Betsy Phillips's Blog, page 23

I am Like a Dog

I realized yesterday, as I was blathering at C and M that I’m like Sonnyboy. I like people so much that I’m just like “Here I am in your lap! Barking. Showing you all my tricks.” when, if I would just calm the fuck down, people would have a chance to enjoy me.

I also turned over two of my afghans to their intended recipients yesterday and, whew, holy shit is that satisfying. Like, yeah, I put that smile on their faces.

When you’re little, you think that “it’s better to give than to receive” is some bullshit moral platitude that’s supposed to make you less greedy. But now I realize it’s true. Giving a gift that is genuinely appreciated is one of the best feelings in the world.

Nice Day

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Somehow I’m supposed to just live my life with this booger clear in Arizona.

Delights for the Eyes

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I finished the blanket for my pending niece! Let me count the ways I love it. I love how beautiful the dahlias are and how much they remind me of waterlilies. I love that the green isn’t overwhelming, even though there’s a lot of it. Somehow I got the border to balance it out. I love the tulips so much. I was nervous about using the orange, but it was absolutely the right call. And the daisies on the outer edge make me so happy. And there’s just going to be so much for the baby to touch and yank on. I’m really proud of this one.

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I’m also learning how to use acid dyes and here are my fuck-ups from last night. I was trying to replicate in acid dye a thing I do pretty well in food coloring–three primary colors to get a rainbow of awesomeness. From left to right, we have “grabbed the black instead of the red,” “too much red!,” and “fuck it, orange.”

But let me tell you something. I love each of these. I think they’re so beautiful. I can’t get over it. I’m wishing they were dry right now so I could spin them. How awesome is it to have such beautiful fuck-ups?

I need beauty like this in my eyes, because my heart is a mess. Stuart Wexler sent me looking for how my bad guys might tie into the Atlanta Child Murders. I found this Spin article.

I have to figure out how to write about this, because I need to put it in my book, but it’s hard. It’s not just that JB Stoner was a person in the world. It’s that so many people decided over and over again to just let him keep on keeping on.

The ironic thing about the decision to downplay the involvement of the Klan/NSRP in some of those murders in order to prevent a race war is that there is a race war in this country, ongoing. With casualties piling up. And we’re busy gaslighting the families of the dead rather than admit it.

Whoa!

Okay, so, on the one hand, I love my drum carder, because it blends everything together so nicely. On the other hand, it blends everything together so nicely. What if I want really dramatic color changes in my yarn?

And then I found the above video. And I tried it on my drum carder. And holy shit!

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Obviously, I don’t yet know how I’ll like it plied up, but this! This is what I’ve been wanting. Blended colors, but not to the point of heathering.

And it’s so much fun. You get a burrito of fiber and stretch it and stretch it and stretch it. And I feel like, once I really get the hang of spinning it, it’s going to be more consistent, too.

Bah Bah Black Sheep

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I spun the fiber I failed to completely dye black. The two on the left are the “black” merino mixed first with colors to make it like a darker storm cloud and then in the middle a certain kind of brown I had in my head. It may have turned out a little redder than I expected, but that almost may just be the light.

But, and then, there’s that “black” like a bruise at the right. Holy shit.

The first black I tried to dye it broke into blue and purple. Which means, if you look closely, you can see blue and purple under the black there.

It’s so beautiful.

Daisy, Daisy, Give Me Your Answer True

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Look at these adorable daisies, which, yes, are not done and are not lying flat yet, but still, I love them so much! And they make me laugh, just because every name they’ve thrown out for the baby is here: Dahlia, Tulip, and Daisy.

Also, I’m just going to admit that the afghan I’m making for Busy Mom is fucking hard and that’s why it’s languishing. And it makes me mad that it’s so hard for me because that, up there, looks complicated and I’m rocking it. Why is this other one such a fucking nightmare?

Writing

I think my relationship to writing is changing pretty dramatically. I haven’t written fiction in ages. My nonfiction output has slowed to a trickle. It’s even hard for me to decide if it’s worth anyone’s time for me to write here some days.

I catch myself thinking “Once you’ve written this book, you can be done writing.”

Which, ha ha ha. But also, is that what I want? I don’t think so. But I think you have to listen to the things your brain spits up, at least consider them.

I keep having this nightmare where I go home to visit my parents and suddenly they’ve gotten me a job, which I go to, even though I know I have this other life–usually in North Carolina, where I went to grad school. And I keep trying to get back to the other life, but I live with them now and I have this job. And I just feel robbed.

And I always wake up disoriented, because I’m neither in Illinois or North Carolina. But here, in this life.

And yet it feels so real that I’m starting to worry that some version of me out in the multi-verse is so unhappy and near enough to me that her sadness leaks into my world.

I feel very lucky and it still feels very fragile, even though it’s been my whole adult life.

Flower Garden Afghan

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Look at how cute those tulips are on the border! I’m super happy with this. I’m going to put daisies as the outside edge and then it’s done.

I spent an hour or so yesterday talking to a woman who’s master’s thesis is on hot chicken and appropriation. It was such a good conversation and I’m still thinking about what my own personal definition of appropriation is and whether it can be completely avoided.

To me, I think, it comes down to the difference between borrowing and stealing. When you borrow something, the person you’re borrowing from knows they are participating in the exchange. When someone asks you where you got your coat, you say, “Oh, I needed something cool, so I borrowed it from Jane” or “Jane lent it to me.”

But when you steal something, you don’t say where it came from. Maybe you try to pass it off as something you made yourself. Or you misrepresent the exchange–and probably this is where it gets tricky. You insist you borrowed it. The person whose coat it was says you stole it. But you have the cultural capital to make your version the truth, even if it’s factually not.

But sometimes someone lends you something that wasn’t only theirs. Like, if one sibling in a family lends you the family silver and you deliberately only asked that sibling because you knew the others would say no, you have permission, but don’t the other family members have a legitimate gripe?

I think so.

Anyway. Tulips. I like them.

Small Things

If you get the Smore at Bang Candy, they toast your marshmallow. Also, it’s fabulous.All efforts to eat it with your smallest nephew will result in both of you being very sticky.The Butcher was in town for the weekend and we had lunch with my sister-in-law’s sister and her husband and son. This son, who is four, was trying to understand how the Butcher and I are related and it came out that he thought the Butcher was Elmo’s brother. Elmo from Sesame Street. Could there be a higher compliment?My main goal for today is to finish up this baby blanket for the pending niece. It’s about to go slightly off the rails, color-wise, but I think it’s going to be cool.



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I bought some acid dyes on Friday and yesterday I tried to dye the fiber I’d previously tried to dye black black-for-real. I kind of failed at it. I don’t think I had enough dye in the pot. But the fiber turned out so beautiful that I’m trying to dry it as quickly as I can so I can spin it.Ha ha ha. This list function kind of sucks.My new boss starts tomorrow. I’m pretty nervous.The dog is on an anti-inflammatory and I don’t know how I’ll judge if it’s working. He’s just so amiable that it’s hard to tell when he’s in distress. The vet and I had a long talk about it, how his utter good nature makes diagnosing him tough. He’s like “Sure, my eyeball is on your foot, but, hey, at least we’re together” or “Yeah, I might have been limping but look how awesome jumping is and I’m not going to limp again where you can see it, because why be sad?”I’m going to be reading at the Third Man 10th anniversary doodad, which is hilarious and awesome.I bought a boa to wear to the Blues Hall of Fame induction ceremony. I am also definitely wearing it to the anniversary thingy.

Hobbes

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Hobbes (2000-2019)

The orange cat is no more. Nineteen years. It’s hard to be sad about that, but I still am. And I think I just decided that the reason that it’s weird is that it’s pure sadness. I don’t long for him to have lived longer. I don’t feel like he was cheated out of anything. He had a big, long life, full of glorious adventures and then, on the Ides of March, he came to the end of it.

He was grouchy and ridiculous. He was brilliant and judgemental.

I’m going to miss him. Assuming he doesn’t pompously believe he’s entitled to defy the laws of physics to show back up here.