The beginning of a new sweater in the SHELTER "Homemade Jam" colorway

Jared Flood (the mastermind behind Brooklyn Tweed) took his good ol’ time developing a line of yarns that was 100% American – from sheep that currently reside in Wyoming, and spun in historical mills in New Hampshire. While a bit on the pricier side, everything from the tweedy colors, to the lightness and warmth of the final fabric, to the peace of mind that comes with such a purchase is priceless.

LOFT in "Birdbook" - new winter hat for the boyfriend

Jared shared his experiences with developing the line on his blog, here. The transparency is most welcome in these days of sweatshops, environmental toxicity, and the dwindling number of American jobs.

LOFT in "Plume" - new winter hat for me!

While as a knitter I’m delighted to finally have a 100% American option when it comes to yarn choices, a part of me is sad that Jared Flood is one of the very, very few that produces a quality American yarn. Jared has many of his gorgeous colors on backorder at the moment – a testament to just how in demand a product like this was in the crafting world. Hopefully others will follow suit.

Until then, I foresee plenty of Brooklyn Tweed yarns in my future.

We American crafters don’t have many choices when it comes to domestic materials, unfortunately. Sure, many of my knitting needles were either made in Germany or Japan, but most fabric that I come across is made in China or SE Asia. Sometimes even Central and South America. Most yarns are made in these regions, too. Peeking into my grandmother’s sewing kit from the 1950s and 1960s is like a time-warp – everything from the bobbins, to the needles, to the tape measures, etc was made in America. Venture into a JoAnn Fabrics these days and everything is made in China.

And as for using what you have, I whipped up this linen  towel this morning from scraps in my nearly-gone fabric stash.

For clearer vision without resentment for an unfocused past.

For growth in a new direction without nostalgia for old, established, and familiar ways.

For courage, disregard, and curiosity.

For new life, and for old.

What are you thankful for?

In January 2011 my desk looked like this:

January, 2011

Now it looks like this:

November, 2011

I got realistic about what books I’ll actually read, what I won’t re-read, what could be digitized, and what I use and don’t use. The printer was donated, most of the knitting books were also donated, the yarn in the plastic bin to the left has been mostly used or donated, and the old couch in the foreground was also donated.

Minimalism certainly is a journey. There’s no way that I would have been able to do all of this purging in one shot – this happened over the course of nearly one year.

There’s still much purging left to do before I move to South Korea in mid-February. I hope to find a good home for my favorite knitting reference books (I’ve either learned to do most things, or I can find videos online), and trade-in my desktop computer for a laptop.

And as for the Austin Hoodie that I have yet to update you all on? I’m finishing up the first sleeve:

This pattern is horribly slow and monotonous. I haven’t enjoyed knitting it at all – and probably the reason why its taken me so long to complete – but the finished product should be a great asset to my minimal wardrobe.

This sucker could easily be classified as a dangerous weapon.

No, really. School and a TESL/TEFL/TESOL certification has been eating up all of my creativity and time lately. Sometimes my creative side rears its ugly head, however, and I must knit. Like, putting off a major paper until hours before its due to be able to give the artist in me a quick fix.

I was able to make considerable headway in purging, though. I have only 3 sweaters, two hats, and a small blankets’ worth of yarn left in my stash! Whatever I had no plans for went to a local nursing home that was making blankets for Project Linus.

I’ve never owned such a small amount of yarn in my life and it feels amazing.

This Wollemeise will eventually become a scoop-neck top that’s been in my knitting queue for a few years now. It’ll take a very long time to complete given the weight of the yarn, but the new process-knitter in me doesn’t mind a bit.

You’ve turned my belief system upside down. Your people have taught me how to honor my own vulnerable yet veritable humanity as well as my neighbor’s. Your music has freed my spirit and your food has not only nourished my body, but my soul. Your art has given me permission to honor my own talents in a country that measures a man by his output rather than the value he adds to the community.

You’ve taught me how to live, love, and best of all – learn. Cuba, you’ve turned me into a true student of life – and reminded me to remain a skeptic while seeing the glass as half-full and never has half-empty. You’ve burst my opaque American bubble and I’ll always be grateful to you.

It’s only fitting that I raise this mojito to you,

To your people,

To your landscape, 

To your own, and our shared history,

To your culture, 

And to your unparalleled spirit.

Your coffee and cigars are pretty damn good too. 

I love you, honor and cherish you despite any shortcomings in your struggle for self-determination and your own way of life. I understand that we all – in all hemispheres – are desperately searching for the best way to honor our own shared humanity and that we all fall desperately short. Your fight – and victory – against the “man” has earned my eternal respect. After all, I’ve always had a soft-spot for those that aren’t afraid to question the system and stick up for their beliefs – no matter what they may be.

Hasta luego, Cuba. I left my heart with you.

Saludos, cariños y besos,

Caitlin

Was suitable for a view as incredible and breathtaking as this is mind-boggling to me.

The house is grand for sure, but ugly as sin. I didn’t even take many pictures of it.

But that view….

My lord, that view. It almost makes me want to swim home, but I don’t want to leave!

I’d like to say that I sat on the beach all day and read the Communist Manifesto, Che’s Guerilla Warfare, or something of the sort, but I didn’t. The day was full of non-stop sailing, snorkeling, and swimming. This yankee gringita has the horrendous sunburn to prove it.

The one restful day that I was given was spent exhausting myself (that current is  strong!). Figures.

We return to the States tomorrow morning. I’m dreading it for I’ve fallen deeply in love with this Caribbean country and all that it has to offer.

Che Guevara lead his column of 26 de Julio revolutionaries to Santa Clara in late 1958 and was able to earn a decisive victory in just two days!

Think about it –  a handful of guerillas that were hungry and tired from living in the Sierra Maestra mountains for two years defeated the Cuban army. It’s kinda crazy when you stop to think about it. The rest is – yannow – history.

Not even 12 hours after the fall of Santa Clara, Fulgencio Batista fled Cuba for the Dominican Republic – leaving Cuba to the rebels. No matter how you feel about Che and Fidel, one thing is for sure – Fulgencio Batista was one corrupt man:

I believe that there is no country in the world including any and all the countries under colonial domination, where economic colonization, humiliation and exploitation were worse than in Cuba, in part owing to my country’s policies during the Batista regime. I approved the proclamation which Fidel Castro made in the Sierra Maestra, when he justifiably called for justice and especially yearned to rid Cuba of corruption. I will even go further: to some extent it is as though Batista was the incarnation of a number of sins on the part of the United States. Now we shall have to pay for those sins. In the matter of the Batista regime, I am in agreement with the first Cuban revolutionaries. That is perfectly clear.

- US President JFK to Jean Daniel, 1963

No cameras were allowed inside the museum and mausoleum, unfortunately.

Cuba is a very relaxed country, but the atmosphere at Che’s mausoleum is anything but. The reverence shown to him is incredible and unlike anything I’ve experienced in the US. Hats are forcefully removed if not done so by the wearer, and the police patrolling the area are armed – the first I’ve seen in Cuba in fact. Inside the mausoleum is gorgeous – all types of wood in all colors line the cave-like room, and fresh flowers are placed at each grave daily – the Cubans that were killed in Bolivia with Che are buried in his mausoleum, too.

Ironically?

Che’s remains lie beneath an “eternal flame” – exactly like JFK’s. Uncanny? Or not?

The museum is very well done – air conditioned, humidity controlled, and artifacts are behind glass and captioned with fairness and a lot of detail. The Cuban government gets kudos from me on this one! Just wish that I was able to show some examples….

While taking pictures of the outside, I was approached by one of the security guards above. Thinking that I did something wrong, I got nervous. Really nervous. I had spent all of my money on cigars and rum, and there is no US embassy in Cuba after all…

His english was as bad as my spanish, but he tried to pick me up!

At Che’s mausoleum.

Cuba’s mecca.

At first I was a bit taken back, but quickly found it charming and to be a perfect example of the general disposition of the Cuban people. They’re outgoing, friendly, and very flirtatious.

The thing about Cuban men is that they tend to be much more friendly and respectful when they approach women that they find attractive than American men. There’s nothing rude, immature, or predatory about their advances, surprisingly. Let me tell you – this was a breath of fresh air!

Por exemplo:

In America the typical cat call goes something like, “Hey, baby – damn! Looking good!” and a few whistles and licks of the lips. I’m not the only woman in America that has made averting their eyes while walking down the street a habit…

In Cuba? A pickup goes something like this, “Hello, what’s your name? I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re very beautiful. Would you like to have lunch with me sometime?”

And if you refuse an offer for a date in Cuba? Your decision is respected, they smile, and wish you a good day.  In America? My experience has been much different – and I do not hang out in seedy college bars, either!

Cienfuegos is gorgeous. It’s clean, manicured, and happy.

I thought that Havana was hard to beat, but I’ll go out on a limb and say that Cienfuegos is the most beautiful city in Cuba. It’s certainly the most beautiful city that I’ve ever been to in my entire life.

One thing that does strike me is how much wealth there was here before the 1959 Revolution. The mansions are incredible. The infrastructure is awesome.

All of this is coming from a girl that grew up in very affluent towns in New Jersey, too. Their mansions make my neighbors’ look like cabins. I can certainly understand the resentment between the “haves” and “have-nots” in Cuba’s Batista years. The wealth discrepancy was certainly momentous!

The mansion in the above picture was seized after the 1959 Revolution by the new socialist government and now serves as government-owned restaurant. That’s the view from my hotel room. Sweet, eh?

Cuba still seems to be a country of “haves” and “have-nots”. Although their social “floor” is much sturdier than the US’s, there are still issues that Cubans battle daily. Unemployment seems to be the most frustrating issue that young Cubans face. Many have shiny university degrees and are unemployed or grossly underemployed – sound familiar recent US grads?!

There are many idle hands in Cuba, but so. little. crime. It nearly baffles me until I remember that they do not need to steal to feed their families. Crime in my hometown is directly correlated to the rise in unemployment according to the local police. Hrm.

I certainly feel safer in Havana and Cienfuegos than I do in Philadelphia, Washington DC, or New York.

And the cars are much sweeter.

(Morro Castle fortress on the right)

The US battleship that blew up in Havana’s harbor in 1898? And was justification for war against Spain – known as the Spanish-American war? Surely it was mentioned in your 8th grade US History class.

I am the great-great granddaughter of one of the 266 Americans that died in the explosion and sinking of the battleship.

I was fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to view the Havana harbor from the Morro Castle fortress for myself. 

Having seen the Maine’s mast in Arlington National Cemetery countless times, and seen my great-great grandfather’s name etched into its memorial, I feel as if I’ve tied some sort of loose end that I didn’t even know was loose.

Very eery, but humbling. I’m so grateful for this experience.

(black and white photo from Wikipedia page)

My inner dialogue had a field day as I slowly dozed off:

“Uhhh, I wish José would just let us sleep already…” I complained to myself.

“He’s just doing his job, Caitlin! Stop bitching!” I scolded.

“Why did I insist on staying up so late last night? How many drinks did I have? I didn’t smoke the last of my cigars, did I?! Hopefully I still have cash left! Goddamn politics keeping me from using my ATM card…”

“Shut up! You stayed up late because you’re in Cuba. The one place you’ve wanted to go since you were very young – and you’re getting the chance to see it before it becomes another bloody ‘Sandals’ resort. You shouldn’t be sleeping at all!”

Then the lone historian on the trip (yours truly) hears one of the most beautiful things that she could possibly hear – ever.

“We’ll be stopping at Playa Girón, soon – better known in the States as the Bay of Pigs.”

I shrieked.

No really, I did. And woke up the entire bus. 

I may have been the only one that cared, but that didn’t stop me from trying to explain to whomever would listen how and why the place is so significant to an American historian – and should be to all Americans.

Upon our arrival I ran off the bus so quickly that I forgot my camera to take pictures of the actual bay itself. Take my word for it – its gorgeous. Rocky shoreline, pristinely clear, sapphire blue water. Lovely. I managed pictures inside the museum, though.

I was most excited to see just how the Bay of Pigs invasion was depicted to the Cuban people in a Cuban museum versus what Americans are taught in school and American museums. As you can see, its pretty much the opposite of what we’re taught:

"Victory of Socialism" - ever think we'd see this in an American museum?

 The above sign above is right beyond the front doors. It may make Bill O’Reilly’s stomach turn, but even he would have to admit that the Bay of Pigs invasion actually was a victory for Socialism. America failed miserably thanks to unnamed politicians, CIA, FBI, and military personnel. Pride clouded better judgement.

In this historian’s opinion the events surrounding the Bay of Pigs invasion and the Cuban Revolution itself says more about 19th, 20th, and 21st century America than any other event in American history. I was honored to have seen the invasion directly through the Cuban government’s eyes – because, yes, the government controls the museums in a socialist state and thus should be taken with a grain of salt (as you should always take something, mind you!)

"Now, in all cases, those Cubans that die like those at Playa Giron die for their unique, true, indispensable independence. - Fidel" (how's my translation, Spanish speakers?)

The exhibit was fascinating to me. The discrepancy between what I’ve been told my entire life and what I was witnessing could not have been any more different:

This particular caption I found to be incredibly moving.

That is not necessarily a false statement. In fact, its historically accurate. “La Coubre” was a French ship that was carrying Belgian munitions to Havana in 1960 after the overthrow of Batista’s government. With the Americans having just lost a lot of business interest on the island, Castro and the new Cuban government were rightfully fearful of an American-backed invasion (a very valid fear, obviously!) and had little with which to defend themselves.

It’s speculated that the CIA blew up the ship in harbor – killing at least 75 Cubans and injuring hundreds more.

Ironically enough, the fear of being disarmed (or prevented from doing so) is a core fear in US political circles. If Americans have a right to defend themselves, why doesn’t everyone else?

Just saying.

I just visited my own Mecca.

And yes, there are pigs at the Bay of Pigs.

The wild pigs that settlers found scavenging for food along the shoreline gave it its name.