amo vitam

Caught in the Stream

It’s a new year. Time for some new habits. As Michelle Lloyd of United Art Space says, time to decide what to shelf and what to delve (deeper into).

So, one of the things I decided it’s time to shelf is some of my online subscriptions. Not so long ago, I was subscribed to four different streaming services – count ‘em, four! Three of them movies, one audiobooks. Britbox, Netflix, Amazon Prime, and Audible.

Now, I don’t know about you, but most of those I subscribed to “just for a while,” in order to watch a particular series or get a set of particular books. And then, I was going to cancel as soon as I had watched/purchased/got that thing I came for.

Right. I watched the new “Why Didn’t They Ask Evans” on Britbox, the one with Will Coulter and Lucy Boynton. I highly recommend it, you really should… No, you shouldn’t. Because if you’re like me, you get a Britbox subscription in spring of 2022 when the series comes out, and in summer of 2023 you’re still paying for it, even though you hardly watch the channel.

And then there’s the Audible subscription. I signed up for long enough to get all six Austen novels as narrated by Juliet Stevenson, because they’re just So. Dang. Good. Now, I’ll grant you: you sign up, you pay your $15 a month ($16.74 with tax), and you get a free audiobook for that, which, if you buy it outright, would cost anywhere from $25 to $40. And you get to keep that book even after you cancel the subscription. So that’s a good deal. However. I signed up. I got my first few books. Then they offered me a deal on buying more credits, which brought each credit (i.e. each audiobook) down to about $13. Even better, right? So I got the rest of the Austens. And the whole Narnia collection (all of them for one credit!), and a few Heyers. I got what I came for! And then some! But did I pack up and leave?

Spoiler alert: No. At least not without some pretty serious struggles.

I decided to cancel my Britbox last summer. They popped up a message to the tune of “Are you really, absolutely, totally sure you want to leave? Why? WHY???” When I clicked the little button that said I was leaving because I was “trying to save money,” they offered me one month free. Heck, yeah, I’m not one to pass up a freebie! At the end of that month I went to cancel again. This time they offered me a couple of months at half price. I mean, sure, why not?

Stuck again.

I kept making myself calendar reminders, in plenty of time before the next billing due date: “Cancel Britbox.” “Cancel Audible.” “Cancel Prime.” Then the day would come around, the reminder pop up on my phone, and I’d go “Ummm, I’ll do it tomorrow…” Tomorrow came, and the reminder got postponed for another few days yet. Eventually, the billing period rolled around, and here I was, with another month of streaming services paid for that I hardly made use of.

But finally, I decided to bite the bullet and do that thing. Pull the plug, get out. But, but, but – all those benefits I’d be missing out on! I wouldn’t be able to watch Poirot whenever I felt like it, or one of the old BBC Shakespeares, like the Romeo and Juliet from 1978 that has a young Alan Rickman with floppy dark hair playing Tybalt…. Did I ever watch that Romeo and Juliet in the last two years? No. But I could have! And if I cancel, I definitely won’t be able to!

FOMO, the Fear Of Missing Out, strikes full force. It’s astonishing how powerful that force is. And the streaming services, aka the people whose sole purpose for existence is to answer the question “How can I get your money into my pocket?”, play it up to the hilt. Quite literally. Trying to cancel Amazon Prime, you have to click through at least three windows that shout at you over and over “LOOK AT WHAT YOU’LL BE MISSING!” And even though most of what they’re telling me I’ll be missing is services I have no interest in (such as Amazon Music, or Amazon Photos), that phrase still has the power to make me pause, and cringe a little, and stop to consider – do I really want to cancel… really really…?

I found myself quite surprised at just how difficult it was to click those buttons to cancel. I mean, it’s not like I couldn’t sign up again anytime I want. If I get an irresistible craving some Saturday evening to watch David Suchet put “ze little grey cells” of Hercule Poirot to work, all it takes is a few more clicks of the mouse, and my Britbox subscription is reactivated. As for the Prime benefits beyond the streaming video, I can still order things from Amazon; it just takes a few days longer for the stuff to get here. If I’m really desperate for 2-day shipping on an order, I could – gasp! – pay for shipping, which would probably still cost less than $10/month…

Because that’s the thing: it’s not like they’re giving us all these wonderful services for FREE. Sure, once you’ve signed up, your forget the chunk of money that drops out of your credit card every month. The pain comes in when you first hit that button, when you perform the action of paying the money. But once the action is completed, you forget it. The pain comes in making a change. That’s what they’re relying on with their marketing strategies: once they’ve got you to take the action and make a change, i.e. subscribe to their service, it’s easier for you to not make another change, and you very quickly get to feeling that you actually deserve whatever they’re giving you, that you’re getting it without cost, “as a membership benefit.”

But there is a cost. A not insubstantial one, at that. I just (gulp!) pulled the plug on Prime and Audible. And when I did the math, I realized that with tax, that’s $27.93 that won’t be coming out of my credit card every month. I cancelled Britbox at the end of December; another $11.19 per month. That’s nearly $40 every month that I’m saving. Genuinely saving, not the fake “Save with our discounted products!” that marketing strategies like to sucker you in with.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to say that streaming services are bad, that you should cancel your streaming subscriptions, that cancelling is more righteous than keeping your services, that I’ll never sign up to another streaming service again, or any such nonsense.

My point is that I noticed just how difficult it is to make the choice to discontinue, even if I don’t really get my money’s worth out of it anymore. Even if I have plenty of alternatives: I have hundreds of DVDs on my shelf, and probably thousands I can get from my local library. Public service broadcasters – around here that’s Knowledge and CBC – have free movie streaming available. Librivox has thousands of public domain audiobooks, and the library has thousands more. I’m not exaggerating – thousands. And all of that genuinely, truly FREE.

Yet I found it hard to click that “cancel” button.

With all the shouting that the stream-for-money services are doing to trigger my FOMO, I’ve almost forgotten about all the resources I have available to me. I’ve let myself be sucked into the stream, into the idea that I need to keep those services because else I’ll… I’ll… I don’t know, I’ll be bored on a Saturday evening when I don’t have a movie to watch? I know. It’s ridiculous.

So I clicked the button, wincing just a little. And now I have a week to watch the last few Prime Video episodes I can’t do without (but kept putting off), and listen to the last few chapters of the free Audible book I’ve got on the go, and then I will try life without those services. But truth be told, it already feels good to know that there will be $28 less coming out of my account each month. Think of what I could do with that…

Life, the Universe, and Getting Out of the Stream. The Joy Of Missing Out.

#WordlessWednesday: Blue Hours, or: Winter Day Dawning

How to Knit a Teddy Bear

For some reason, the other day I found myself writing out the recipe for how to knit a teddy bear. I don’t remember where I learned that pattern; possibly in needle work class in elementary school. And then I tried out the instructions to make sure I remembered them correctly and they actually work. Which they do.

Knitting a teddy bear is easy. The only skills you need are knit stitch, casting on, binding off, and simple sewing. If you can make a scarf, you can make a teddy bear. (*For crochet instructions, see below – and here, too, if you can make a washcloth, you can make a teddy bear.)

For materials and tools, you need yarn (about one ball’s worth), knitting needles (optional: one spare one to hold stitches for a while), stuffing material, a yarn needle, scissors, a piece of ribbon for the neck, and either a few buttons or contrasting yarn for making the eyes, mouth and nose.

Teddy is made out of three squares, or five, if you want to be precise. Two small ones are the legs, which are joined together into one large square that becomes the body and head, and two more small ones are the arms, which get sewn on. The neck is made by threading a ribbon through the upper half of the large square and pulling it tight, and the ears are made from two corners of the head square.

You begin by casting on a number of stitches twice as wide as you want the legs to be—say, 15 (I did 10). Knit in garter stitch (i.e. knit all stitches, front and back) for as long as you want the legs to be, say, 20 rows (I did 13, and so on). Leaving a longish tail, cut the yarn. Put the live stitches on a spare knitting needle, or, if you don’t have one, thread a piece of yarn through the stitches to keep them from unravelling while you make the other leg (it helps if the holding yarn is a different colour).

Make the other leg exactly the same way. When you’ve reached the last row of the second leg, slip the leg stitches from the spare needle onto your working needle next to the second leg. You now have a row of stitches twice as wide as your leg pieces, and that’s the beginning of the body.

Knit across both squares, then continue knitting in garter stitch until the body and head are twice as long as the legs (another 40 rows). Bind off the knitting.

For the arms, knit two separate squares the same size as the legs (e.g., 15 stitches by 20 rows). Bind off the top edge.

To assemble your teddy, lay the body-and-leg piece in front of you with legs pointing away from you and the side of the knitting you want to be the outside of the teddy upwards. Fold the sides to the middle so the two edges meet. This will be your back and inside-leg seam.

Thread the yarn needle with a long piece of your knitting yarn. Start sewing from the top edge and go all the way down the back to where the legs meet, then instead of sewing the two edges together as back seam, sew the outside edges to the inside of each leg. Close the seam at the bottom of the leg for a foot. Turn right side out.

Sew up the arms: fold the arm squares in half lengthwise, right side together, and sew along two of the three sides. The third side is left open for stuffing and attaching to the body. Turn right side out.

Stuff your bear: stuff in filling, all the way down into the legs, the body, and the head, as tightly as you want it. Keeping the back seam in the middle of the back, sew up the head seam. Stuff the arms. You can either close the open arm seam like a pillow, or leave it open to sew directly onto the body.

Finish your bear: to separate the body from the head, thread a ribbon or a double length of yarn through the body piece about one-third of the way up, where you want the neck to be—just thread it up and down through the knit stitches, starting and ending in the front middle. Pull the ribbon as tight as you want, tie it in a bow. That’s the neck.

Sew on the arms on either side of the body.

To make the ears, sew across each of the two corners at the top of the head. You can catch a bit of stuffing in each ear, or not, as you like—stuffing makes the ears rounder and more bear-like; leaving in no stuffing and keeping the corner as pointy as possible looks more like a kittycat.

Sew on three buttons for the eyes and nose, or embroider eyes, nose and mouth.
Tuck all loose yarn ends inside the body.

Then give your bear a name, and give him a hug to welcome him to your family.

*PS: If you want to make a bear in crochet instead of knit, just crochet two leg squares (like two small washcloths); join them together into a big body and head square; and crochet two arm squares. The assembly is exactly the same as the knitted version.

PPS: If you want a written pattern, here you go:

KNITTED TEDDY BEAR

Gauge: doesn’t matter
Legs and body:
CO 15.
k across, turn, sl1 purlwise, k across, 20 rows
Put sts on spare needle.
Repeat.
Join first square to second (30 sts)
*k across, slipping first st purlwise*, for 40 rows.
Bind off.
Arms:
CO 15.
k across, turn, sl1 purlwise, k across, 20 rows
Bind off.
Assembly:
Sew together back, leg, and arm seams, stuff, close open seam, thread ribbon through for neck and pull tight, sew on arms, sew on buttons or embroider for face.

A Newsletter and the Sleepy Time of Year

Happy New Year, Gentle Reader. I just put together the January edition of Clay and Words News, my newsletter (are you subscribed yet? You can do so over here: https://amovitam.ca/newsletter/).

Red Bench Cottage, 5x6x5″, stoneware, the feature piece of “From the Studio” in the January newsletter. The fairies are chopping wood to keep warm.

It’s very January-ish around here right now, dark and cold. Although it hasn’t been nearly as cold as is normal for this time of year, the lack of snow makes things seem even darker than usual. We still need the electric lights on at 8AM, and of course turn them back on by at least 4PM. Good thing we’re past solstice, and it’ll only get brighter from here on.

Every January I wonder how our ancestors lived through that dark season, with nothing but candles to illuminate their houses, and poor quality candles at that. Beeswax was expensive even then, reserved for the church and rich people (Jane Austen, Emma: “Wax-candles in the schoolroom! You may imagine how desirable!”), and from what I understand, tallow candles, which ordinary people used, don’t give a very clear light. Never mind rush lights, which are about the equivalent of a tiny flashlight with the battery in its death throes.

I was reminded of a post I wrote a few years ago right around this time, when I realized that January is, in fact, the Midnight of the Year. The tiredness so many of us in the more Northern latitudes feel right now, and the urge to just curl up with a blanket and a good book and not move until spring, might well have a good reason, and perhaps instead of fighting them it would be worth humouring our desires. It’s probably healthier for body and soul.

As per usual, the cat has the right idea. I think I’ll go follow his example.

Life, the Universe, and the Midnight of the Year. Stay warm and carry on.

Christmas Greetings

Frosty Friday: Sunrise

#FridayFragment, 1.12.2023

SPELLS

“Heddle,” she muttered. “Warp. Weft. Raddle. Warping board. Bobbin. Shuttle. Harness. Shed, reed, ratchet. Sett, castle, breast beam, cloth beam. Heddle, warp and weft.”

“Stop!” he shrieked. “Stop throwing curses at me! And put down that, that, that spell book!”

She glanced up at him with a mild, enquiring look, then closed the book in her lap with a finger pinched between its pages and turned it over to look at the spine.

In gold-imprinted letters it said THE BEGINNING WEAVER.

#WordlessWednesday: Untitled (Writing Candle)

Why Story?

Reading Nook, 2022. Stoneware, 5x5x5″ (SOLD)

The world has become a bad place in the last few years. So many things are going wrong, so much strife, so much floods and fires and earthquakes and wars and rumours of wars.

But Story can set a counterpoint. Story allows us to escape the trap of perceived reality.

And that’s the key, isn’t it—perceived reality.

Story allows us to perceive a different reality. It lets us experience a different world, one in which plots resolve, problems come to a conclusion. Unlike the so-called real world, where everything is just a muddle, Story brings order to the world. As renowned folklorist Max Lüthi says*, the story world shows us not what could be, but what is.

Why do I tell Story? In order to create worlds and places for people to enter into, worlds of truth. Worlds of justice and joy. Worlds not without problems, but worlds where those problems can and will be resolved.

Story is not escapist in the sense of letting us run away from our problems. But is is escapist in the sense of setting us free from the confines of our perceived reality. It allows us to see the bigger picture, opens our eyes to what is actually there. Even when it is Story about ostensibly “unreal” things, about elves and fairies and little dwarfs under the mountain. Maybe especially then.

We need Story—the World needs Story. The world needs Story to make sense of itself, to keep from sinking into a morass of muddle and chaos.

And that is why I tell Story. Unabashedly and unapologetically, I tell stories of joy and pleasure and home and warmth and family, where tiny people live in tiny homes and big ones get whirled away into other worlds where they find belonging.

Because in entering into these worlds, entering into Story, we can step out of the bondage of perceived reality, and we can find what is really real.

The world needs Story. That is why.

[*Lüthi, The European Folktale: Form and Nature (Philadelphia: ISHI, 1982), p.89. I quoted the full piece in a post on my research blog some ten years ago, here.]