Low Tech pleasures

In the age of rapid communication, digital everything, and instant gratification, whether it's microwave pancakes (for pity's sake) to click and ship ordering, it's good for me to focus on the slow and complex parts of life. Maybe that's why I garden. I did a search the other night for some Lisianthus seeds (also called Texas Bluebells, I think). I've only been able to find plants. When I found a seed source, I was so grateful I may have ordered a few more things:


Of course, after the order came I did some searching online, and discovered that Lisianthus takes about six months from planting-- during which they have a low germination rate, require both light and moisture -- to blooming. Maybe that's why people buy plants. Fortunately, I still love gardening, although I may wait until fall to start those Lisianthus.

That got me thinking about some of the other things I do that are probably lower on the technology-input level. I started blogging to push me to finish projects, and to have a place to blather on about knitting. The finishing projects part is helping -- for some reason, I've become tremendously committed to finishing the dratted pain project on the needles before starting a new one. I guess I figure if I'm knitting, I need to be finishing them. So far, it's working okay, but I can't post pictures because I'm working on a surprise project.

Outside of the blog, though, I want a record of my projects that will outlast me, and perhaps outlast them. Backstory? My mother made loads of clothes for me. While not all were hits -- the vinyl jumper that made swinging my body around the bar completely impossible comes to mind -- many were pretty nice. Do I have a record of these lovingly made dresses? Nope, not one. They may be in varying photographs, but I don't know anything about them.

When Thing 1 was little, it was tough finding clothing to fit her, because while she kept growing taller, she got not a bit bigger around. I finally took a basic dress pattern, modified it, and made roughly one billion little girl dresses. I don't think I have pictures of each of these, although they're in a box somewhere. They didn't all fit Thing 2, because the girls are built differently.

But the principle is the same -- I don't know why I chose what I did for the dresses, nor if they were made for a special occasion. I didn't write it down, and I have a brain like a sieve. My mother had many doll dresses made for her by an aunt, and she has no record of them, nor does she have them.

I determined that my knitting was going to have a different fate. I may be taking my work overly seriously, but right now, knitting and raising my children are my work, no matter how underpaid. I may not be a famous designer, or even a very skilled knitter, but I'm the only knitting mama my children have, and I want them to take it seriously.

I started a knitting journal:



On each page is a swatch or bit of the yarn, a label, and hopefully a picture of the project or a picture of it being worn. Here's one of a baby set that's already been half-felted:



The notes are the real meat of it -- why the object was made, hopefully when it was made, for whom or what occasion, and any funny things about it. If more than one child wears it, I try to get a picture of them all in it. Even when the item is made to give away, like my first finished quilt:



I have a record of it. Now that my mom is sewing for my kids, I'm trying to take pictures of them and note it in my photo album. Losing our mothers' work through forgetting has to stop somewhere.



P.S. Tomorrow, I promise, I'm going to have a comment-fest and answer everything anyone has asked and finally say thank you specifically.