Me, I'm excited about yarn. And writing. And, to a certain extent, comics. Therefore, I got giddy excited when I saw this image:

You read that right- "Handknit Heroes," It's a new comic written by Stephanie Bryant and illustrated by Marc Olivent.

Their site has a nice summary:

"Imagine you’re a teenager, and you have some… special powers. Maybe even super powers. And one day, at a sleepover, your best friend in the whole world tells you—you’re not alone. So begins the adventure for a couple of teenagers, a single mom and yarn shop owner, and a whole bunch of hand knitted fun."

Each comic will have a story and a pattern. I'm in! Unfortunately, the closest shop that sells "Handknit Heroes" is in Maine, which is strange because I thought Boston's pairing of yarn stores, comic shops, and college students would warrant a local distributor. I'll be signing up for a mail subscription until I can convince someone in my area to start carrying it.

Developing and publishing an independent comic certainly takes passion these days- especially those that are choosing to forgo e-subscriptions and stick to the beloved print copies. To show my support (and rabid excitement) I'll be placing my order for a subscription shortly. Don't you just love when your usually divergent interests collide in a ball of awesome?

From an early age, I wanted to knit. My grandmothers often knit hats, sweaters, or scarves for family members and I remember admiring their work. I understood that knitting was an interesting and worthwhile activity and wanted in on the fun. Unfortunately, my hands didn't quite get the memo on fine motor skills and appropriate tension. 

My mother and I tried in vain to learn to knit, wanting to conquer it like many other crafts we easily picked up- clay, beads, candles- you name it, we did it. But without fail, our cast on stitches would strangle the needle and within a few rows I couldn't squeeze my acrylic needle through the deathgrip of acrylic craft store yarn. Processed plastic on processed plastic is not an encouraging sound.

Foiled, I gave up on knitting, and its equally disastrous cohort crocheting. I busied myself with books and other crafts for many years, but none really held my interest for more than a few projects. Then, like a doctor in a telephone box, came yarn.

In the Fall of 2008, I found myself on the couch watching television for hours on end. I was newly graduated, temping sporadically, in a dying relationship, and under stimulated in every sense of the word. I needed something to keep my busy-something new, something that was just mine. 

I believe that I stumbled upon an interesting crocheted headband pattern on a blog. Although the first pattern that caught my eye isn't clear, the rest of it is. The next day I went to the craft store, bought a metal crochet hook and some Caron Shiny yarn and turned back to the Internet. 

Luckily, in the time since my last foray into fiber, needlecrafts had been picked up by the internet on a large scale. I quickly found page after page of free patterns. I found videos describing what my mother and I had been doing wrong so long ago (holding the yarn too tightly and using non-stretching yarn, mostly) and promptly learned the correct way to crochet. 

I was still too afraid to pick up the knitting needles- one stabby implement at a time, please- but I was happy with crocheting. I came to love the sound of the yarn swooshing over the hook and the craft's nearly instant gratification worked for my impatient desire to be useful. I felt useless in so many other areas of my life that my blobby and mistake-riddled lime green scarf was instantly the best thing I'd ever seen. I even found a way to explain it's varied width- the skinny part was wrapped around the next first, with the wide part acting as a top layer to protect the face, of course. Fortunately, my logic didn't make it past the front door.

Once I was comfortable with the movement of the hook, I embarked on the Project that Would Save My Relationship, a beautiful pattern called the Love Scarf. Spoiler: it didn't work, but I'm still proud of that scarf and happy that it's being worn to this day.

By Thanksgiving, I worked up the courage to pick up the knitting needles. It's been a fun, expensive trip since then. With the help of the Internet and wonderful sites such as Ravelry, Knitting Help, and Youtube, I've learned tons of knitting techniques, found the perfect patterns for myself and for gifts, and bought more yarn than I some farms produce in a year.

Knitting brought me a sense of curiosity, confidence, and self-worth and continues to reinforce those feelings when I feel down but pick up the needles. I can't bring myself to calm down enough to meditate, but when I knit my mind is happily focused enough that stressful thoughts fall to the background and it's just the yarn running over my fingers and the needles clicking away.

My life has changed quite a bit in the 2 or so years since I taught myself to knit. I've held a job, left it to try something new, moved, become more comfortable with myself, made new friends, had new relationships, and become a person I actually like. But knitting has always been there.

Now, I look forward to showing my grandmothers new projects I'm working on. My paternal grandmother can't knit anymore due to hand troubles and is slowly giving my her needles. It's heartbreaking to see her have to give up something she loved, especially when I'm just picking it up, but I hope that my newfound passion for the craft is making the adjustment easier for her. My mother's mom still knits, mostly teddy bear sweaters and blankets (I'm sitting under one right now) and I'm looking forward to "speaking" knitting next time I see her. I've even started to teach my mom knitting and she's getting it! 

I intend to spread the art to anyone who will sit still and pick up the needles. I also want to know how others came to fiber crafts. Many were taught at a young age, but others, such as myself, found their way to yarn later in life, often in difficult times when they needed a bit of productive thumb-twiddling to keep them sane. Whatever their reason, I'd like to know, and to share those stories.

I want to know what these people would think of each other. What would an Irish mill girl think of the high schoolers I watch every day? Would she ditch her long dress for skinny leg jeans and a lip ring? Or would she run back to her room at the boardinghouse? If she did, her bed would be gone and replaced by office equipment for the National Park or one of the other organizations housed in the old buildings. Do the Angkor Dance Troupe members ever wonder who else danced in their studio in the house's attic? 

What if an old factory owner showed up to one of his mills for a surprise inspection and found it converted to trendy loft apartments and artists' studios? What would he think of the whitewashed walls in the condos and the artists making money for themselves in their creative pursuits? Where are the deafening looms? Where are his crates of linens ready to ship down the river?

The past and present of this city would probably clash in the minds of most people. I see our present community of immigrants and creatives as simply a modern version of the old mill town, with a few tweaks of course. Labor laws and housing reform have changed the morale of the town a bit, luckily. People still come to this town looking for a new start. Some come from other countries, some, such as myself, come from just far enough down the road to feel like an outsider at first. Different motivations and incentives brought us here, of course. People once came here as indentured servants or faced rampant discrimination once they arrived. Now, some people come here as refugees or asylum-seekers from painful pasts and this is their chance at a better life. Theirs are fascinating stories, and they are important parts of this city's history and future. But there's another reason people come here which intrigues me even more.

Lowell was planned as a mill city. Our location on the Merrimack River was perfect for water-powered mills which would produce functional and artistic textiles for decades. Housing was planned around the mills to enable longer work days- days which revolved around creation of products. Workers toiled over looms and machinery for hours, and then saw their hard work shipped off to towns they would never see for use by people wealthier than they would ever be. They produced beautiful fabric for the economy because they had no other avenue for work. 

Jump over a century (to avoid hearing of the mills shutting down, the local economy collapsing, and a painful few decades of damaging criminal activity) to the year 2010 and people are once again creating art in Lowell. Not that everyone stopped with the mills of course, but now there is a truly staggering number of creative professionals concentrated in this city. And now, they're creating work that they enjoy instead of what the mill-owner decrees, and they're benefiting financially from their talents. Most importantly, they're contributing significantly to the revival of this struggling city. 

The creative economy has become a buzzword around here, but when it fits, it fits. Theaters, museums, galleries, small businesses, and community groups host artists of every medium imaginable across the city. And these aren't just hobbyists (although anyone who cares enough to take time for arts or culture counts toward this group in my book) or fair-weather crafters. These are people developing and selling creative products once again in a city which once produced enough cloth to circle the Earth twice annually. 

Interpretations of Lowell's motto, "Art is the Handmaid of Human Good” have changed over the years. With its original intention, it means, “Skill walks hand in hand with the good of the people.” If people worked hard at the mills and used their skills for the betterment of the town, they benefitted as a whole. Now, many of us interpret it differently, closer to, "The arts accompany/contribute to human good." This new interpretation (and others with similar meanings) have been embraced by many in the city as a call to invigorate the community with arts and culture. And it's working.

But why are creative people seemingly attracted to this old mill city? It's not just Lowell either. Many New England cities and towns which are former homes to mills now have growing creative economies and communities. Is it the architecture? The slightly haunted feel of ours streets? Their vicinity to flowing water and efficient roads? The established downtowns? Or is it something else? 

I'm not sure, but I'd really like to find out.

I just finished a few days of subbing test prep and had a great time. One of the perks of teaching ESL is meeting many interesting people. But with such short sessions (and even shorter substitute shifts) these people come in and out of your life very quickly. Luckily, there's this great thing called the internet. More specifically, Facebook. I'm very happy that my newsfeed is now multilingual and I look forward to seeing where these students go in the world. Great places, I'm sure!

Kathy, the stable owner who I interviewed, pointed out that a certain type of person is drawn to horseback riding. Her students are usually more reserved, and not very interested in team sports. But the activity, achievement, and connection that they form with their horses has a strong pull on these young riders.

I don't remember having the stereotypical little girl dreams of having a pony, but seeing those people and animals working together today made me wonder if it would have been a good choice for me.

The flowers were beautiful and the artwork was impressive as always, but both were overshadowed by a newly installed youth art exhibit called Signs and Symbols. For the project, artist and author Caleb Neelon brought art supplies to local after school programs and invited young people to create their own signs and messages. Some of the results were the expected young kid messages ("Who farted?" "Only feed us candy") but others were very surprising. Of course, I shouldn't have been surprised. If you want the truth about something, ask a kid. Many of the signs grabbed me and my friend as we looked at the wall for half an hour with other curious bystanders, but one caught me the most.

"If you wanna make the world a better place take a look at yourself and make a change!"

I had a path toward teaching in mind when I saw this sign, but finding it again today (after earning my certification and beginning to teach) reminded me why I took this huge risk and the many changes I get to make in the world as a result.