Fly Lady

It is with...mixed feelings...that I admit I have discovered the Fly Lady.  For those of you not familiar with this impossibly chipper force of house-cleaning-and-organizing nature, she's developed a system of practices and habits designed to keep the the dirt and clutter in your home under control.  She breaks daunting tasks into easily manageable chunks and sends out emails with reminders and encouragement each day to those who sign up for her email list.

These emails drive me freakin' crazy (but don't worry, we'll end on a positive note).  First, there are approximately eleventy billion sent out each day.  I suspect this is a clever, Fly Lady ploy to get you to organize your email inbox.  The sheer volume of email from her list alone forced me to create a system of folders and automatic filters for my Blue Carpet email that's also helped me keep reader comments and pattern correspondence straight as well.  So, um...thanks, Fly Lady.

The next step in my filter system is to filter out any of these emails that contain the word "testimonial."  Easily half of these emails are forwards from users gushing about products - either the cleaning products she sells in her shop, or some cleaning product she's agreed to push for another company.  Seems fake, gets old.  But hey, the good stuff's free, and a girl's gotta make a living, right?

The Fly Lady claims she's talking to everyone, that her system can work and her emails are intended for any type of person - stay at home mom, single working mom, single working dad, wantonly childfree student, gay, straight, Christian, Pastafarian, whoever.  And yet, though outwardly open, I get the feeling that her head is stuck quite firmly in the "middle-aged Christian woman with kids" mindset, and that's who she writes to.  Every time she mentions a "God Breeze," I roll my eyes, heathen that I am.  And dude, just look at her site.  Not so much my aesthetic.

And yet...in spite of myself...after reading a few of her emails, I'm left with this bewilderingly warm and comforted feeling.  It's the same kind of bizarrely calming feeling you get when you stumble blearily into the bathroom in the morning, and it's all shiny and clean, or when you flop into bed and the sheets are clean, and the kitty's curled up on it but not getting cat hair and kitty litter all over your sheets because it's made, and who cares if there's some cat hair on the foot of the comforter?  It's like...this shouldn't make me feel good...but it does.

Most importantly, her system really works.  And if she's subconsciously gearing it toward middle-aged women with kids, and it still works for Little Ms 20-Something-Cynicism, then wow.  It's not a lot of work.  Targeted cleaning happens in 2 or 15 minute chunks.  Things get clean calmly, over time, and they stay clean through establishing habits.  These habits are quick, simple, time-saving things that make you feel better about your space and yourself, which keeps you from throwing up your hands in despair like I, um...did...a few months ago...when we moved.  :-\

Her system will take some adapting, but it's adaptable.  No, Fly Lady, I will not put my face on every morning when I wake up or pretty much ever.  But I guess I can brush my hair every morning...instead of just pulling it back into a bun so tight no one sees the tangles.  And I really do feel like less of a schlub when I do that.  So, um...thanks, Fly Lady.

The Ikea Effect

Today we went to Ikea, mostly out of boredom, partly for the cheap Swedish meatballs and lingonberry jam. I was afraid it would make me pine for clever domestic things I can't afford, but I was pleasantly wrong. Ikea has these neat little alcoves set aside as fully furnished apartments with some astonishingly small square footage displayed like a badge of honor. "Look how clever we are, we can make this appalling space so comfortable, functional and welcoming."

So while peering into those, I was happily reminded of the process of kitting out my apartment back in Texas. I was living alone, on a modest teacher's salary in approximately 600 square feet, and for not much money, I made that place quite a nice little cave to spend a year in. Granted, it was hand-me-down furniture that really did the trick. And some cleverness of my own - repurposing extra curtain fabric, things like that. But it was fun, and I did a good job.

Ikea did not make me feel oppressed today, as I thought it would. But as I walked through aisles of clever, money-and-space-saving shelving and gadgetry, my mood drifted from happy nostalgia to wistful and then somewhat sad dreaming. I kept a running checklist in my head, ticking off what we wouldn't need, two grown people with their own pots and pans and beds and desks. I'd also imagine how we might transform a tiny apartment kitchen into a facility suitable for foodies, and my boyfriend, who will remain nameless, let his gaze linger on many of my chosen goodies. I'd picture what his son might draw or scrawl on the blackboard door of a wall-mounted cabinet, or how to portion-off rooms, so that three people might feel at home and welcome in too little space.

I have all I need and more than enough space now, with my roommates, but I would be so happy to make do on a small budget in a tiny space if that space were filled with people I love. But for that, he'd have to get a job in Madison. And so, I will continue to glory defiantly in my blue carpet, and to dream of some tiny apartment when I let my guard down.

The Economics of Knitting Part 2

Yarn
When I first started knitting, back in college, it was with...like...Lion Brand and Red Heart acrylic stuff. The cheapest stuff I could get my hands on, essentially. Since then, I'm afraid I've developed rather more expensive tastes in yarn. This wasn't such a problem back when I was working full time, but now that I'm back to being a broke-ass student, well...yeah.

I'd say that my strongest preference when it comes to yarn is natural fibers. I realize this is somewhat arbitrary. There are some nice synthetic blends out there. It's part a crunchy-granola thing, and part the fact that I grew up in The Land of Spontaneous Brush Fires, not far from The Land of Spontaneous Hurricanes, where we have a deep appreciation for the miracle that is 100% cotton. But cotton isn't all that's good and pure in this world. Natural fibers in general breathe better than synthetics, and even in winter, when you're wearing layer upon warm layer, acrylics will make you sweat when wool won't.

I'd like to be even pickier in my yarn selection. I'd like to buy more locally produced fiber, wool from manufacturers with documented humane standards of treating their animals. I'd like to buy organic cotton and yarn dyed with the environment in mind. There's lots of locally, responsibly produced wool to be had in my area, and some gorgeous hand-painted artisan yarns. I'd like to focus on these, to help my community and vote with my dollar, but damnit, I can't afford to.

Not only can I not afford to, being a responsible consumer sometimes seems like an impossibly daunting task. A lot of people are faced with unacceptable choices - if there's not much locally produced organic produce to be had, for example, your decision to buy organic might send a message to the industry that buying local isn't important to you. If you want to buy locally, you may be sending the message that there's no demand for organic produce. Industry can spin your economic vote to further restrict your choices, if it's in its own financial best interests, and that is so frustrating when I think about it. I'm lucky, in that I live in an area in which I can buy my produce at farmer's markets and, during the right time of year, not spend any more than I would at the grocery store. Locally produced wool, however, is still beyond the reach of my wallet.

So...unfortunately, regarding this area of the economics of knitting, I just don't have any answers. I'm not going to give up my knitting because I can't afford to be as responsible a consumer as I'd like. That's not going to happen. I'm obviously not going to give up my graduate studies so that I can make enough to afford all-natural, organic, humane, locally-produced yarn. And I'm not going to start knitting with cheap-ass acrylics, which frankly, for all I know, could be environmentally destructive to manufacture (I really don't know. If you do - comment!).

It goes back to my reasons for knitting. It's a sensual experience. If I hate the yarn I'm using, I won't enjoy it enough to continue. But I also hate the idea of spending more than I would for a store-bought garment. I can pretty much knit small things, hats and scarves and whatnot, for considerably less than what I'd pay in a store, but I start to get diminishing financial returns when I move up to, say, sweaters. Sometimes you just gotta suck it up and pay through the nose for what you love. But I will not pay ~$100 for a sweater no matter how nice Rowan Cocoon is!

So I continue to bargain hunt. Every once in a while, you'll find some nice, yummy wool in a gorgeous color for $6 a generous skein, and then you buy those puppies up! I'm going to start looking in thrift stores for sweaters to frog - we'll see how that goes, I'll post about it here when I get around to it. Gift cards to yarn stores allow me to splurge. Felting being all the rage these days, the big yarn companies are coming out with more 100% wool yarns, so if I'm knitting, oh, say, a blitz of Christmas gifts, I can actually find wool that's worthy, nice and not too expensive at my local big-box fabric store. I'd still rather support local businesses and...y'know...shop in a store that feels like a store and not a warehouse.

The Economics of Knitting Part 1

Why I Knit
I knit for 4 main reasons, at least...4 that I've been able to think of just now.



1) Relaxation: If you've read Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Mists of Avalon, you may remember that when Morgaine spins, she enters into a sort of trance state. I'm not saying I have visions when I knit, but it is definitely a meditative experience. When I knit, it gives my mind a chance to wander, to passively mull over things that are on it, rather than actively stressing about them. As my mind wanders undirected, it often finds paths that wouldn't have occurred to me in a more deliberate, active frame of mind.

2) Luxury: Leaving aside, for a moment, the delicious things you can get as a result of knitting, knitting is a pleasing sensual activity. Yarn is nice. It comes in pretty colors, yummy textures, it feels good in your hands and it looks luscious as the fabric you're creating grows like some living thing into whatever shape and pattern you've chosen for it. Yarn is soft and pretty and good.

3) Creativity and control: Once you get the hang of it, making things for yourself ensures that what you end up with is exactly what you want. I don't have to spend lots of money on a beautiful scarf that's kind of itchy, or a wonderful sweater that fits not quite just right. Fine, shaping and fit is something I'm still in the process of mastering, but in a materialistic sense, knitting and making things makes you the master of your own fate. This is where my reasons for knitting really intersect with my reasons for making things in general. If I want legwarmers to match my hat perfectly, then I shall have them! If I want carbonara that won't kill my boyfriend, who shall remain nameless, with cholesterol, then I shall leave out the egg yolks! If I want a pot-holder that matches both the mustard yellow of the kitchen counter and the avocado green of the stove top, I shall make it so! Creativity is liberating.

4) Saving money: As you may have deduced elsewhere on this blog, I am a broke-ass graduate student. Saving money is, for me, a necessity, but that doesn't mean I can't still have nice things in my life. I can knit myself a matching hat and scarf pair that's nicer and cheaper than one I'd find at, say, The Gap. I can make really great shirts and skirts out of old t-shirts that I never wear (more on that when it warms up outside). I can't afford to eat out much, but that doesn't mean I can't afford to eat well at home.

I know that I won't always be a broke-ass graduate student. At some point, I'll have the degree and the job and the house and the disposable income. At this point, I expect my first two reasons for knitting to really start conflicting with the last two - actually, more just #2 with #4. I think, however, that even then I'll value knitting as a means of saving money, and not just out of habit.

As much as I like pretty things, I have a definite anti-consumerist streak in me. I like showing "The Man," "The Powers That Be," "The Gods of Capitalism," or whomever that I am not a slave to the market, that I don't need what they're selling, that I can do perfectly well for myself. There are, of course, limits to this. I'm not about to run off and start homesteading. But I take pride and a subversive glee in not being a predictable consumer. If a company wants my money, they're going to have to put some effort into it, and not treat me like a non-existent generic member of my demographic. Give me real options, or I will make my own!

The next two installments of this series on the economics of knitting will deal with being a responsible consumer within this framework - because even as an independent, unpredictable consumer, I am still a consumer of yarn, of materials, of patterns, of ideas. But it will always boil down to why I knit.

Mending

Not the most exciting thing in the world, mending, and I've been putting it off for a few weeks, to be honest. Taking something that's broken and fixing it - not as fun and creative as making something shiny and new. But it needs to be done all the same.

I think we waste too much in our culture anyway. We've become so consumer driven that we throw things out as soon as something breaks, even if we could fix it. My briefcase, for instance. If I still had a 9-5 job, I'd have thrown it out and bought a new one by now. I don't have a 9-5 job anymore, and I need to save my leftover money for things I really value.

The fake-leather covering on the handles had started coming off, exposing the mesh padding underneath. This more than anything made it look torn and shabby, and of course the mesh would start to go soon as well. So I rigged this up. I don't really crochet, but a basic chain-stitch is a useful thing to know. I had some leftover black wool lying around, so I crocheted it around the handles of my briefcase - a lot like you might do to a clothes hanger, or a provisional cast-on in knitting. It's not exactly chic, but it's functional, innocuous and not falling apart.

Our culture has become so consumerist that things aren't made to last - I don't think the makers of my briefcase expected me to keep it this long. I'm not sure I did, when I bought it. Shoes aren't meant to be worn more than 6 months. You're supposed to keep throwing things out and buying new things. I kind of resent that. Even if I had money to throw around, I'd like to have the option of buying something nice, well-made, lasting, of not buying trash, if I'm going to buy anything. And that's aside from the environmental implications of a culture based on producing and throwing away trash at the quickest affordable rate.

I guess you get what you pay for. I also sewed 3 buttons onto my winter coat this weekend. My coat has five buttons going up the front, three of which have come flying off since I bought it in November. I'll probably have to replace the bottom two before next winter, but for now, it fastens fine. I had a really hard time finding a coat this winter (having just moved to Wisconsin from Texas), and I finally found one at the mall for much cheaper than I'd expected. I got what I paid for, though. A nice, wool coat that's warm and fits me with buttons that fling themselves from the fabric when you look at them funny. I'm actually still quite satisfied with my purchase, all things considered.

Then there are the things you make yourself. I made myself a neck-warmer last year based on John Brinegar's "Fourteen" (pictured at top because it's the prettiest). I think the yarn stretched out somewhat with use, but I also think that the length the pattern calls for, while perfect for a man's neck, is a bit much for my skinny little girl-neck. It was loose enough to let the wind in easier than I preferred. Discarding it was, of course, not an option not only because I went to the trouble of making it but because I love it and the hat and leg-warmers that now go with it! So this weekend, I finally fixed it - frogged back until it felt tight around my neck, then re-knit the button-hole rows. Fits like a charm now. I'm currently knitting a scarf on the needles I needed for this mending, so I just shoved the scarf down to the bottom of the needles while I fixed the neck-warmer. It wound up looking like flags or banners while I worked. I dig it.