in the before times, one of my SCA goals was to create plausible contents of a Viking Age sewing kit*. Since deciding to participate in Athenaeum later this year, I want to make some new artifacts, and get back to doing a bit more research
Here is an image of the larger of the two threadwinders from Birka:
Links to the museum website pages with the originals: small thread winder and large thread winder
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April SMART goals (x=extra)
| # | THINGS MADE | THINGS FIXED | THINGS GONE |
| 1 | wire planter cage | cover smaller sleeve board | yard waste bin |
| 2 | prototype mesh wash bag | cover larger sleeve board | recycle bin |
| 3 | 5 jars blood orange marmalade | baby plants repotted | bag of fabric |
| 4 | 3 jars Awesome sauce | skirret cage adapted | bag of fabric |
| 5 | 4 jars strawberry rhubarb sauce | temporary biffy | bag of fabric |
| 6 | two large blue planters | remove thumbhole cuffs | bag of fabric |
| 7 | two bone Viking threadwinders | x | bag of old fur |
| 8 | x | x | yard waste bin |
| 9 | x | x | recycle bin |
| 10 | x | x | x |
| 11 | x | x | x |
| 12 | x | x | x |
| 13 | x | x | x |
| 14 | x | x | x |
| 15 | x | x | x |
today's gratitude - Back in 2017, in the Before Times, my friend Drusa made me this exquisite Scandinavian style workbox, which while it isn't exactly the type made in Viking times, is too precious to me to leave sitting on a shelf. Objects of beauty are made to be used...
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To be of use - by Marge Piercy
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
