The box was a mess.  I couldn’t find anything I wanted, and every time I tried to pick out a needle, or pin, or my beautiful little crane-shaped embroidery scissors, they would be attached to everything else in the box by a multi-colored tangle of thread.  Stressful.  So in the spirit of “tidiness breeds inspiration” I took five minutes and cleaned it up.  Entropy is a physical law, so it is normal that a handsewing box will collect things over time that belong elsewhere:  bobbins for the machine, elastic, bits of ribbon, ends of cloth, and many many spools of thread–all of these have their proper place in the sewing area, but a good mending basket should have just the essentials.  The weirdest thing I found in my cluttered box was this group of five flicker feathers.  Where did they come from? You know it’s time to clean up your basket when pieces of animal start turning up.

The tidy box looks so inviting!  I was actually thrilled when Tom came to me this morning with pants that needed a button. Of course it won’t stay this perfect, but I DO plan to spend a few minutes every month to put it back in good stead.

My sewing basket is a plastic fishing tackle box I got at a yard sale for 25 cents  when I was in college (new with the tags on–no fish-egg slime).  It’s perfect.  It holds an assorment of needles and pins, a few basic thread colors (yes, in our house magenta is a “basic”– and sometimes it’s fun to mend in a contrasting thread color), a tape measure, chalk and a fabric pen for marking, a stash of safety pins, a small collection of buttons (more buttons live in a big button jar by the sewing machine), my good embroidery scissors and fabric shears, snaps and hooks-and-eyes, tape measure, seam ripper, and thimble.

Years ago I was sitting in my great-aunt Irene’s living room in Iowa, both of us with sewing in our laps.  She said, “I don’t know how you sew without a thimble, Lyanda.  If you start, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without one.”  I have tried and tried, but I cannot sew nimbly with a thimble on my finger.  I do, however, use it frequently for pressing needles through thick fabric.

My three favorite things in the box:

1)  The seam ripper.  It’s useful of course, but what I really like is that I’ve had this same little orange plastic seam ripper since my junior high home economics class.  That happens sometimes.

2)  The little crane-shaped embroidery scissors.  They are beautiful and incredibly sharp.  They delight me every time I use them.

3)  My pin cushion.  It was made by my mother when she was a Brownie, and is filled with sawdust that sometimes escapes.

I encourage everyone to make up a little box or jar to keep mending supplies at-the-ready.  You don’t need all the stuff in my box, just a little thread, scissors, pins and needles, all kept in one place–a canning jar or basket or cardboard box.  That’s all it takes to set yourself up for  a lovely, calming,
practical art.  Think of all the things we can save from the out-box with just a little bit of care and thread.

For inspiration and how-to, see my previous Pretty Patching post.  Also Craftzine’s Mending Month recap from a few years back.

A yarn bombed parking meter in Vancouver, from yarnbombing.com.

And now, surprise surprise, a guest post from Tom about knitting!

What is it about yarn bombing that’s so compelling? “Knit graffiti” — it brings a smile to my face just to think about it! Guerrilla crafters wrapping yarn creations around objects in the streetscape under the cover of darkness, adding a touch of whimsy and warmth to the built environment we all share.

Part of what I love is the the way, when describing this art form, you can’t avoid juxtaposing words with a Monty Pythonesque absurdity – guerrilla crafting, yarn bombing, knit graffiti, textile street art, yarn core.

Don't mess with yarncore.

Do these purling pirates cover their faces with black hand-knit bandanas as they skulk through the streets in the moonlight? Do they hatch their dastardly plots over Earl Grey tea drunk straight with no chaser? Is there a yarn core bar where embroiderers are tossed into the alley on their ear, and brawls erupt over the relative merits of alpaca and sheep wool? (I certainly hope so!)

Anyhow… when I read that a yarn bombing project had knit round a bike rack at the other end of our own West Seattle neighborhood, I dragged us of all up there to take a look. (Then Lyanda and I got to have a little debate about whether this would make a better Bikejuju or Tangled Nest blog post – the answer is both!).

West Seattle knitter Jaesee wrapped this bike rack as her first yarn bombing project, and started an appropriately tough-sounding blog to document it and tantalize us with the promise of more of these dangerous urban guerrilla yarn actions to come.

It’s a wonderful little burst of color and flowers in our gray Seattle spring, and as we walked over through the drizzle to look at it, another fellow was also circling the bike rack and touching it. Yarn bombing is definitely a tactile art form; we also could not resist touching this installation, feeling its texture and figuring out how it had been made and attached.

Lyanda, Claire and I have all been pondering guerrilla art projects this spring, and we’re even more inspired now. Our projects probably won’t be knit graffiti, but I, for one, definitely aspire to find an art form with an equally hardcore-yet-whimsical name. Suggestions welcome.

PS: Higher-resolutions versions of these photos available for free use on Flickr.
PPS: Cross posted on Bikejuju.com

Still–Tom would come home with these pretty basic cuts.  I knit, sew, and make all manner of things.  I’d cut hair in the past, with happy results.  Finally one day I looked at Tom with his fresh Rudy’s coif, and said, “Babe, I could totally do that.”  So I got a haircutting kit at the local drugstore (on sale for $25), with tolerable shears, a cape, and a buzz-clipper with various attachments.  I’ve been cutting Tom’s hair for a few years now, and he’s never looked better (if I may say so myself).

Tom admires his new cut, reflected in the chrome clippers.

And does Tom cut my hair?  Yeah, um, no.  Definitely not.  But when I see my haircutter Missy, I make sure to show up early for my appointment and watch her technique.  I ask her for advice about how to deal with…what shall we call it?  Tom’s growing “sunscreen hole” (as Claire affectionately says).  And the advice is freely given.

Cutting hair is not for everyone.  Yes, it’s “just hair,” but it grows right out of our bodies, and is curiously connected with our sense of self.  Bad haircuts are not tragedies, but it is nice to avoid them whenever possible.  But if you are clever with your hands, a bit crafty, have a good eye, and perhaps have someone to advise you in the art, and if your “cut-ee” is thoroughly willing, then why not try cutting your family’s hair at home?  It saves money, is rollicking fun, the tips are great, and it’s one more step to happy self-sufficiency.

There are lots of tutorials online.  This little video is sort of dorky, but it’s pretty much exactly how I cut Tom’s hair.

Thanks to Claire who took all the photos for this post!