose ends, yarn balls, and other unfinished business surrounding the group.
          While I aim my camera at the row of bears a big gust of wind seriously offends my patience. I quickly hit the picture taking button with my left index finger. Wind lifts a corner of the foam board. Louisa flies off her stand. Liesl tilts on her knitting needle. Kurt falls on his face. Marta tips over. Little Gretl, not even begun, rolls to the floor. The background drops on top of the group. Raindrops begin to pelt me from behind. I am in panic mode now, gathering bears, yarn, curtains, running into the house, closing the door. Breathing a sigh of relief that I’ve made it out of the war zone. And I’ve got the goods. Now I can put the whistle away; listen to Maria sing about her favorite things; return to my real life as small-time, behind the scenes, knitting peace maker.




Bear 223, Kurt, another Lederhosen Lad