Thoughts from the grazing fields of my mind--often pungent from rumination, seldom without bits of straw or other pertinent matter. 

   Do ideas just pop into your mind every now and then that just won't take a rest?  In my long life span, I've learned to grab those moments and run with them.  Creativity!  Accomplishment!  Satisfaction--even if someone else just can't quite grasp the concept.  This little photograph (right) epitomizes my ideas on creativity.  Go for it!

Into the Brain
Out through the Fingers



Soul Friend


Celtic wisdom refreshes my spirit in more ways than I can explain.  There's a wonderful book by John O'Donohue entitled Anam Cara.  Subtitled A Book of Celtic Wisdom, the pages unfold with ancient wisdoms so very pertinent to our hectic world.  Anam is the Gaelic word for soul; cara is the word for friend.  O'Donohue explores friendships not just with others but with one's self.  The Celts see life as a circle beginning with birth, making the journey clear around to death--birth of a different ilk.  The real, surreal, and mystical are one in the same, not to be separated.

     Much like a mobeus scarf, lovingly knit, life undulates in and out, shaping and reshaping as it moves.  In this balance of motion through reality, spirituality, and imagination we become whole.  This wholesomeness is holiness, says O'Donohue.

     Knitting, for me, embodies this wholesomeness.  Starting with that pile of unwashed fleece on the kitchen floor, moving through cleaning, picking, carding, and spinning, the undulation of imagination and reality begin.  With yarn at the ready, dreams unfold that emerge into something quite concrete; what was once in my head is now an embodiment others can touch and see.  In this creation, I find my spirituality.  This is my friendship with myself.

     Life had blessed me with many friends, a few of whom join me along my spiritual path.  Some knit, some don't.  Yet all seem able to get caught up in the mysticism of the journey I call mine.  In return, I am able to ride their mystical breezes as well.  These are the wonders I call Anam Cara.

A Thought or Two About Angels
  Just this morning an e-mail cartoon crossed my screen that both tickled me and set me to thinking.  The primary premise was that women are angels who soar.  Well, of course!  The thought continues with when you break our wings, we simply resort to our brooms.  That's a double edged-poke in the ribs, I suppose.
   May I posit that brooms are quite as essential to life as our etherial wings.  Think: sweeping away the crumbs and ashes of life.  An example comes to mind. 
   A friend, captivated by a huge ball of colorful, hand-dyed roving, dropped a significant sum of money on its purchase.  Friend doesn't spin but wanted to learn.  Time passed; the urge to spin dwindled.  And, so, I was gifted with this gorgeous roving.  Friend would take no money and didn't want the finished product--she doesn't knit either!  Here we were, two angels, in a dilemma.
   With a quick sweep of our brooms, it was decided I would spin the fleece into yarn and then put it up for sale at the church bazaar--all proceeds going to the building fund.  Done!  Pact made.  Angels' wings and brooms working in tandem make the world a better place.

Stash Tales
They whisper together in the darkness.  Gold Merino brags that she was part of the most elegant holiday gift.  Eyelash Red mutters, "You wouldn't have been half so pretty if it weren't for me!" 
Older wisps and worms just chuckle at the recent arrivals.  "You'll get used to being dug through as She looks for just the right piece to finish Her project.  Soon you too will be tangled and knotted.  Life happens."
"She was on the computer again today," sighs Green Shetland.  "She found this new place in North Carolina--Warrensville, I think.  They sell Ramboulliet from their flock in luscious hand dyed colors.  I heard her moan."
"Drama Queen, that one."  Black Mohair flicks her elegant fuzz as she speaks.  "But not to worry, even though she bought a couple of pounds, Herself isn't keeping it.  It's a gift for Talented Daughter."
"Thank heavens.  There's no more room in here.  We can't move if we tried!"
"Stop your primping Black  Mohair, you're squishing me.  Damn it,  I said, 'stop'!"
"Tsh, tsh, you know Herself doesn't like bad words.  Watch out or you'll be shoved into the bottom drawer where She puts Her waste yarns.  Last ditch before the trash--trash mouth to trash, so to speak."
"Herself is coming!  Cut the chatter." 
"Muttering about something, She is.  Get out of the way, I wanna be on top.  My turn, my turn!"


Fiber Art is, by definition, most often a one-of-a-kind endeavor.  Such work is labor and spiritually intensive.  The artist brings to life a composite of color, texture, and emotion; then kisses it goodbye just as another passion begins to swirl within.