One of the awakenings brought about by the Epstein/Trump Files is the certainty that it takes a village to protect a predator. It takes people like the Chomskys, who claim they were innocently naive, despite Noam Chomsky’s deeply thoughtful critical analysis of social movements and philosophical ideas. Opportunists like the former Prince Andrew and the United States President and other wealthy and privileged men, predators themselves, who counted on the circles of secrecy to keep them undetected. Winkers and nudgers like Deepak Chopra, who clearly knew what was happening, and enabled the predator, kept his secrets, considered themselves and him to be outside the bounds of social convention. Women who groomed the girls. All the staff at all the properties. People who suspected but turned a blind eye. A flagrantly unlawful DOJ. Senators and Congresspeople afraid of what they might discover. Shame on the village that guards the secrets of predators.
I outfitted three of the Little Protectors today. They will be warriors, feral and fierce. A definite Do Not Mess With Me energy here.
The seeds of ideas and plans we brought into the light in the season of Brigit are ready to sprout. How will we nurture them in the coming season?
May your seeds sprout, your sprouts flourish, your flowers bloom and bear magnificent fruit.
The Little Protector Dolls I made today will carry some of that bright hopeful energy of spring’s awakening, along with the fierce energy of the times.
Starting on a new project today, getting another set of Little Protectors Dolls ready for Radiance. On my initial project list, I gave myself the goal of twenty. I have pieces cut for seven bodies right now, and I can get fabric laid out to cut another fifteen or so in the next couple of days. I braided one doll this evening, just so I could say I had done something other than just organize materials.
What magic shall I call upon for this batch of feisty protectors? Little Girl Dragon Energy. Old Woman Rising Energy. Fierce Mother Bears Energy. Ancestor Rescue Energy. Waving Goodbye to the Patriarchy Energy.
What magic are you calling upon for yourself in these days of turmoil and uproar?
Take Wool or Yarn or String Fiber is magical Spin, knit, crochet, weave, braid, or just make knots
Sing: Somebody is hurting my sisters and it’s gone on far too long, it’s gone on far too long, it’s gone on far too long. Somebody is hurting my sisters, and it’s gone on far too long, and I won’t be silent anymore.
When you cut your threads, imagine the girls and women breaking free from cycles of abuse. When you knot or twist a thread, imagine the abusers getting caught in the web of accountability.
To activate the spell: Don’t be silent anymore. Speak up.
Beginning the second fifth of #The100DayProject today. First, I organized my yarn stash, which—after some unravelling of a couple knotty skeins— currently fits into one very large bin and two big baskets. I do not, as the hip-hop song I posted with yesterday’s reel about the project, “Need More Yarn.”
I Need More Yarn by Yarnie On Da Hook
“I got 57 skeins and I still ain’t calm.” I need more yarn, don’t ask why, Cart full of skeins and I still might cry. Bought a whole stash, said “this the last,” Then saw a sale and spent it fast. I need more yarn, like now, no cap, Got bins on bins and a color map. Yarn store clerk know me by name, Swipe that card, I feel no shame. I got worsted, DK, jumbo too, Color so fine, had to cop that blue. Said no more yarn? That’s cute — you tried, But I see a gradient, and all bets slide. Midnight scrollin’, eyes real wide, “Limited stock” — now I’m outside. UPS man just shook his head, Dropped off a box, it’s full of thread. I crochet slow, but I buy like zoom, Got yarn in the closet, yarn in the room. Yarn in the car, yarn in my bag, Yarn in a basket my cat tryna snag. I need more yarn, don’t ask why, Cart full of skeins and I still might cry. Bought a whole stash, said “this the last,” Then saw a sale and spent it fast. I need more yarn, like now, no cap, Got bins on bins and a color map. Yarn store clerk know me by name, Swipe that card, I feel no shame. I got 3 WIPs and 10 more planned, A half-done shrug and a ghosted headband. Y’all out clubbin’ — I’m at Joann’s, Stackin’ coupons in both my hands. It’s a fiber frenzy, a textured trap, One more skein and I’ll fill this gap. I said I’d chill — that was a lie, New colorway just dropped? Goodbye. I need therapy, or maybe a tote, To carry all this soft lil’ hope. Crochet got me in a bind, But I like my yarn like I like my mind — twisted. You ever buy so much yarn you start hiding it in the oven? Under the couch? Behind shampoo bottles? If loving yarn is wrong… I don’t wanna be right. I need more yarn, I said what I said, Yarn in the fridge and yarn in the bed. Custom life, I stitch, I slay — But I’ll risk rent for that merino gray. I need more yarn, don’t make me choose, I got 8 pinks and I need more hues. Stash so big, might start a farm… One more skein won’t do no harm. Yarn therapy… That’s a real diagnosis. Catch me outside — with a hook and a haul. (Yarn gang 4 life.)
I finished the first sleeve. I was afraid it might not look right when I attached it, so I crocheted it on before making the second. I am tired of unraveling, and I am very much in love with the painterliness of this sleeve, so I was really hoping it would work, and I think I have finally got it! One more sleeve, then stitch up the sides, and decide whether to do some finishing at the neck and waist, or leave the rolls, and then I am done.
I thought when I began this project that I might just whip through my projects to get as many finished as possible, but instead I am unraveling when I don’t absolutely love what I’ve made, and enjoying playing with color. I think I’ll finish this in the next week or so.
I have learned so much from this project. I’m learning to let go and remake something if I am not satisfied with it. Unraveling, like all grief-work, is a sacred process.
I think it’s time to retell the story of Little Red. Mama warned her, as mothers must do, that wolves are dangerous, on the prowl for girls in the woods, insatiably hungry. Perhaps Wolf perpetuates his fraud, and devours Red and her grandmother. Perhaps he invites his friends, and they devour her friends.
Perhaps he even becomes the king of the village, with villagers celebrating his brutality, his cruelty, his power.
Then, perhaps, Red and Granny, and Goldie and Snow and Cinder and Rapunzel, trapped as they are in the belly of Old Wolf and his toady wolves, remember that they can breathe fire. Perhaps they send flames shooting from their mouths and they burn Old Wolf and his cronies from the inside out.
Perhaps all the villagers gather around, and see the truth of Old Wolf’s evil as the Maidens and the Crone step out of the steaming carcasses.
Perhaps the Patriarchy falls. Perhaps the Bad Men face the ruin of their own making.
*****
Today’s Project work: About fifteen rows of the first sleeve (third attempt). And here’s the thing: I already love what is happening with the color and texture.