My herstory (vs. history – I am a woman. it is my story – it is my her-story) is long and convoluted. I don’t have the patience, memory, or time to go into ALL of it, but I was pondering while making yesterday. I was warping my loom in the quiet of the morning. The puppies had all eaten and poo’ed and gone back to bed. I was taking notice of the tchotchkes and mementos I keep around the home that have worked their way into my daily life. I was taking notice of the places I have been and how I am still effected by those places and the reminders of them. A bowl. A creepy rattle. A crazy clock. All these memories. Triggers. Bouncing around in my head as fiber slides through my hands, creating something new…

The bowl … That bowl that is not “food-safe” for wet materials – perfect for chips – that I won on auction at a fundraiser for a homeless shelter. The auction was huge event for me since my baby, my non-profit side project, we were helping with the running and advertising of the event, and it was a huge step for me to feeling like I was more than just a survivor. Back then I questioned my self as much – or as more – than I do now. I did not have my wife, my home, my stability. This event was raising funds for the same shelter helped me when I was in a bad way. The place that gave me one of the best Christmases ever, and all I got was socks and a journal…. and support. Full circle. So now i have this amazing ceramic bowl. It was not the nicest, or the best glaze, or even watertight. There is a notable crack in it. It has humor. It has heart. It makes me want to smile and cry at the same time. It was made by some smart ass kid in the same rough spot I was in and they chose to make something that makes you laugh instead of something “sell-able”. It had no other bids. I overpriced my bid, because I wanted it and I wanted the maker to know how valued it was to me. In the “real” world this bowl is valued at close to nothing. In the world of dollars and cents and insurance that we have to measure everything on, including our race to the bottom vs the “Jonses” of our society etc. etc. etc.. but it is an important piece of keepsake joy that i make sure to use often.

A creepy rattle. Yep. A rattle. A creepy one. I named it Freddy when I first got it. Hand made and sold at a sci-fi fantasy convention, it is a designed/molded from a monkey skull. The base of the skull transitions into a femur bone handle that is wrapped in leather and nailed into the “bone”. It also has a cute little velvet blue and black sparkly jester hat – also nailed on. It is cute and morbid and adorable and cherished. I was living out of a storage tub I could lock in a studio with 9 to 12 other people (the number changed daily) on a hoppin’ corner of town right by a nightclub. It was like a twisted little family. We were all transitioning to and from stupid shit and passed through this tiny space. This room with a toilet and a kitchen. and a walk in closet – that was claimed as a room by the person who had their name on the lease. So, minimal mostly black clothes, boots, hygiene supplies, and somehow a set of custom vampire teeth (4 top 2 bottom) and a con costume – and this rattle. Now people from that same apartment are married, having babies, make their own art, are running their own companies. We all have a past. We all have a future.

The crazy clock. I wont leave you hanging. Well, I will if you are a clock. The crazy 1970’s brass star clock. The clock that hung in my neighbors’ home. The twins. Lovely ladies form Ireland that shared wigs. I mentioned the were twins, right? One of them worked at the library on 10th in downtown PDX. This lady was almost understandable to speak with, even as a pre-teen ADD spastic kid like me could talk with her. BUT! (here is where that twin thing came up) you never knew which twin you were saying HI! to until she responded. The one that DID NOT work in a library and deal with local Portlanders was almost impossible to understand, EVAR. She spoke such strong Gaelic that it was so lovely to listen to, but no comprehension came of it. Did not matter. She was always beaming. Happy to chat, work in the yard, or on holidays, invite the neighbors over and into the basement where the parties happened. Full bar, kegerator, another fridge full of bottle beets these women are my idols. Except the wig swapping. You never know. That may be a life goal I jst have no understanding of it yet with my crazy colored hawk. The whole home was brightly colored and immaculate. When the 2nd twin passed, and the family came over from Ireland to pack up, some of the items were not going to be moved back. We (my girlfriend at the time – she is my wife now) inherited a corduroy BRIGHT teal blue set of a sofa and a couch, a long coffee table and a small coffee table and this amazingly bizarre clock. The couches/tables have been loved. Slept, sat, puppies and life… and moved forward into other needy homes, but that clock. That clock stays.

So these are just a few small items in my home. If a detective came in to try to “identify” my or learn about me, they would not see a ton of family pics. I expect they would notice the plethora of books, collectibles, fiber, and the shelf of pics and ashes of past pets. They would not know what was in my heart. What is my history. What trials got me to where I am now.

I wonder what trials I am going to experience in the next 40 years…

What things of “no value” do you cherish?

 

Keep an eye on your past and your future.

They are intertwined.

With love and pyramid studs…

Sundaze

If you want more of this, keep an eye on this site. If you want the kNiTpUnK news before anyone else gets it, about once a month, in your mailbox with updates on deals/selling events/collaborations, subscribe to my mail list…