Seems like everything I pick up and read has some reference to Fiber Arts, the journey ... from rugs, to coats, carding and spinning yarn, woolen mills, cotton gins ... I'm hooked on history!
Don't get me wrong, I haven't always been this domestic. No one on the face of this earth fought woman's "duties" more than me when I was younger and still punching my way out of the mold of pioneer woman, while licking my wounds of not being allowed to "move out, and go to college out of state." I still don't comprehend the reasoning my parents used to keep me home for community college instead of allowing me to pursue my dream at an out-of-state college.
A husband, some kiddos, a yard with pets, and a career that makes a difference in people's lives was all I required. I married between my Freshman and Sophomore year at community college, then picked up courses through the years to "better" myself with each job change or promotion. Being a wife and mother, which lead to being a grandmother, were my Major goals in life, the minor goals were helping others. I had planned on being a Physical Therapist. For some reason that dream came flooding back to me this week. My Mom waving my college acceptance letter in my face, asking where I got the money for the application ($10.00), and what I thought I was doing making plans to leave the state. Oh, my, I was just doing what the H.S. counselor recommended after a career assessment, and used my own money from an evening job at a friend's Hallmark Card Shop. I had no idea I was going against some unspoken house rule.
After a year in community college, I married my H.S. sweetheart, moved away, and a few months later was living with my in-laws while my husband went through US Army Basic Training out-of-state. After his 1st 3 months in the US Army, we were back together just in time for our first anniversary, in another state 600 miles from his family and 500 miles from mine. A year away from both families, my first pregnancy, and some pretty dirt cheap apartments, I worked hard at being domestic. Because he had a Top Secret Clearance in process for his Army duties, I had to go through Army Wife orientations that were extremely intimidating. I was constantly reevaluating my status as an Army wife. By our 2nd anniversary he was overseas and I was living back with my parents with an infant. Sometimes, if I dwell on those days of heartache, loneliness, broken dreams mixed with the joy of being a Mom, and the thrill of getting a letter from my husband about once a week, and the pure love for our sweet son, I wish I could fix a lot of the things I broke.
By the time my husband returned I was a wreck physically and emotionally. He had his own problems, and we made every effort to start again as two totally different people we were before the Army. Poor baby son, he didn't know his Daddy, and neither did I, and his Mommy was so sad all the time, yet, he was such a joy. I lived in denial of my domestic responsibilities, sloppy housekeeping, never motivated to decorate, all the moves, 22 in our sons first 7 years. I just couldn't hang a picture or bring in a plant, knowing it would soon be tossed, sold or left behind.
When we bought our first house, after the Army experience, it was a working farm. We put some cattle out there in the field, watched baby chicks become fryers, raised rabbits for future meals (with the exception of one named Stew, who became the house pet), had farm cats for the mice, farm dogs for barking in the night purposes, and horses, a mule or two and a pony. Farmed for profit and had a great garden to get us through the winter, and learned canning and/or freezing to store up. The purpose of all this was survival. Living in survival mode for so many years made us a sort of freak family and often a spectacle to neighbors and co-workers. We were the working farm everyone wanted to tour, be a part of, or photograph, but when we had an over-abundance of food they were willing to eat it if it was cooked, but not come pick up veggies to fix for themselves. 
The entire time we were doing all of this we were also into alternative means of escaping reality. That meant parties that really annoyed our neighbors. Again, I was no domestic person and I continued to work outside the home, really seriously wanting to help hurting people.
I guess I needed all this background in writing to describe how so not me my knitting and weaving has become. We had friends who were weavers, and I absolutely loved the process and the finished pieces, but couldn't imagine ever having the "liesure" time to do such a thing. I had a deep love for fibers, textures, but was never a fashionably correct in my own clothing. I absolutely love sheep, alpaca, rabbit fur, goats having another small farm would be heaven on earth to me, but I'm not domestic.
Now I have my loom room, I knit and write my own patterns, sell felted purses of my own design and weave when I'm able, some of the most beautiful pieces that I'm pleased with, I admit.
Where did I get domestic? I tell ya, life was easier before dishwashers, and personal computers, and cell phones, etc. I prefer indoor plumbing, and realize ice makers in the refrigerator are nice, but growing your food, and making clothing items keeps the creative juices alive and simplifies the "race" to out do the next guy in this life. Yep, seems like I'm going backwards, but at least I'm finally fulfilling my dreams. I am, in my career, and in my lifestyle, helping others, while I explore my personal creativity.
I've covered many topics, and hope to break them down on this blog somewhat this year. I've taken the challenge to write more, to get my life-story in writing, some of it may show up here.Evolving - still!!
