cross stitched magic phone

We got magic phones which meant that I was forced to get this iPhone cover. It's a hard life.

I sketched this MN and plotted out my x's.

y

I was pleased with the result-- especially the heart over the Twin Cities -- but it looked a little lonely all alone. Poor little state.

So I grew it a tree with pink blossoms.

the nothing place and a call to arms

I am in a fight with my brain. 

My old nemesis Depression and his sweaty faced toady Anxiety are trying to move back into my brain and take over. I want to sparkle, live in my happy body, move forward with my hope and take great pleasure in every moment, but my brain is having a hard time fending off those two Assholes who make me hate myself, my body, my surroundings and paralyze me in the nothing place. 

"C'mon, brain," I say, "we're smarter than this. Just throw them out and we can get back to business!"

 "It's not about smart!", my brain counters between pummelings, "It's about energy! It's about communion! It's about feeding the well!"

I need help in my fight, friends. I need to walk, drink coffee, have dates, remind myself how to sparkle, and feed my well.

Will you help me?

etsy shop!

First Snow Neck Wraps on the Highline

Holy cats! I launched my etsy shop, emilou gnu gknits! I did it!

In the winter of 2010, as the first Minnesota snow fell, my husband snapped a picture of me in my very first knit design and the First Snow Neck Wrap was born.

One of a kind hand knit neck wraps with vintage buttons. Looks beautiful inside or outside your coat. Keep your neck and chest toasty without extra bulk!


Brown Sheep Lamb's Pride yarn 85% wool/15% mohair.


Hand wash cool and lay flat to dry.


Ready to ship!


Custom orders also available. Please, contact me.

favorite new blog

2 Tiny Tyrants is my new favorite read. Authored by my gorgeous friend Katrina all about her gorgeous husband and their two stunningly beautiful children who are, dispute their beauty, tiny tyrants. I love it because it blows up this idealised vision of motherhood that even I, despite my years of babysitting other people's tyrants, still hold in my head. Katrina is earthy, arty, farmy, crafty -- all of the traits of those mothers whose craft driven farm blogs I devour, but Katrina is writing about how fucking hard it all is. It's so funny, frank and fabulous. Enjoy

2 Tiny Tyrants

by the by, i made a thingy

I give you, my website. Still constructing, but I threw it up rather quickly with good results! Come visit. Send me a message.

www.emilygunyouhalaas.com

hurrah for the lamb or post 100

My new favorite song learned at Indian Neck from the lovely goat whisperer above. It's apparently a Civil War era song. The Open School kid in me wants to teach it to everyone I know, but I think I'll probably just teach it to my organizing step-sister.

Such beauty and big feeling in CT. Still unpacking it all.

Moving to a new apartment in two weeks, big sis put on bed rest needing lots of help, Chris Bayes workshop three days after we move... I think Mary and her lamb are gonna march me through to the other side.

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MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB

Mary had a little lamb, a little lamb, a little lamb
Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow
And everywhere that Mary went, Mary went, Mary went
Everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go

Hurrah for Mary, hurrah for the lamb
Hurrah for the Union boys who did not give a damn
And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go
Shouting the battlecry of freedom

It followed her to school one day, school one day, school one day
It followed her to school one day, which was against the rules
And when the teacher turned it out, kicked it out, shoved it out
And when the teacher kicked it out, it --pffft-- against the wall

Hurrah for Mary, hurrah for the lamb
Hurrah for the Union boys who did not give a damn
And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go
Shouting the battlecry of freedom

Mary had a little lamb, a little lamb, a little lamb
Mary had a little lamb, her father shot it dead
Now Mary takes her lamb to school, lamb to school, lamb to school
Mary takes her lamb to school between two slabs of bread

Hurrah for Mary, hurrah for the lamb
Hurrah for the Union boys who did not give a damn
And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go
Shouting the battlecry of freedom

this moment

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

this moment

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

this moment

Giving this lovely idea a whirl.

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Everytime I encounter more news about Trayvon Martin, I'm somehow reminded of Rachel Corrie's words:

"I can't believe that something like this can happen in the world without a bigger outcry. It hurts me, again, like it has hurt me in the past, to witness how awful we can allow the world to be.... Disbelief and horror is what I feel. Disappointment. I am disappointed that this is the base reality of our world and that we, in fact, participate in it. This is not at all what I asked for when I came into this world. This is not what they are asking for now. This is not the world you and Dad wanted me to come into when I was two and looked at Capitol Lake and said 'This is the wide world and I'm coming to it.'"

Stories like this make me feel disappointed, not in the unenlightened cops, but in our failure to enlighten them. Our failure to protect Trayvon Martin who needed the protection of a precious cultural asset prescislely because he was a young, black man. Maybe it is naïveté on my part to feel disappointed and even surprised, but I do. I am. How can this continue to happen in my seemingly enlightened world? How have we come so far as a people, but not nearly far enough? I do not accept it. But I don't know what to do.

What do we do? I'm truly asking.

sunning sock

Sweet P is in constant search for colorful men's clothes that are not of the polo or Hawaiian shirt variety. Why men feel their masculinity won't be threatened by bright colors as long as they look like they could be on a golf course or on vacation is beyond me. What about the men who enjoy sweaters, button ups an t-shirts? And worse, what about the men who require a Tall Large or a size 13 to fit their frames and feet? "Here's some navy blue and hunter green! Those non-colors will best fit the huge canvas you've provided."

While he has been able to scout out more colorful sweaters and shirts, footwear continues to be the bain of his mission. Yes, argyle exists, but it tends to fall under the acceptable "kooky" dressing choice that Hawaiian shirts fall under. Yes, bright athletic shoes exist, but Sweet P is not, nor will he ever be, a big Black basketball player. I know. It crushed his childhood dreams when he realized he'd never be Black, because clearly the trifecta was key.

So, I'm knitting him some bright socks. I mean look at those! Yow! Hurts your eyes a little! But lets remember that when the sweet little sales lady at Nordstroms asked him what sort of pink he wanted for his groomsmen's ties he answered, without irony, "Really fucking pink." He takes color seriously and those are some serious socks.

We opened My Ántonia in Detroit Lakes on Saturday. It went well. I don't know if it's the show, the people or Ántonia herself, but I seem to be crawling out of the crippling fear that has clouded my work for the past two plus years. My dad always tells me I'm good at suffering, so working on a long suffering character that very healthily chooses life and forward motion rather than regret has put me in, forgive the phrase, a good headspace. I feel light and full. I feel the very color of feather. I feel myself walking back into the Emily shaped space. I don't want to jinx it, but I feel a little proud.

I continue to book work on a less frequent basis, but feel it a blessing more and more since it leaves space for creating my own opportunities. I've long made my own privilege and it feels good to be forced to make it again.

Meanwhile, I'll merrily jump on our tour bus and knit my way to the next venue when we are privileged to share Ántonia and Jim's glorious story. Catch us when we're in Minneapolis:

My Ántonia
adapted by Alison Moore
directed by Michael Robins
presented by Illusion Theatre at The Cowles Center

Thursday, February 16, 2012 at 10:00AM
Friday, February 17, 2012 at 8:00PM
Saturday, February 18, 2012 at 8:00PM
Sunday, February 19, 2012 at 7:00PM

huevos and eggies

crafty

I wore holes clean through the heels of my lovely SmartWool knee highs. Too sad to let them go, I crafted the legs and insteps into fingerless gloves and the toes into cat toys. Olive approves:

wrapping

Paper Source puts out a beautiful calendar with templates printed on the back of each page for making file folders, notecards, pillow boxes and gift boxes. Aren't they cute?

warm red glow

It's Thursday, which means Gussy's Inspiration Workshop. This week's prompt is Holiday Decor.

Sweet P always wanted a light up yard Santa, so when his dad bought him one he carried it proudly around Menards like a little kid with a puppy. We've been so busy we haven't found a moment to do any decorating, but after Sweet P had a particularly awful day I thought Santa would be just the thing to cheer him up. Lacking a yard I set him on a little chair in the entryway and plugged him in. I love the warm red glow he makes in the hallway. And in Sweet P.

how-to survive the holidays

This year I have the great honor of working on A Christmas Carol at the Guthrie. This is their 37th production and my second. I forgot what a grueling schedule it is. We opened last Wednesday after a week of 10-12 hour tech rehearsals and previews, had Thursday off for Thanksgiving and rounded out the weekend with 6 shows in 3 days. I'm tired. And I'm not even Scrooge.

Not surprisingly, one can get a bit Scroogian in one's feelings toward Christmas mirth. Luckily, luckily, there are the little girls in velvet dresses. They sit there in the audience trying desperately to stay in their own seats like big girls, but the Ghost of Marley appears and forces them into the safe laps of their parents. It's the first play they've ever seen and while they may not remember the experience later, they will never forget it. I love those little girls in velvet dresses because they remind me how thrilling live performance is and that, in fact, it still thrills me -- even during the 6th show in 3 days.

There is a tremendous tradition created and upheld by one of the long time Christmas Carol cast members of participating in the Adopt-a-Family program. The entire Carol company is assigned a family in need, tasked with donating/raising money, shopping for the items on the family's Wishlists, wrapping the mountain of resulting presents (which is then celebrated with a chili cook off) and delivering the bounty to the family in time for Christmas. They are often referred to as The Cratchit Family; a tangible reminder of Dickens' words:

But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, 'God bless it!'

In a divorced family holidays are always hectic and tricky. The chaos grows when one gets married and gets trickier when one works long holiday hours. Ultimately, it's the traditions that get me through the stress of the holiday season. I know that I will eat Egg Dish with my mom. I know that I will get an ornament from my dad. It doesn't matter where or when those two things happen, just that they will happen. Those two traditions act like a beacon in the chaos; like star in the field.

come hell and high water sweet p will lean his face on his guitar

Once upon a time my beautiful Sweet P was in a play with his guitar. The play was called Come Hell and High Water created by The MovingCompany.

kitties take advantage of the turkey day resting period

I'd intended to link up to Gussy Sews Inspiration Workshop, but Christmas Carol tech got in the way... At any rate, here's my post!

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Thanksgiving is my Dad's favorite holiday.

When I was a kid we would walk down our snowy street to the neighbors' Thaksgiving. It was always full of rowdy kids, joyful adults and mountains of food. The Grandfather of the family was a retired, blind piano tuner. His familiar and forgotten melodies created the cozy backdrop for our grateful holiday. We kids would play hide and seek while the adults cooked and visited. They always called it visiting.

After my parents got divorced that Thanksgiving tradition, like so many other things, never felt comfortable again. But, like so many other things, we moved on and created new traditions.

I remember making Thanksgiving dinner for my Norwegian friends my first year in NYC. I didn't think to order a turkey, so we had Cornish game hens.

I remember the year I flew home to surprise everyone.

I remember my friends squeezing 20 or so artistic orphans into their Brooklyn apartment. I think I sat at the table on an exercise ball.

Last year we hosted my whole family for the first time. Sweet P read Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclimation and wept his way through a prayer. Lily took a nap with Dad before the pie corse. Everyone went home with a Tupperware full of leftovers. I felt like a real adult.

My Dad's townhouse is all renovated so we're back at his house for his favorite feast. I wish I could bring Lily along to take advantage of the resting period.

teeth poop

It Floats, originally uploaded by robynbird10.

Sweet P teaches preschool.

On the way to the bus yesterday one of his charges gave him a sleu of descriptions. The favorites were:

- You are a little baby hat stop sign.

- You are like teeth poop.

Oh, the creative minds of children! I salute you!

when i grow up

Pencil Vs Camera - 47, originally uploaded by Ben Heine.

Sweet P and I talk a lot about vocation and calling. He reminded me that when he was a kid he told his dad he wanted to be a big black basketball player when he grew up. His brother wanted to grow up to be short and fat.

What did you want to be?

In other news, after one round of face washing I am a total convert to Paula's Choice products. My skin looks clearer and feels like baby cheeks after ONE WASH! I mean... maybe I'll start selling it.