Tuesday afternoon. It was clouds and rain this morning, then clouds and wind this afternoon, and now: clear and sun - to clear and dusk - and what I believe will be clear and Monday (Memorial Day, to come) in DC. It's cool outside. As I came back from lunch with Dan today, a woman stopped me in the elevator and was telling me how cool and sticky it is / was outside -- we both hoped that it wouldn't be this way all week. Looking up and on, I think we'll have 70s and sun - and soon, 80s and sun. Summer is coming - spring has been cool, I think we all think we're in for a cool summer. May be too soon to tell.
I'm here... in body - but clearly not in heart and mind, where I'm still in New York, the foothills of (what I believe are) the Green Mountains and sitting on the porch of the main lodge at Easton Mountain
, reliving the greatness of the weekend and the Men's Spring Knitting Retreat. In truth, I had feared I might not have a spring gathering experience this year - the MidAtlantic Mens Gathering is somewhat in transition. Our relationship with our site has undergone some diress - and as a result, both of that stress - and our own planner burnout, not to mention the fact that so many attendees have dropped off to take part in other holiday weekend plans - a result of their unwillingness, I suspect, to make the travel - we needed to cancel this year's Spring Gathering. The first in a long line of Spring Gatherings not to happen, I know I was somewhat saddened.
With the opportunity to be at the MSKR, I feel like that need was satisfied in a deeply powerful way. Others who were there, will tell the travelogue of their own experience as they can (there's a great photo-essay on Joe's site, and a few photos on flickr - one where it looks like I have calf hips and calves), but I'd like to share my own experience - both to process and to share (it's therapy for all!). I'm hesitant to go on and on about how great it was - my selfish thinking wants to tell you all it's like runny eggs (ew, runny eggs), so next year it'll be 30 of the same great guys that it was this year - that it'll be something small and special and unknown. Like the small restaurants on 9th street - or the great galleries nestled downtown. But I can't - I'm a writer - it's in my nature to tell my story. Onwards.
To set the scene, last week, and the weekend before, the MidAtlantic saw more rain in one focused length of time than any other - well for a long time. As a result, beyond the many homes flooded and damaged in Maryland and Virginia, and beyond the sinkholes all over the area still unravelling earth, many of us probably couldn't stand another clouded sky day - me, I know for sure. The rain had done a serious number on my allergies - cool, wetness had somehow gotten inside my head and was punching headache after headache my way, plus a un-relievable tightness in my neck and shoulders. This, compounded with this overwhelming feeling that I was / am being hurtled through space unavoidably towards the future, made me think maybe I'd skip out... spend a few days at home and not go. One thing I hate almost as much as runny eggs (eww, runny eggs), is being away from home and ill. I don't like being a burden to someone, and I don't like not being able to run away and do the "pet dying alone in the woods" act (you know, you're sick - rather than be out and about, you'd like to hang low and not be seen).
Come Friday morning, when my flight was set to leave DCA for Albany, I pushed myself out the door. It was too late to cancel the flight, and I felt I might as well just go. Besides, I just bought a new wheel just so that I could travel and learn new skills - it'd be like I'd wasted that money on something I wouldn't use. So, I *had* to go. I arrived at the airport as early as usual - about two hours - I need to remind myself this is *way* too early... despite folks always telling me get their early, I can't think of a single instance where I haven't made my way through check in and security in under 10 minutes. Anyway,I boarded the packed plane from DC to Albany (Note to US Airways and Republic Airlines - the bathrooms on your shuttles are too small for the average man with calf hips and calves), where I met Stephen, and Dave from Easton - and we were on our way through the countryside - past the physical home of Uncle Sam, past two alpaca farms, and up the dirt road to the site.
Once there, we met up with a few early birds - this cutie-patootie from Fort Lauderdale (partnered, so I restrained myself - besides, he didn't know what a blog is) and Kenny (of copyright-infringement fame - you girls on Ravelry make us crazy with your craziness). We all ate a bit of lunch, got settled in our rooms (somehow I managed to get a full size bed in Easton's lovely guest house - a total dream which I can thank my MGM roommate for), and walked the grounds a bit. Participants continued to arrive - and so the weekend began.
Rather than recount what follows next - because getting there really is half the story - I can say I met a lot of great guys this weekend. 30 to be exact - it was great to reconnect with Guido, to meet Joe and Ted after so many months (or years of chat online), and to meet new male knitter friends, too numerous to name (or who's faces are burned in me, but names will likely fade). My goal for the weekend was to slow that "hurtling through space uncontrollably" feeling - I spent a lot of time chatting with folks. In fact, aside from a great cotton spinning workshop with Chris on Saturday, I spent most of Saturday (and the rest of the weekend) chatting with Canadian Van, Ted, Danny, and others - watching the pond and seeing the various wildlife of mid-state New York.
There were some great moments to be sure - being in the sauna was one. It was warm and the heat clenched its fists around my tight neck muscles and pulled them free (though admittedly, being nearly naked among other knitters is a bit freaky - I think some folks were too freaked out to even pursue it - which I understand, but relaxation has it's price - and I had to trust that rumors of my calf sized hips and calves would be limited). Talking to knitters individually, was another - hearing their stories centered some deep questions for me, which was very healing (I use that word sparingly, and will purposefully neglect details). Hearing how "Knitting with Balls" impacted knitters there was another - a moment of great honor and humble-ness - to all who mentioned something meaningful to me, I am incredibly honored and was thrilled to make your acquaintance. The perfect view on Saturday was still another - I saw Redwing Blackbirds, Orioles, Goldfinches, a family of geese, a Great Blue Heron, Robins, Blue Jays, and a full arsenal of other wildlife I never see (including a wee pony and some baby Alpaca on the way there).
There were of course great material goodies too. Ted did an amazing service and asked sponsors including Black Bunny Fibers, Briar Rose, Louet, Schoolhouse Press, Threadbare, and many many others to donate goods for door prizes. From that - and the ensuing process, I managed to score 4oz of Oceanwind Knits roving in a wonderful watery green color, 8oz of Karaoke from Louet, and 3 silk hankies that I can't wait to spin. PLUS, from Chris' great cotton spinning workshop, I think I managed to score a pound (or more) of various types of cotton which'll be fun to practice with.
Leaving on Sunday was hard. In fact, coming back to DC was a lot harder than I think it ever has been. Usually by a few days away, I'm ready to come back. I'm usually hungry by then for some Baja Fresh and a latte - I'm ready to sit at the TV and watch hours of America's Next Top Model (I can't believe Whitney won the last cycle - I think Tyra realizes that ANTM is nearly done, she wanted to see a full figure girl take the cup - good for her). BUT, come Sunday afternoon post-lunch, I really didn't want to go - I was on the verge of holding onto the lodge for dear life, to be pried away (not really - I did need to get to the airport, I am after all an adult).
Still, anyone who was there can identify with what I was feeling. For all of us, whether we know it or not, being in community - a real, living, honest to G-d community - is a luxury. Think about it - you live in a city, you meet guys, there's always someone prettier or smarter to see and chat up, there's always somewhere else to rush off to, always something else to buy; but, when you gather in the middle of nowhere, united by a common craft, something shifts. Life slows down - and simple interactions like showing off a finished product or sharing a meal turn from mundane to deeply meaningful. And, amongst your brethren (straight and gay), you realize that life is so much bigger and wonderful - and you wonder why you can't live like that always.
For me personally, I came to understand how small my life feels at 29. I work 9 to 5, then often 6-11 and onwards. My home is a shoebox, with cardboard walls and an easy-bake oven. I live in a city I've never really loved, I have a small circle of local people I dare-to-call friends, I have long talked about and dreamed of northern pastures, and though I have a great job - I hunger for an environment where "How are you?" is more than a nicety, and an actual concern for someone else's well being (this is a reflection on the city, not on my job in any way). It sounds odd to leave the city and to head to the country to knit and to feel like you're living large, but it's definitely my experience. All I've got to do now, is live up to the experience and carry it forward.
Vermont - I'm coming your way as soon as I'm able.
* * * * * * * *
Knittingwise, I very much want to show you what I thought would have been sock weight and length (which turned out to be dk weight and not sock length) spinning - plus my newest spinning project, a completed Fugl, and the near complete Sock Kureyon Socks - but this is a very busy week that I'm already behind on and deadlines loom. It's a 3-day weekend to come, so I'll be back before you know it.
I'm here... in body - but clearly not in heart and mind, where I'm still in New York, the foothills of (what I believe are) the Green Mountains and sitting on the porch of the main lodge at Easton Mountain
, reliving the greatness of the weekend and the Men's Spring Knitting Retreat. In truth, I had feared I might not have a spring gathering experience this year - the MidAtlantic Mens Gathering is somewhat in transition. Our relationship with our site has undergone some diress - and as a result, both of that stress - and our own planner burnout, not to mention the fact that so many attendees have dropped off to take part in other holiday weekend plans - a result of their unwillingness, I suspect, to make the travel - we needed to cancel this year's Spring Gathering. The first in a long line of Spring Gatherings not to happen, I know I was somewhat saddened.
With the opportunity to be at the MSKR, I feel like that need was satisfied in a deeply powerful way. Others who were there, will tell the travelogue of their own experience as they can (there's a great photo-essay on Joe's site, and a few photos on flickr - one where it looks like I have calf hips and calves), but I'd like to share my own experience - both to process and to share (it's therapy for all!). I'm hesitant to go on and on about how great it was - my selfish thinking wants to tell you all it's like runny eggs (ew, runny eggs), so next year it'll be 30 of the same great guys that it was this year - that it'll be something small and special and unknown. Like the small restaurants on 9th street - or the great galleries nestled downtown. But I can't - I'm a writer - it's in my nature to tell my story. Onwards.
To set the scene, last week, and the weekend before, the MidAtlantic saw more rain in one focused length of time than any other - well for a long time. As a result, beyond the many homes flooded and damaged in Maryland and Virginia, and beyond the sinkholes all over the area still unravelling earth, many of us probably couldn't stand another clouded sky day - me, I know for sure. The rain had done a serious number on my allergies - cool, wetness had somehow gotten inside my head and was punching headache after headache my way, plus a un-relievable tightness in my neck and shoulders. This, compounded with this overwhelming feeling that I was / am being hurtled through space unavoidably towards the future, made me think maybe I'd skip out... spend a few days at home and not go. One thing I hate almost as much as runny eggs (eww, runny eggs), is being away from home and ill. I don't like being a burden to someone, and I don't like not being able to run away and do the "pet dying alone in the woods" act (you know, you're sick - rather than be out and about, you'd like to hang low and not be seen).
Come Friday morning, when my flight was set to leave DCA for Albany, I pushed myself out the door. It was too late to cancel the flight, and I felt I might as well just go. Besides, I just bought a new wheel just so that I could travel and learn new skills - it'd be like I'd wasted that money on something I wouldn't use. So, I *had* to go. I arrived at the airport as early as usual - about two hours - I need to remind myself this is *way* too early... despite folks always telling me get their early, I can't think of a single instance where I haven't made my way through check in and security in under 10 minutes. Anyway,I boarded the packed plane from DC to Albany (Note to US Airways and Republic Airlines - the bathrooms on your shuttles are too small for the average man with calf hips and calves), where I met Stephen, and Dave from Easton - and we were on our way through the countryside - past the physical home of Uncle Sam, past two alpaca farms, and up the dirt road to the site.
Once there, we met up with a few early birds - this cutie-patootie from Fort Lauderdale (partnered, so I restrained myself - besides, he didn't know what a blog is) and Kenny (of copyright-infringement fame - you girls on Ravelry make us crazy with your craziness). We all ate a bit of lunch, got settled in our rooms (somehow I managed to get a full size bed in Easton's lovely guest house - a total dream which I can thank my MGM roommate for), and walked the grounds a bit. Participants continued to arrive - and so the weekend began.
Rather than recount what follows next - because getting there really is half the story - I can say I met a lot of great guys this weekend. 30 to be exact - it was great to reconnect with Guido, to meet Joe and Ted after so many months (or years of chat online), and to meet new male knitter friends, too numerous to name (or who's faces are burned in me, but names will likely fade). My goal for the weekend was to slow that "hurtling through space uncontrollably" feeling - I spent a lot of time chatting with folks. In fact, aside from a great cotton spinning workshop with Chris on Saturday, I spent most of Saturday (and the rest of the weekend) chatting with Canadian Van, Ted, Danny, and others - watching the pond and seeing the various wildlife of mid-state New York.
There were some great moments to be sure - being in the sauna was one. It was warm and the heat clenched its fists around my tight neck muscles and pulled them free (though admittedly, being nearly naked among other knitters is a bit freaky - I think some folks were too freaked out to even pursue it - which I understand, but relaxation has it's price - and I had to trust that rumors of my calf sized hips and calves would be limited). Talking to knitters individually, was another - hearing their stories centered some deep questions for me, which was very healing (I use that word sparingly, and will purposefully neglect details). Hearing how "Knitting with Balls" impacted knitters there was another - a moment of great honor and humble-ness - to all who mentioned something meaningful to me, I am incredibly honored and was thrilled to make your acquaintance. The perfect view on Saturday was still another - I saw Redwing Blackbirds, Orioles, Goldfinches, a family of geese, a Great Blue Heron, Robins, Blue Jays, and a full arsenal of other wildlife I never see (including a wee pony and some baby Alpaca on the way there).
There were of course great material goodies too. Ted did an amazing service and asked sponsors including Black Bunny Fibers, Briar Rose, Louet, Schoolhouse Press, Threadbare, and many many others to donate goods for door prizes. From that - and the ensuing process, I managed to score 4oz of Oceanwind Knits roving in a wonderful watery green color, 8oz of Karaoke from Louet, and 3 silk hankies that I can't wait to spin. PLUS, from Chris' great cotton spinning workshop, I think I managed to score a pound (or more) of various types of cotton which'll be fun to practice with.
Leaving on Sunday was hard. In fact, coming back to DC was a lot harder than I think it ever has been. Usually by a few days away, I'm ready to come back. I'm usually hungry by then for some Baja Fresh and a latte - I'm ready to sit at the TV and watch hours of America's Next Top Model (I can't believe Whitney won the last cycle - I think Tyra realizes that ANTM is nearly done, she wanted to see a full figure girl take the cup - good for her). BUT, come Sunday afternoon post-lunch, I really didn't want to go - I was on the verge of holding onto the lodge for dear life, to be pried away (not really - I did need to get to the airport, I am after all an adult).
Still, anyone who was there can identify with what I was feeling. For all of us, whether we know it or not, being in community - a real, living, honest to G-d community - is a luxury. Think about it - you live in a city, you meet guys, there's always someone prettier or smarter to see and chat up, there's always somewhere else to rush off to, always something else to buy; but, when you gather in the middle of nowhere, united by a common craft, something shifts. Life slows down - and simple interactions like showing off a finished product or sharing a meal turn from mundane to deeply meaningful. And, amongst your brethren (straight and gay), you realize that life is so much bigger and wonderful - and you wonder why you can't live like that always.
For me personally, I came to understand how small my life feels at 29. I work 9 to 5, then often 6-11 and onwards. My home is a shoebox, with cardboard walls and an easy-bake oven. I live in a city I've never really loved, I have a small circle of local people I dare-to-call friends, I have long talked about and dreamed of northern pastures, and though I have a great job - I hunger for an environment where "How are you?" is more than a nicety, and an actual concern for someone else's well being (this is a reflection on the city, not on my job in any way). It sounds odd to leave the city and to head to the country to knit and to feel like you're living large, but it's definitely my experience. All I've got to do now, is live up to the experience and carry it forward.
Vermont - I'm coming your way as soon as I'm able.
* * * * * * * *
Knittingwise, I very much want to show you what I thought would have been sock weight and length (which turned out to be dk weight and not sock length) spinning - plus my newest spinning project, a completed Fugl, and the near complete Sock Kureyon Socks - but this is a very busy week that I'm already behind on and deadlines loom. It's a 3-day weekend to come, so I'll be back before you know it.
One of the things that I loved about the weekend was getting to meet the actual people whose faces and names I'd known for a while online, as well as getting to see a few - Joe, Stephen, and especially Ted - whom I'd already gotten to know and adore in person.
That and, of course, the sauna.
Posted by: Mel | May 21, 2008 at 01:48 AM
I loved your post, but it seemed a bit sad to me. My first instinct was to encourage and show you how not to feel so isolated. But then I thought, "if that's the way he feels, that's the way he feels." But I do think that to try to replicate that feeling of connection and community every day in our lives...well, I don't know if it's possible. Would living a life like that take away from experiences like this?
For me, my plan is to store these feelings, these memories, and draw from them when I do feel isolated.
But, maybe it is time for you to make a change? I don't know. OK, rambling here now.
Peace my friend...
Posted by: sean | May 21, 2008 at 07:38 AM
I know what you mean about wanting a chance at "living large." I do too. The weekend felt like a brush with largeness. I am happy to have met you.
Posted by: Van | May 21, 2008 at 04:45 PM
oh honey! leave the city and come play up here in vermont. we'll take you! mwah!
Posted by: Chris (Vtknitboy) | May 24, 2008 at 12:18 AM
An incredibly apt description of the melancholy of having been so deeply touched by others. I related in some ways, but what was more interesting is I was able to see through your eyes for a brief period while reading.
One of the things I loved most about the retreat was the ability to see exactly how each guy there added to the event in their own flavor, and also feel deeply the entirety of the weekend. Usually group dynamics are like each person dropping a single drop of blue dye into a glass of water. Eventually, the water is deep blue, but there is no individuality in the different drops. The retreat was more like a multi-plied, tweedy yarn that was beautiful and yet where you could still individually discern each ply or slub or nep or noil that made the final yarn so wonderful and interesting.
I'll personally look forward to my next similar experience.
Posted by: QueerJoe | May 27, 2008 at 09:32 AM
It will good to be back in DC to knit with you all. I've missed that quite a bit here in MN. Hopefully next year I can make it to the knitting gathering.
Posted by: Jason | May 31, 2008 at 07:06 PM
Darren and I are considering a trip to DC in October. If we make out your way, can we do dinner?
Posted by: Sean | June 10, 2008 at 09:56 PM