Instagram has me pegged as a privileged person who can sometimes be convinced to buy away my guilt over my carbon footprint and that of my family. A swarm of ads for compostable toothbrushes, reusable silicone ziplock baggies, and earth-friendly dish detergent regularly pop up on my feed to remind me that I could be doing better.
Egged on by this, when I ran out of face wash over the summer, I stood in Target feeling paralyzed by the options and annoyed that every one of them came in a plastic container that fell in the grey area of recyclability.
I reluctantly asked an employee if there were any face wash options that didn’t come in a plastic container. She shrugged. I left without buying anything.
For Evangelicals in the late 80’s and early 90’s, Halloween was a holiday of the Devil. After a few Halloweens when I was really small, we didn’t celebrate it in my family growing up.
Over time, we developed a tradition of getting together at the home of family friends out in the country where people didn’t bother to trick or treat. We watched old musicals while stuffing our faces with candy. We watched Fiddler on the Roof, and The Music Man. I can still sing many of the songs. (“There’s troublllleee! Trouble! Right here in River City!”)
It took a long time to out grow that idea, that Halloween wasn’t for Christians. And in the meantime, I lost many opportunities to dress up.
When I was in college, I took an American Lit class with a new teacher. He had been hired upon the retirement of a beloved professor and I disliked him simply because he wasn’t his predecessor.
The only thing I remember from the class was the day our professor asked a white student to read a passage from a Flannery O’Connor book that contained the N-word. The room was tense, and a Black student in the back of the room (the only one?) walked out when our fellow student said the word.
We also had a Toni Morrison book assigned that semester.
You can’t go wrong with a sack dress, right?
I still haven’t really cottoned onto making muslins (a tester version of a pattern in inexpensive fabric you can make changes on before cutting into your nice fabric). Even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have made a muslin for a sack dress. It’s a sack. How can it not fit?
I was surprised by the tweaking the Wiksten pattern would have required for a good fit. I’m glad, though, because I learned about two alterations I can make for future projects.
Remember how I was a floundering blob of anxiety for the beginning of the mindful making retreat? That didn’t completely go away.
But the temperature of the anxious energy that was burning up my insides went way down.
By the time the retreat ended late Sunday afternoon, I was exhausted from all the driving and the social interactions, and already had a vulnerability hangover, but I was so relaxed.
The best part of this is that much of what we did is stuff I do at home, but it was how we did it.
