Spinneret

Pilgrims For Thanksgiving

I ADORE Pilgrims. But I can never finish a whole one.

Thank you Miss Parker. Can you come back Tuesday with your feathers up?

Gorgeous day. Beautiful ride up the river to the Pilgrims. Stunningly delicious dinner. Fine company.
It was a unique opportunity to be at home with friends and family this holiday and the union took it. Picket lines were suspended for the day.
"Forward in all directions"
And;
Away we go -

Bryant Park at night gearing up for the insane season. There was a ZAMBONI grooming the ice on the temporary rink at 10:00 at night. This seem a bit much to any one else besides me? Granted 23 years ago you couldn't walk through this park in the daylight much less after dark. But a Zamboni?

Yes, yes. I'm knitting. I'm knitting.

More Rootbeer!

There is cause for celebration today.  My ancestors and Grandpa Joe have united in spirit.  There is much dancing.
An excerpt from today's Providence (Rhode Island) Journal, editorialized by yours truly in red;

"The Mashpee (who are Wampanoag) is the second Massachusetts tribe to receive federal recognition, after the Wampanoag of Gay Head-Aquinnah on Martha’s Vineyard (They of the 1670 Peace Treaty and promise to not paddle over and conquer the mainland with arms and biological warfare -  Wait somebody already did that).
In September, Mashpee town officials (Read - Those {Irish} People, as  my grandmother would call them) endorsed the recognition request after the tribe agreed not to build a casino on Cape Cod (You don't find one on Martha's Vineyard either. Let's be real.) or try to use the courts to take possession of privately owned land (i.e. The Compound)."

Fair enough.  We all have to live in the present. In spite of the record we'll call it "A Treaty".

Blossoms, this as been a 32 year process.  This is a freakin' miracle.  And yes, that is where the term "Wampum" comes from.

Grandmother Spider Takes Us Up A Creek

Or a Sioux, or … if you can, tell me the name of the Indians who instigated Thanksgiving with our founding fathers.

Don’t strain yourself. As a tribe they don’t have federal recognition. Well, one band of them on Martha’s Vineyard who had the foresight to sign a peace treaty in 1670 and promise not to paddle over and violently annex the entire continent of North America (for that job, it seems, was already covered) has federal recognition. Their tribal reservation was closed in 1948. Duh. It is Martha's Vineyard.

National recognition is a different matter. The post office is closed. Most businesses close. In an international nod to that long ago hospitality (please burn our winter food stores, we’ll just be toddling along. Thank you for the pestilence infested blankets) our financial markets take the day off. There’s a huge parade down the main drag of our nation’s first capital. Complete with balloons. Great feasting abounds.

Ah, but Federal and National recognition are separate and unequal things my dears.

The mainland bands of the tribe continue. Greatly assimilated, but growing stronger. Local recognition is increasing. We were even given our own Christmas tree to decorate in the State House of that region’s capital a few years ago. How far we have come.

As for ancestral lands, well, that’s going to take some doing and some (more, continued) patience. The lands my Grandfather deeded jointly to his daughter and her immigrant husband (another great story for another day) hold squatters now. Irish. A whole family Kompound of them. The ghost of Grandpa Joe would revel in having a casino in the backyard. A built in market for his rum-running sideline. The ghost of Grandma Rose would kick Grandpa Joe in the butt for trying it.

No, there will be no indigenous based sovereign nation of diplomatic immunity on that hook of land any time soon. The tenant Irish do well enough for themselves in that regard.

Be thankful for your family and friends. Be thankful for your homes. Be thankful for your blessings. One of which is that this man is not our commander in chief.

Not yet.

Blanket anyone?

Spinneret;

The business end of a spider or worm from which nature's perfect polymer (silk) is extruded. Yep, I'm going to write about spinning, about bugs and about color. If any of that intimidates you, or you're phobic on these topics hit the back button now.

For a really gorgeous view of these working parts in action I encourage you to check out Astrophysics gallery

Picked up a copy of A Perfect Red by Amy Butler Greenfield last evening. More bugs, more dyeing. Amazing bugs.

And while I don't normally knit for children, recently a friend took off for the Land of Parenting and I sent this to keep her laughing entertain her child when he's old enough to understand the ridiculousness of his situation.

That's an Eupholus bennettii from Papua New Guinea and they really are those colors. Sorry, there's no pattern for that one. Strictly riffing.

Where the spider comes in; Grandmother Spider is the keeper of the stories. She spins out the line of life. She'll also wack you with a stick if you get out of line. Lesson implied - don't run out of yarn, stick to your knitting.