Rachael Herron's Blog, page 49

Sunday Rewards

Winners of the raffle have been drawn, and we made almost a thousand dollars for the George Mark House! Thank you, friends, with all my heart. (Emails are going out now, more will go out as people pick their favorite of my sweaters.) 

Now, for your rewards! 

This is a whole pile of ridiculous cute. I don't know how we work under these conditions. 

Lala bought a cat hammock. (It's stated aim is to "reduce clutter." How? By putting away our cats?) I bet her five bucks we wouldn't get a cat in it. Within four minutes of its installation, I'd lost that money. 

And rather than give you the sloths or kittens I promised you, I give you something better. If you haven't seen this, enjoy. If you have, watch it again. Your heartrate will go down and your hopes for the world will rise, I promise.

Isn't that just the heart-happiest video? I swear it's my favorite of all the millionty-billionty videos I've watched in the wee hours of the night. 

What's your heart-happiest video? Wanna share it in a Sunday come-together meetin' here at Yarnagogo? 

I Have Lost My Damn Mind

Again. (I'm aware this might not be a surprise to you.) 

I had almost completely decided not to do NaNoWriMo this year (a lark during which you write a novel in November, as fast as you can). I was pretty okay with that. I didn't know what I wanted to write next (I'm between novels right now), and I didn't have a plan. 

And then my sister said, "Let's do it." Convincing, isn't she? That's all it took. I'm in again, and I actually have an idea I'm trying to wrangle to the ground using yarn instead of rope. 

Again, we'll be going to the Night of Writing Dangerously. If I raise $250, I get to go to the Julia Morgan Ballroom and eat candy and drink booze and write all night with a couple hundred other crazies dressed in noir costumes. It's AMAZING. If I raise $350, I get to take Beth. My fundraising link HERE. And thank you. 

(I realize I asked for donations for something else in my last post, and I'm a bit red-faced about doing it twice in a row (or it could be the rosacea. But I don't think so). I promise to put an amazing FREE kitten video in my next post. Maybe kittens and dolphins. And sloths! Playing in yarn!)

Edited to add: We are now funded to go, thanks again to our Fairy Godmother. (Really, I have one! It makes me feel wonderful and magical and like I can really do this thing.) I actually thanked her in the acknowledgements of my second book, her support means that much. Thank you, Fairy Godmother. xoxo

::off to google animal videos::

Janine's Herbed Roasted Chicken

Hey, y'all! Entries are low on the below post, so if you donate to the George Mark House (hospice + children = need), you have a good shot at winning a sweater. I'm just sayin'. And THANK YOU! 

As a perk (don't you need a pick-me-up on Wednesday? Even though I work a truly weird schedule that shifts every six days, Wednesdays can still be rough for me), I thought I'd give you a treat. Actually,  it's a treat from FeralKnitter Janine (who will be here soon! Yay for friend dates!) who said I could share it with you. 

This is the BEST CHICKEN I've ever made. Seriously. And it's so easy. No one can screw this up. The secret is buying bone-in chicken breast. I didn't even know that existed till I looked more closely at my butcher's selection. At my butcher, both breasts come together, which is huge, so I have them cut them apart for me so I don't have to. 

This is crispy and flavored and moist and one hundred percent delicious. Serve on a bed of lettuce and cuke and onion, drizzle the pan drippings and a little lemon over it all? Unreal. (Also, for those of you on the special diets, this is anti-inflammation diet and Paleo approved). 

Janine's Herbed Roasted Chicken (adapted from SF Chron recipe)

1/4 c olive oil
4 garlic cloves, crushed
2 tsp red chile flakes
1 tbsp thyme
salt & pepper
2 skin-on, bone-in chicken breasts

Preheat oven to 450°.
In a small dish that holds the chicken neatly (say, an 8x8" pan) mix the oil and herbs.
Roll the chicken in the oil until it is coated. Place it skin-side up in the pan.
Bake for 45 minutes or until cooked through. Let rest for 10 minutes, then slice and serve with juices.
Serves 2. Usually there are leftovers!

 

The George Mark House

First off, the winner of the Happier at Home drawing is jdrbel -- you've been emailed! Thanks for subscribing! I love doing random giveaways to people on my list! 

You guys, I loved this book. I actually liked it better than Rubin's original Happiness Project. (I'm all about home. I love home.) It got me off my ass to do a couple of things that I'd been putting off because they were difficult to do. 

Rubin quoted Mother Teresa at one point (that sounds sanctimonious, but I promise, it wasn't). Mother Teresa said, when asked how people could help her with her mission, "Find your own Calcutta." 

This struck me SO hard. Now, I'm not drawn to assisting a leper colony. You know what I am drawn to? Hospice. And specifically, children's end of life hospice.

Years ago, I learned of the existence of the George Mark House, the country's first freestanding palliative care center for children in the United States, and I've been unable to stop thinking about them. It's been helping children and their families since 2004 (and is still only one of four children's palliative care homes in the nation). 

In 2010, they had to close due to lack of funds. See, they provide care to children who need it, regardless of their ability to pay. It's a non-profit. They ran out of money to care of for children at the end of their lives. They were closed for six months (I thought erroneously they'd shuttered forever and had been broken-hearted about it). 

But they're open again, and they need money.

Okay. I'll give you a minute. Here's a Kleenex.

Last night I put in application to be a volunteer there. I can't tell you how much I want that. But no matter what happens with my app, I want to help in some way. Thus, what follows:

Another thing that Rubin's book helped me to do was to get rid of stuff (oh, how I love to do that). 

I went through my sweaters and found a bunch that I don't wear, that don't suit me (or that are honestly just strangely patterned and/or knitted). I was going to donate them, but I thought that was weird for handknits. I was going to sell them, but I thought that was kind of odd, too.

But this? This is perfect. I'm holding a fundraising drawing for George Mark. 

Every $10 donation gets you an entry (therefore, $50 gets you five entries). At the end of the drawing, I'll pick the eleven winners. Winner number one can have her first pick of the sweaters. Winner number two can have the pick of what's left, et cetera. 

I'd love it if you sent the money to my paypal so I can make one nice donation from The Knitters and Writers.

If, however, you'd like to send it directly to the George Mark House, that's totally awesome, too -- just send me your receipt (to yarnagogo at gmail dot com) so I mark down your entries. 

With no further ado, here are the eleven sweaters available (click each sweater's pic for Rav/yarnagogo link, etc.). 

Ruby's Bookstore Sweater, from How to Knit a Heart Back Home, Noro Shirakaba. A bit too big for me. 

Drops 110-23, in Paton's Classic Wool. A little rounded shape, esp. in the back. But I do love the knitting of it. 

Levenwick, Cascade 220. Never worn, never blocked. I didn't even put fasteners on it -- I was victim of the photo fallacy, forgetting that I had boobs. Sigh. 

Cabled chickami, Rowan Calmer. Cute. I just don't wear it. 

Lace Wrap Sweaterbabe #112, Brooks Farm Mas-Acero. I have NEVER been able to make this wrap around me the right way. Someone's body style is perfect for this. Not mine. 

February Lady, Lion Brand Cotton Ease. I love this, but it's too big on me now. 

Spring Forward Fall Back, Knit one Crochet two Cotton. This is also great, but just a wee bit short on my long-waisted torso. 

Coachella, Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece. Cute, never wear it (requires racer-back bra). 

Artfibes cardie, Artfibers alpaca. I've wornt the hell out of this, a little nubby. Still a good sweater, just rarely wear it. 

Shapely Tank, Soy silk. Just fine, rarely worn. 

Back in the DAY (bonus points if you were reading me then) - Noro Kureyon Raglan, now with buttons, rather worn out of shape, but still fun. Rarely wear. 

I'll draw winners in two weeks, on October 19th. I'd love your tweets and FB links to this -- let's sread it far and wide, my darlings. Thank you so much for considering donating to this amazing cause. I kiss you on both cheeks, mwah! mwah! 

Really. Thank you, from my heart. 

Red Cowboy Boots (and a giveaway!)

You know what? Saying nice things really matters. 

I often wear this pair of red cowboy boots (Ariats from Zappos, for the curious). I wear them with everything: jeans, skirts, dresses. I wear them while writing, dancing, hiking, and camping. And I get SO MANY compliments on them. I swear to God, those boots break down some kind of social barrier. Perfect strangers catch up to me in airports to say they love my boots. Grumpy old men love them. Teen girls (and their mothers) adore them. 

I feel special every time I wear them, because when I do, people say nice things to me. That's odd, isn't it? That wearing something as simple as boots can make you feel good? The boots aren't me, and I had nothing to do with their construction. I just gave a company my debit card and then I pulled them onto my feet. But I still grin like an idiot when a man playing a trumpet in a mariachi bands shoots me a thumbs-up. 

I think it's true of all kinds of compliments, right? I just opened my email to find a treat of a message, and I feel three feet taller. It's better than using good shampoo, I tell you. Opening your email to find that someone took the time to reach out and say hello is just like being handed a mug of steaming hot cocoa on a rainy morning. Only warmer, and sweeter. 

And what stops us from telling each other when we think nice things? I've had great service from waitresses, and I leave them a big tip, but I rarely flag them down to thank them for being attentive and sweet. The guy at my oil changer place, Roosevelt, has the nicest smile you've ever seen, like sunrise come an hour early, and I've never told him that.

I'm going to start complimenting people more, not only the ones I love, but the people I meet in passing.

To every single person who's ever left a comment here, thank you. To the girl in my teen class who just sent me the most amazing story opening, thank you. To the people who leave Amazon reviews, thank you. 

Boots in the wild, summer at Bodega Bay 

Everyone loves to be praised. Everyone wants to know they're special. Everyone wants to be seen and heard and appreciated. 

May you all feel today as if you're wearing red cowboy boots. 

* Because I'm in the mood, I'm going to give away a book! I'm really enjoying Gretchen Rubin's new book, Happier at Home, and I'll send a copy (either print or e-version) to some lucky gal or fella. Just be on my mailing list, and you're automatically entered! (I never sell names or spam.) I'll draw the winner at the end of the week. MWAH! 

Teaching

I went to the Central Coast Writers' Conference over the weekend to teach. I was hired not only to speak, but for the first time in this thrilled writer's life, I was put up at a HOTEL. On the BEACH, yo. 

Okay, it wasn't on the beach. But it was close to Morro Bay, so close that at night I could slide the door of the hotel room open and listen to the seals barking.

Originally, Lala had been slated to go with me, but she had to go to Idaho to see her mom after a routine surgery (and incidentally, had breakfast with Neko Case one morning, as they do in Boise, apparently) so I went alone. 

I drove down through the heat of Steinbeck country in the SmartCar (oh, beloved little car) into Morro Bay, dropped my bags in my room, and headed for San Luis Obispo to have dinner with Emily Post-Punk (her Rav handle). You know those people you meet who make you think: I need this person as a friend? What can I do to entrap her? That's EPP. I finally finagled my way into friendship with her. Go, me! 

But before I met up with her, I wandered for a little while through the crowded street. Every Thursday night, San Luis Obispo--an idyllic little coast-proximate community--shuts down the main drag and has an enormous farmer's market. Less market than it is social gathering, it's the closest thing to la passeggiata, the nightly Italian stroll, that I've ever seen in America. This last week was the first Farmer's Market since the kids came back to Cal Poly, and the excitement was at a fever pitch. 

Being home, in the area where I grew up, where I went to undergrad, was both lovely and melancholy. I mean, I remember a time before the creekside area of SLO was so fancified--my sister and I would play in that creek, looking for crawdads (which we never found, but we were sure they were in there somewhere), throwing rocks to make the biggest splash, getting so muddy Mom would make us wash our feet in the fountain in front of the Mission before we got back in the VW. 

When I was twenty or twenty-one, I went through a bout of serious depression. I remember leaving my counseling sessions, which coincidentally were on Thursday nights on Garden Street. I would force myself to walk one block--just one block--through the milling, laughing crowds of students and families. I can't remember why it was so hard for me to do this (something about thinking people were looking at me and laughing--I hadn't figured out yet that really, no one cares) but I remember how difficult it was. 

Now, literally twenty years later, I was walking down the same street, through the same crowd, living a life that the twenty-year-old me never could have imagined. A good life. A happy one, full of love. A writerly one. I was simultaneously elated and at the same time, sad for that twenty-year-old me who never thought she'd ever get anything right. 

I met the lovely Emily (who went to my high school in the same small town just down the coast and I'd never known her!) at a great used bookstore, and we ate dinner (tapas) on the patio of a restaurant that was literally right next to the crawdad-seeking area of thirty years ago. We laughed under the hanging lights, the night sky low above. 

It was so circular, and just right. 

The next night I had the teens in a "How to Be a Writer" class. Now, lemme tell you something. I was nervous. I don't know teens. I love young adult fiction, so I read a lot about them, but I hadn't hung out with one since I was one, perhaps. But when the coordinator had asked me to take the class, I'd said yes in a momentary I CAN DO ANYTHING bit of craziness. 

I prepped for "what you can do  to be a writer after high school." I was full of quips and wisdom and witticisms. We would talk about going to college, what that was like, and what came afterward.

And then I opened the door to a room full of kids, aged 11 through 19. My talk to older teens was suddenly not broad enough. 

So I asked them what they wanted to learn.

Answer: Everything.

We narrowed it down with some difficulty to what they wanted to know the most: how to keep your Butt in the Chair, Hands on Keyboard (BICHOK). See? Writers of all ages struggle with this, the hardest part of writing (or any kind of creativity): actually doing it.

I explained the magic formula of Freedom (takes you off internet) and Write or Die (erases your words if you don't write fast enough) and the excitement in the air was ELECTRIC. I swear, these kids inspired the hell out of me. (I only swore once, by the way, and I was talking about our inner editor, who IS a bitch.) The other two classes I taught to adults on Saturday were great. I actually knew what I was talking about for the most part. I felt like I helped a few people. And that felt amazing. 

But doing these kinds of things is not the best part of a writer's life, believe it or not. For me, the best part is just after I write every day: that feeling of satisfaction that no matter what, the day is good because I got the most important thing done. After that: writing The End is the best. 

But after that? The times when writers get together--that's the best part. All of us doing this crazy thing to make a dream come true. It doesn't get much better than that. 

Oh. And I might have gone to NordicMart. 

Mishke

Winners of The Little Book of Knitting Wisdoms drawing are: Kim, Caitlin, Erin, Janice and Chandra. I've emailed you. (And thanks for entering, all of you. Your happiest moments this year made me cry, several times. If you haven't taken a moment to read the comments, do yourself a favor and take a gander.) 

And now, I'm posting Mishke so I don't forget to do so. I love my new sweater. 

I love everything about this sweater. I love its asymmetry (ribbed collar on one side only! shorter on left than right!) and its color and its softness and its warmth. 

Most of all, I loved the difficulty level of it. I haven't knitted anything this hard in years and years. I had to pay attention so much of the time (do NOT attempt while drinking wine -- ask me how I know), and often you're doing four things at once (you really have to be careful and read ahead or you'll miss that all-important AT THE SAME TIME and the one below it, too). It's a Cocoknits pattern, and I think Julie's clothes are just so damn wearable (I've made three of hers now and I love them all). 

Really, it doesn't get better than a knitting party in the hallway, right? Yarn/details are over at Ravelry, for the curious. 

Now I'm going to take my book to the porch and enjoy the rest of this balmy East Bay evening. Happy Sunday, y'all. 

The Little Book of Knitting Wisdoms

Grace is knowing when to bind off.

That Eliza Carpenter, she is wiser than I am. So when Random House Australia suggested she and I write a tiny book together, I jumped at the chance. 

I collected her wisdoms and put them in this little package. It's only available in Australia and New Zealand, which leaves the US/UK/Canada/Brigadoon right out, so I'm going to give away five copies here. 

To enter, please leave me a comment telling me about your happiest moment in the last year. I'll draw the winner on Mine: knitting in Venice.  (Oh! Won't this be fun to read? I can't wait. And....go!) 

[Eliza is actually me. A lot of people ask me where I got her quotes for the Cypress Hollow Yarn series, and um...I made them up. Just like the rest of the books. However, I channel something better than myself when I'm writing as her. It's weird, and wonderful, and I can't quite explain it.] 

Strawberry 2012

Apart from the transmission going squirrely, the radiator blowing up, and the brakes going out while going down New Priest Grade, we had a fabulous camping trip! (Those moments were hair-raising and we won't take the trailer out again until we get the car fixed, but we made it safely home, white-knuckling it all the way.) 

You know what I love about camping? How you can't do anything but relax. Our favorite camping trip every year is the Strawberry Music Festival, up in Yosemite. It's really glamping, not camping. We bring eggs, bacon, and booze. We make breakfast, but we purchase lunches, dinners, and snacks from the food vendors, making the difficult decisions between samosas, gyros, and artichokes stuffed with crab and shrimp.

The site where Strawberry is held, Camp Mather, has absolutely no cell reception, so even if I wanted to tweet, which I did, I couldn't. The phone stayed off for four days. Four full days. 

It's interesting, though, how even with big, empty days full of nothing to do but listen to music and lie by the lake, the days still fill up. Sitting in a camp chair, I can waste an hour wondering whether I'd rather read or spin (I brought my spinning wheel as I usually do. I don't know what it is about camping, but I love spinning in the open air under the pines). And then the day is over, and you've done next to nothing, and you're tired. You're exhausted from all the resting! It's pretty wonderful. 

I also knitted a lot, mostly on a simple shawl. 

I loved reading while lying in the trailer with its little windows open (that thing makes us superheroes! Everyone wants to talk to us about the teardrop trailer! It's like sleeping in a chihuahua! We were actually woken from a nap by a guy who wanted to talk to us. Um. Give us a minute?). I read The Age of Miracles while there -- have any of you read that one? I liked the book but thought it might have missed the point. Without spoilers, I can't say much more, but I'd be curious to know what you thought if you read it. 

(While I'm thinking of books, I also just finished The Care and Handling of Roses with Thorns, which I absolutely loved. About a rather cranky rose-loving teacher who needs a kidney transplant, I couldn't put it down. And Laura Lippman's new book, And When She Was Good, about a suburban madam, was also good fun, and as always, well-written and tightly plotted.) 

Best part of the festival? k.d. lang, all the way. She was amazing. I stood in the front row under the stars and screamed with all the other ladies. Worst part? The stress of driving home (we were prepared to stop at any point and get a tow, but after the brakes cooled off, the car just kept on going. I literally kissed it when we got home).

Now we're back at home. I'm finishing a book revision and doing copy edits on another while working a lot of hours. I'm looking forward to fall, always my favorite season. I smelled it in the air while we were in Yosemite, and it can't come soon enough for me.

Ah, the season of new pencils and handknit scarves. 

100 Acts of Sewing

I've been thinking a lot about clothing lately, as you know. I took the Seam Allowance pledge to make 25% of my clothing (which I'm already hitting, surprisingly). It's been really satisfying, paring my wardrobe down to just the items I love and wear, and then supplementing them with items I make myself. Here's the truth: We take clothes for granted and buy them at prices at which they are not sustainable. If you pay ten bucks for a dress, chances are good that the workers (all along the line of production and transport) weren't paid a fair wage. Hell, I can't say I haven't bought lots of ten dollar dresses. And I can't say I'm not tempted now. But I'm thinking about it more. A lot more. 

It's like eating. Yep, organic is more expensive. I can pay less for produce that's grown with the help of chemicals and pesticides, but then I'm buying those chemicals. I'm keeping that pesticide company in business by my own choice. It's less about eating healthily than it is eating right. 

Same with clothes. The ten-buck dress at Target is tempting, but how do I know what I'm purchasing? Whose hands did the fabric pass through to get to me? I'm getting a lot more satisfaction out of buying fabric (especially at thrift stores, where I know I'm a direct part of the recycling circle) and making my own pretty awesome clothes and knowing that my own two hands made the objects with attention and care. (I haven't missed the fact that most fabric, at its base, isn't sustainably made. One step at a time. I'm not up to weaving my own cloth, friends. I'm not completely aboard the crazy train. Yet.) 

(Photo: Sonya Philip)

Sonya Philip is someone you should be watching. She a complete inspiration to me. At the beginning of the year, she didn't sew much, if at all. She took a class and learned how to make a dress to fit. She made her first dress. It was awesome. So she made another one. And another one. They were tumbling out of her, and as an artist, it struck her: she was sewing an art installation that was not only useful and wearable, but meant something more than just handmade clothing. 

So she set a goal: 100 dresses in a year. Some she keeps, some she sells, some she gives away (I'm the EXTREMELY lucky recipient of one, and I can honestly say it's my favorite dress I own, hands down). The goal is to make us more conscious of how we live and how we choose to clothe ourselves. 

I love that she says, "When we know how to sew with our own hands, we can make and remake and make well." Today I wore for most of the day a little black dress I made out of an inexpensive knit. I made it for a cocktail party, and I wore it there a few weeks ago with pride. Today, I cleaned the house in it. You know why? It's my pattern. It took an hour to make. When it wears out, I can make another one if I want to. I can make it better next time, or just different. I come from a long line of people who changed into play clothes when they got home, saving the best for special occasions. I don't have to do that anymore, and I love that. 

I'm only posting one photo of hers here because I think you should click over to her site and spend some time wandering around. Check out her artist's statement and the clothing. I hope you'll be as inspired as I've become by her. (If you follow her on Twitter, she always posts the new dresses.)