One Word: PLARN.

I am a huge fan of upcycling. Simply the idea of already having what I need as well as using something in a new way. It involves random thoughts and needs to be filled. This could also be my downfall because before I throw anything out, I always ask myself, "Can I use this?" It's usually an epic battle within my head as the brainstorm commences. Some of my story characters run to hide as the thought bubbles rain from on high. Different ideas unsheathe their flaming swords of reason and step out onto the muddy battlefield. Blood splatter as weapons clash. Arrows of suggestion mix with the thought bubbles, causing disaster to the warriors of ideas. Yet in the end, I usually throw the thing out anyway... or recycle it. Recycling's good too. I would really like to avoid hoarding things, so unless I see a use in the foreseeable future (like how I save pieces of wrapping paper for cards that I make and write on a monthly or so basis), I usually will throw something out. Yet I feel that's when I feel my grief over the brave thoughts that lost their lives during the battle in my head. Unfortunately, they are gone and we must live on because that's what they would want.

Something like this,,,

That paragraph is a mess of nonsense, but I was really enjoying the metaphor, so I'm not getting rid of it. Might draw a picture of it some day and clean it up, but it is about an argument in one's head, so my defense tonight is that war's supposed to be messy.

Anyhoo, on to the plarn. What is plarn, you say? Well, it's upcycling at its finest. One day, I noticed a lot of plastic bags in my room and I decided to use them. Granted, they were in my room because I use them for garbage, but since I have been buying things faster than throwing things out, the pesky bags have started to collect. One option is to simply recycle, but before I did so, I figured I would do a little research and see what creative people did with such bags. In some cases, people simply took a whole day and folded them into little triangles. As much as I might be a perfectionist, I can't bring myself to do this. I don't have the time. Then, I stumbled upon this gem:

Plarn, or plastic yarn, is a method of cutting plastic bags into strips so that you can use them for crochet or knitting. As someone who enjoys the occasional granny square, I immediately liked the idea and found that making a bag out of the stuff to be genius. After a week of cutting up bags, I ended up with this result:

My own plarn bag

My favorite part about plarn is that it doesn't look like plastic bags when you're done. Sure, if you get really close and feel the plastic, you can tell, but it doesn't even make that annoying crinkling noise of plastic bags. To get the different colors, I just used different bags, but the splashes of color in between the layers came from the images that had been on the bags. It gives a nice semi-random design.

Getting that close up of my crochet skills

I decided to line the inside with some material I bought and gave myself a few pockets. It involved mainly hand-sewing it to the plarn, but I first used a sewing machine to make the pockets. You know, for the essentials like my phone, wallet, change purse, and pens. An artist/writer can't go anywhere without pens and paper. I chose this size because I could fit my tablet as well as a book (or two) inside without making it too heavy. I then added some simple straps because this is really my first bag and I didn't want to overwhelm myself by making them adjustable or anything. I also fused one plastic bag together and attached in between the plarn and my lining on the bottom to give it extra support and water resistance in case I put my bag down somewhere questionable. I have a link here to show you how that works.

The inside. Made a point to match the blue bags I used in the stripes.

So there you have it, my latest creation. I like how I don't really have to worry about it in the rain or the snow. Many people have complimented me on my bag and every time I tell them that 1) I made it and 2) that it's from plastic bags, they're always amazed.

If you are new at crochet, I still suggest this project because the plarn does not fray like yarn and you don't have to be extremely loose with your stitches (which I know comes with practice). Still, the plarn sticks to itself and sometimes fights against you, but it still wasn't so bad. Not to mention, it's pretty easy to get a bunch of plastic bags, so you can make as many mistakes as you want without breaking the bank! I do also suggest recycling the scraps you get while making the plarn because you do not use the handles and the bottom of the plastic bag. Perhaps put them all in a plastic bag you won't use and recycle them. I will admit I did not always do this, and thus why I'm saying it here in hopes that others will not follow my horrible example. I'm lazy and I know it... don't judge me. In the least, I will take the time to make a bag and love it to pieces, as I'm sure if you do this, you will too.

Zumba Class

This last week, my mom and I started going to Zumba. It's a class put together by my mom's work, so it happens in her building. She works for CEVEC, which is located behind Mayfield Middle School. Being a Brush alumnus (as well as my mother), it's weird going to my rival's school, even if I pass the middle school and go for another building. as I drove back to CEVEC, I had to pass by Mayfield's soccer field that both the middle school and high school uses. At least they did over five years ago. I remember it being a crappy field and we ended up losing a lot of games on it. It had this annoying hill right behind one of the goals and if you shot and missed...

This isn't what we looked like, but I like the image.

All right, I'm getting off topic already. Anyway, I got there a little early because I wanted to make sure I knew where I was going and all that. My mom had enough time to show me around to the classrooms and workstations used by the students, not to mention introduced me to all of her coworkers. They were all very nice people and I made a point to keep eye contact and shake their hands because getting people jobs is what they did. I felt a need to prove to them I was a confident and polite individual.

When I went over to give my payment to the Zumba instructor, she stopped me and asked me a few questions. I think she thought I was a high schooler even though I was wearing my Marietta College soccer practice uniform. We got to talking about colleges, even though I think she missed me mentioning that I was in grad school. She also asked if I did Zumba before and I got to proudly answer yes. My mother though, has only used the Wii. She seemed to understand that.

The women of the class first assembled in the space. They chatted among themselves as my mom continued to introduce me to them. Most of them wore baggy T-shirts and sweatpants or shorts, making it a very informal atmosphere. Even when meeting the principal, she wore a T-shirt that displayed a monkey and a funny phrase to go with it (since I am aware she should be respected, I will keep the shirt a mystery. In her defense, it was a gag gift conveniently useful for working out). We formed two hesitant lines with me near the windows and my mother to my right. The Zumba instructor took her place in front of us as the upbeat music began to play.

Now, I was a little nervous doing Zumba with my mother because it does involve a lot of shaking. Turns out, wriggling your rump aggressively can tone your abs and makes your butt fit and firm. It is a skill to be mastered, though, and I would say after the amount of dance floors I've conquered, I have a slight idea how it works. Not to mention, ten years of Irish dancing helps. Not entirely because Irish dancing does not move your arms, but it does train you how to isolate and control different body parts.

It felt great to be moving and dancing again. Sometimes the moves felt odd or forced because I occasionally my rump would forget which way to shake. Other times, it felt entirely natural and I could feel my smile broadening with every move. Since I am out of shape, I couldn't help watching the clock as my body protested. I wanted to keep dancing, but it probably was a bad idea to inhale a few mozzarella sticks first. Eventually, the hour ended and although my body felt worn out, I could feel the endorphins making me energized and happy. I quickly had to rush home and shower before going to work at the library, but the work-out was worth it and I look forward to it this coming Thursday.

I will always love to dance. Listening to the music and letting it take control over me. Ignoring any other thoughts and just focusing on my movements. Dancing makes me feel free. It makes me feel alive and powerful. I dance because I'm happy. No matter how stressed or angry I might be, dancing has always taken away my pain. It lets me let go of my worries and focus on what matters to me. As long as I can dance, I will always be able to find my happy place.

Cleveland Weather

For the past four years, college has kept me away from the wild weather common in the Cleveland area. I never noticed its strange behavior back when Cleveland was my world. As a child, it never crossed my mind that lake-effect snow wasn't a thing. Sure, I knew down south it was warmer and they didn't get as much snow because half of my family lives in North Carolina and they would squeal at the thought of a light dusting of snow rather than the avalanche we get (this is an exaggeration. Most of my family grew up in Cleveland and then moved south. It's just more fun to write it that way and really, they have to deal with ice storms that suck).

The snow comes fast and it comes hard. The first few snowflakes appear and gently dust the ground right before the wind picks up and a flurry immediately dumps inches upon inches of sparkling white flakes that stick to your clothes and have a nasty habit of sneaking up under your pant legs and drenching your freezing ankles. No matter how many times you stomp your feet, you will always track snow through the house. Even after pulling off your cold boots, the bottoms of your pants stay damp with the melted snow; a constant reminder it's winter. For Cleveland, there's usually at least enough snow to hide the grass and not so much you can't tread your way through it. Except sometimes on Easter, when there can be four feet of snow for no apparent reason, but that's another story.

Winter can be odd and confusing with hopeful rays of sunshine pushing through and giving us Clevelanders scarce days of 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Suddenly, the world is warm and coats are thrown aside as we rush to feel the heat on our skin. For a second, we forget it's January and instead have a slight memory of what warm weather can be. Spring does not seem too far off then.

And yet, it never lasts. That nice spring weather was last Monday. It made all of the snow melt and I remember standing outside with my dog with a strong desire to bathe in the sun. Of course it wouldn't last and sure enough by Wednesday, all of the snow had returned. The temperature dropped below freezing again and Cleveland got on with winter. Right, this is how Cleveland weather works. After four years, I had almost forgotten.

This is also the first winter when I have owned my own car. His name is Archibald and he's a blue 2012 Ford Focus. I got him over the summer because I needed a car for my new jobs. He's spunky and just right for me. We've grown to love each other and have had our share of adventures like speeding down to Marietta for a wedding or driving randomly down Mayfield Road (also known as Route 322) that winds between civilization and nothingness. He likes to take my phone calls with his Sync technology and gets very confused when I get a text message. Archie's a good listener though, and pays very close attention when I use the voice command, usually getting it right on the first try.

If you hadn't guessed, this is Archie's first winter and I'd say he's taking it very well. I don't know how he feels always being covered in snow, but I'm sure sick of brushing him off. He's not the biggest of cars, so it never takes long, but when you have to do it multiple times a day it gets boring. To be fair, Archie has a tendency of swearing whenever he slips on the newly-fallen snow by turning on his little Slip indicator light blinking aggressively. The driveway can also be a pain because he's a light little car with front-wheel drive. As much as he tries to rev up that inclined drive, he seems to have a tendency of falling just a bit short and falling backwards. I cheer him on as he back up and try to rush up the drive again, this time maybe getting a little farther than before.

The mix of drivers is interesting. You can always tell the courageous veterans from the newbies and the elderly. Fortunately, most drivers are much more forgiving when the roads are bad, and there's an odd sense of camaraderie when someone hesitantly makes a turn. All Clevelanders know the feel of slipping wheels as your car fights to stay in control. For a second, your heart beats faster and you immediately think of a horrible ending for you and your car. Just then, the car gets traction once more, you take a breath, and keep going like nothing happened.

Archie's great at driving a straight line in the snow, but he's not a fan of turns. To be fair, I'm known to be impatient and probably should let him slow down a bit more so he could take his time. At least I will now slow down on streets to avoid slipping, which wasn't so true six years ago, so one step at a time, I guess.

No matter how much I may slide, no matter how many times I must brush off my car, and no matter how many times I have to shovel or use a snowblower, I'm not entirely against the snow. I love the light snowfall as the flakes gently waft through a soft breeze. How newly fallen snow looks like a blank canvas, smoothing over the imperfections of the land and leaving a soft blanket of clean beauty. When the sun sets and the streetlights turn on, the weak light makes the snow sparkle and glimmer, reminding me of fairy dust (I'd say glitter, but I'm really not a fan of glitter). No matter how cold it might be, if there's snow, it makes it worth it. I might not be able to feel my fingers and my pants might be soaked, but in that peaceful silence as the snow simply dances down from the sky and gently kisses the earth, I can't help but sigh and enjoy the season.

That, and I can always really appreciate spring when it gets here.