The obligatory Oakwood post

So I've been here in the DC area with my husband, who will remain nameless, for about a week now.  We're staying in Oakwood furnished apartments (the mothership, in case any of you reading this are familiar with the Foreign Service - and if you're not, it's where the FS puts up employees while they're in training).  It seems the "thing to do" is to complain about Oakwood - and to be fair, it's hotel-like, temporary and I've heard some legitimate horror stories from other locations.

I just can't bring myself to.  I swear to God, every time I sink into those down pillows at night and pull that fluffy, white comforter over my shoulders, I feel like a goddamned princess.  Here I am in this place with everything I need - FOR FREE - and I've done nothing to deserve it (ok, I guess I passed the OA, which is what my husband did to deserve it, but my employment hasn't kicked in yet, so nyah).  We have a couch!  I can't believe I ever used to nap on my bed!  We have a dishwasher that we can afford to run!  The kitchen is small, but we have so much more counter space than I can use in the preparation of one meal!  We have a maid!  That's disconcerting, but lovely!  We have a pool, and a hottub, and a bank of grills, and a playground and free yoga classes and more stuff than I have had time to take advantage of (stupid rain)!

And I don't have a job, and my knitting is in transit, and I am bored out of my skull.  But let me tell you, this government-issued 1br apartment still seems to good to be true!

Homeless

Not really.  I mean...I have a place to stay.  Hell, I even still have an apartment, it's just empty and unbelievably sketchy.  But here's what's true:  Last Monday, movers came and emptied out our apartment.  We stayed in a hotel with the kitties until last Friday.  My husband, who shall remain nameless, took the kitties to DC and I went on a trip with a friend and spent the weekend sleeping on the ground in a tent.  Now I'm sleeping on the floor in a friend's house for the rest of the week.  I'll be in a B&B this coming weekend, and then - only then - will I make it to DC, where my husband, who shall remain nameless, and my kitties await me.  So for now, I do feel a bit like a vagrant.

I'm so tired.  It's disconcerting not having my own space for so long.  That apartment was no great shakes, but at least it was a consistent place.  It had my creatures in it.  Bouncing from floor to floor is exhausting.

But lemme tell you, crashing in a sleeping bag on my friend's floor is a damned sight better than crashing on the floor of my sketchy, empty apartment (that was my first plan, which my husband, who shall remain nameless, wisely vetoed).  Her place isn't sketchy!  And it's not empty.  I'm an introvert - I do pretty okay by myself.  But usually "by myself" at least involves kitties.  It's nice having another soul in the house, y'know?  And it's nice not to have cigarette smoke wafting through the bathroom vent and pot smoke creeping up from downstairs and neighbors screaming at each other, and wondering when the really sketchy people will figure out that you're 105lbs and all alone....

Thanks Becca!  :-)

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.

It's the Little Things

My boyfriend, who shall remain nameless, went back home this morning after spending the weekend here with me. This always kinda gets me down, for obvious reasons. My room suddenly seems so empty and quiet, and of course, we have a tendency to...rather...mess things up while he's here. ;-) Instead of cheering me up, all of those little pieces of weekend-evidence just remind me that I'm alone in here again. It'll be a happier space once I've got it straightened back up (and once that French press is empty). Also, I find it fascinating that all of my cookbooks are some form of red or pink (even the Japanese cookbook, not shown). I wonder what market research led to that decision!

Lemme tell ya what else cheers me up, though, and it's something I didn't really anticipate when I started this blog. You guys! (Whoever the hell you are out there reading this blog). I love waking up in the morning, checking my Google Analytics page and seeing what cool, international readers dropped in during the night. Y'know, I don't expect to be racking up hits and getting all internet-famous or anything, and I'm not. But do you have any idea how cool it is to see that your blog is being read by people in Poland? And Greece? And Germany? And Great Britain? And Slovenia? That's just freaking spiff!

Also, since putting my hot water bottle cozy pattern up on Ravelry, it's started showing up in queues and favorite lists, and that makes me smile a little bit too, in a silly, small-time kinda way. It makes me excited to share more designs, as they pop out of my head, and they are popping in, at least, at a faster than normal rate. I've relied very heavily on other people's patterns, of course, for most of my time knitting, and it's so cool to make something that's really yours, from conception to creation to writing up. It just makes me all smiley and stuff.

Ok, ok, I knit a cozy!

It's a hot water bottle sweater! Aint it cute? My boyfriend, who shall remain nameless, thought it was a sleeveless turtle-neck when he first looked at it. Heh.

Anyway, just a quick post to say, "Holy crap! There's room in my life for a cozy after all!" The thing works great. The bottle warms my sheets up just as well as ever, but now I can also snuggle my feet up to it, if I want to, without burning myself. If I want to move the bottle while it's under my sheets, I can just nudge it with my feet. Before, my feet had to find a kind of sweet-spot where they were close enough to the bottle to be toasty, but far enough away that they wouldn't accidentally touch it in the middle of the night (which happened one time. Didn't scald me or anything, but I definitely woke up going, "OOOOOOOOOOOW!!! What gives?").

Anyway, I maintain my general attitude toward cozies, but I make an eager exception for hot water bottle cozies. And motorcycle cozies, but we've discussed that already. :-)

I'll post my pattern here soon, if anyone wants it.

Angry, Sword-Wielding Feminist Seeks Peaceful Spot to Knit

Hi, I'm Sasha. I like swords, Star Wars, Russian literature and knitting.

I'm a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison working on my Ph.D. in Slavic languages. I have very little free time and even less money. I rent a room from a wonderful family whose decor I would describe as...unapologetially 70s. Alright, it's not their decor per se, but they haven't quite gotten around to ripping out all of the blue carpet yet. My boyfriend, who shall remain nameless, is in his last year of law school in a different state. The two of us look forward to buying a house, shacking up and, with the help of a bit of disposable income, making said shack a home. With the job market the way it is, it's lookin' like I'll be staying in my rented room for a few more years.

For Christmas, my mother gave me Jane Brocket's The Gentle Art of Domesticity. I love it! I'm at the point, both in my knitting and in my cooking, where inspiration is at least as valuable to me as straight-up "how tos," and I found this book to be very inspiring. Lush, even. Perhaps a bit heavy on the pink for my taste, but it's really Brocket's appreciation of the value, both sensual and emotional, of domestic creativity that strikes a chord in me.

So my reaction to Liz Hunt's review in The Daily Telegraph was one of surprise...and then surprise at my surprise. Hunt, through exasperated sarcasm, accuses Brocket of popularizing yet another set of "impossible standards [for] the rest of womankind via beautifully illustrated books and websites." I must admit, from time to time I myself fall into the trap that seems to ensnare Hunt.

Let's face it: I'm young, I'm broke, I can't even set up a home with my boyfriend, who shall continue to remain nameless. I live in a rented room - I can't splash brightly colored paint all over my walls to brighten up my living space. I don't have an expensive digital camera with which to take gloriously luxurious pictures of my finished projects. I certainly don't have time to bake all the damned time.

But then Jesus, who does? How many of us actually are, as Hunt describes them, "women who have done the career bit and, looking around for a new diversion and cushioned by private income or a wealthy husband or generous alimony, target the home and impose impossible standards on the rest of womankind via beautifully illustrated books and websites." Who really has the kind of time to create a home as airy, as peaceful, as lush as Jane Brocket's? Who are these women? And how on God's green earth will I ever find the time or the money to make my home the bright, cheery, welcoming haven that I see in all of these beautiful pictures?

Decades ago, women in America were relegated to this domestic sphere whether they liked it or not. They had the time, and some of them had the money, but they had little choice. And they too, through the spread of television in particular, had impossible standards to live up to. Then the feminist movement blasted out a place for women in the workforce. It wasn't easy, but women could find productive, fulfilling, rewarding work outside the home, if that's where their interests lay. And for a while, the worst thing that an energetic, intelligent, educated woman could do was to chain herself to the home in defiance of her new, hard-won freedom.

The craft movement is a sign of things changing yet again. Women, by baking, quilting, gardening, knitting and most of all by being proud of their work, are reclaiming parts of our femininity that had been devalued. Men, by finding the same delight in the same pursuits, are showing that traditional concepts of femininity are not dirty or shameful. Just as I can put on a suit, grab a sword and go conquor the world, a man can knit an afghan to enrich his home. Creation and domesticity are empowering. I learned to knit at Wellesley, for Chrissakes!

But now it's in the media. Now we have books of inspiration - or standards - published by women with means far beyond those of most of us. My stockinette will never be that even. I will never get this damned bulb to sprout. I will never be able to afford a house that would ever look like that. And who the hell quilts? I have blue carpet, and it's not going anywhere. Is this liberating development yet another set of impossible standards - new shackles for my hypothetical daughters to break?

Every time we break through the walls of what defines feminity, we set up another, newer, shinier set of walls, but they're just as constricting. So fuck it. My home, my little room, is going to be every bit as gorgeous as Jane Brocket's, blue carpet and all. Because I effing said so. I can't afford much, but that's one reason I love making things: doing for myself. I will make this the home I want it to be. It's not going to look like anyone else's, and that's what will make it perfect. That's what will make it mine.

I'm done looking outside myself for standards to live up to. There's inspiration, and then there are standards. Inspiration is at its most delightfully surprising when it comes from outside of you. Standards, to have any validity, must come from within you. I will be inspired by Jane Brocket's books and blog and beautiful photographs, as she intended, but I will never expect to resemble her. I will not be knitting tea cozies, but I do think I'll make a quilt. I will stay in this rented room, but I will be home. In place of my boyfriend, who shall remain nameless, I will live with my hilariously blue carpet. I will make this room a haven. A place of warmth, of comfort, of ease, of beauty. And I will do it on my terms - less pink, more swords!

If anyone ever follows this blog, I hope it inspires you to do the same. Not to embrace my undoubtedly quirky esthetic, nor my necessarily frugal budget, nor my giddily rabid feminist ideals, nor my insistant use of the words "nor" and "whom," but to redefine, to destroy entirely the standards that my gender - that both genders - have been duped into falling short of. I like knitting, and I like fighting, and I have blue carpet, and that just freaking rules.


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