Let me start with a little story...
When I was a teenager, I worked at the public library, which meant that I spent a lot of time around books. For some reason that I can't remember I took out a book on horoscopes which provided long profiles of the various astrological signs and what personality qualities those people had. I was completely horrified with the Cancer profile which stated that I was going to be happiest as a mother, nurturing a brood of children, keeping a perfect home, baking, being a homebody and a bunch of other stuff that made this young budding feminist cringe. There was no way I was going to end up like that.
Now here I am almost 25 years later and I'm feeling a sting of irony.
It's not because I'm a mother, or because I am a bit of a homebody. It's certainly not because I keep a perfect home (unless they meant a perfect disaster).
It's because I'm weaving dish towels.
I don't particularly like doing dishes. Nor do I feel that my store bought dish towels are inadequate in some way (the orange and red heart ones from Ikea are really quite pleasing).
I'm just content with the idea that I can make my own dish towels using my stash of hempathy.
Hemp dish towels.
What next? Macrame? (If I ever consider that, please arrange an intervention.)
I know that doing things for one's home and for one's own pleasure is not anti-feminist--though I can also remember that university women's studies course where I learned about the "cult of domesticity". And learning a new skill like weaving and learning to apply it with different materials like hemp and with new techniques is the point of this exercise. Nothing wrong with that.
I was inspired by my new weaving books (I'll do proper reviews soon), and the need to try out something new. I've already messed up and realize that these towels (I'm doing three on one warp) will likely be too drapey because I should have used a 12.5 dpi reed, not the 10dpi (fewer slots and holes). I'm hoping they'll shrink in the wash.
But I'm having fun.
Both with the weaving and that little recollection about my strong, self-assured, know-it-all teenaged self.