The ICA Kildare Yarn Bomb

It all started in January 2016. I'm part of small group of women, an ICA guild, many of whom, at the time, did not know how knit. Forget socks or jumpers, we decided to Yarn Bomb a park in Newbridge. We'd bring colour to the town and teaching ourselves a new skill at the same time.

I first came across Yarn Bombing many years ago in New York. Someone had left a knitted bicycle on the sidewalk on Wall Street. Though considered graffitti, there is nothing remotely offensive or alarming about covering everyday objects in wool. Quite the opposite. The woolly street art has a comforting effect on passers by.

Of course the Linear Park in Newbridge is large and soon we discovered that with over 40 pine trees to cover, we'd need more help. That's when the real fun started. We contacted local schools in the town. Teachers were happy to come on board and when the children heard that they were taking part in a street art project, they thought it was pretty cool too. Rita Nugent, one of the local teachers, wanted the tree nearest her school so that all the children would see it on the way to school.

But the reality of a whole park meant that we had to involve even more people - especially the seriously skilled knitters in Newbidge. We went into community groups. The first, the Dara Park Family Resoucre Centre, turned out to be home to some amazingly talented women.

The 'Golden Girls' meet up weekly and  happy to get involved as long as they could take on a bicycle. Another group at the centre came to the park and picked out their own tree to yarn bomb. It was the biggest but they were not put off, even by it's awkward shape.

The library is home to the Stitch and Sew group. They meet on a Thursday and look out on to the park from their meeting place. They wanted to most awkward tree, it has loads of gnarly branches but amongst them, they had a dream team of crochet and knitting artists. Because, despite what the art councils around the world say, I believe that knitting and crochet is an art form and everyone involved is an artist.

Not only did we have a whole town knitting, we soon had a convent of nuns at it too. The Sisters of the Holy Family got involved. Sister Columba made colourful crocheted hats that another volunteer took and turned into flower bells. Several others knitted squares which another volunteer sewed into a blanket to wrap around a tree. Whilst many of them didn't understand what they were knitting for, they were happy to be taking part in the community project.

It took four months to bring everything together. Some people walked down to the park and picked out their own tree, others made blankets and we collected them beforehand. The set up date was June 1st and everybody was invited to help stage the installation. School children came down and put theirs up along with the Dara Park team. When it was all done, the sisters from the convent came down, many in wheelchairs. After all their hard work, they could finally understand what yarn bombing was about.

The Yarn Bomb stayed in place for a month and had a wonderful response from visitors. The children who had been part on the project all came down with their families. Bus loads of people from out of
town came to take a look. The place was a live with activity, all because in the end, over a thousand people took up the challenge and knitted a park.

We shall be yarn bombing the park in 2017 - if you would like to get involved, get in touch!

The Roof-box

Sixteen years ago I wrote a book “Help! I’ve Got A Baby’. Fast-forward seventeen years and I should be writing ‘Help! I’ve Got A Teenager’.  In it I would list the top one hundred things that make life with teenagers less stressful. Once your children become teenagers, everything you do is embarrassing. It’s the knowing what not to do that it the real sanity saver. 

The top one hundred things to avoid includes speaking loudly or drawing attention to yourself outside the house, dressing like Dolly Parton and hugging or showing any signs of physical affection in public. The number one thing to avoid, as I have just discovered, is never to drive around your local town with a roof-box on top of the car. 

The roof-box is there because we drove across the Irish Sea a few weeks ago to see Grandpa.  He is sick and these visits are becoming more frequent. Hence, we shall be heading back across the pond again in a few weeks time. The roof-box, bought ten years ago to make travel with four children much less squashed, is a practical, large grey plastic box shaped like a squashed torpedo. 

“Don’t come NEAR my school with that THING on the roof” Diva Teen said last month. She is disgusted by it and now meets me half way homefrom school, on a small side road with no lights. That is not all. She crawls into the back seat and lays flat with her school bag on her head. Then we begin the long moan home.

“This is the most embarrassing car in Kildare”, then “Nobody else in the world drives around with an ugly roof-box”, then a muffled “You need to get privacy windows like the Kardashians. At least no-one could see me”. The muffled complaints come thick and fast from the back seat. “It’s like driving around with a boat on the roof”. 

To save her from being seen, I have suggested that she gets in the roof-box for the school run. I even offered to put a pillow, sleeping bag, DVD player and mini fridge inside. I could probably get Wi-Fi up there and with a little help from a YouTube tutorial I might put in a little window too. 

“It would be like your very own small tour bus. Just like Rhianna’s” I tried. She refused to crack a smile, not even a tiny one. “NOT funny”. “What about if I put in a flask of hot chocolate and an electric blanket?” Silence. That would be another piece of advice in my sanity saving manual; don’t try and be funny. 

I am usually the one who has to put the heavy, awkward roof box on and take it off each time we go away. Our son is ten and has just been trained up to help. He is the perfect assistant, the ideal size to actually sit inside it and do up the screws with his little fingers. We both hate doing it and after the last trip, when I went out with him to take it off, he suggested weleave it on. I thought it was a good idea. 

“I will never drive with you in daylight again” Diva Teen announced over breakfast last weekend. This roof-box rage has been going on for two weeks, much to the amusement of the rest of the family. I switched off to her protests because having a roof-box does have one big advantage. I can spot the car in less than two seconds in an open-air car park. If only I had stuck to open air car parks. Unfortunately, that day I didn’t.

We headed into Newbridge around 4pm when it was almost dark. As usual, I drove humming along to the radio and talking to myself. The passenger seat was empty. In the rear view mirror I could see Diva Teenlying across the back seats, with a blanket covering her whole body. 

At the pedestrian crossing, people looked in with prying eyes. I find it a miracle that I was not reported for human trafficking, kidnapping or on suspicion of murder. “Are you alright there?” I asked her. “DRIVE” she replied. One word answers are the norm. If you have toddlers or small children, hold them tight and cherish them. All this, and more, is heading your way. 

In Newbridge I drove optimistically towards the Courtyard multi story car park, planning to drive up the ramp and whirl up to the top floor for a parking spot. But as I got onto the ramp, a crashing, deafening thunder-like noise stopped me right in my tracks. I screamed. Diva Teen remained silent in the back. 

I leapt out of the car to discover that I had smashed into the multi story car park ceiling, completely ignoring the ‘Maximum height 1.95m’ sign on the way in.  I’d forgotton all about the extra height I was carrying on top of the car. Oops. Wedged, like a doorstop, in the car park. “WHAT have you done now?” Diva Teen poked her nose out from her hiding place. 

I wanted to join her under the blanket but being the only grown up in a sticky situation, I carefully reversed out instead. A crowd of onlookers watched, accompanied by loud scraping noises from the roof-box and we slowly drove off. “This is the most embarrassing day of my life” Diva whispered. I think it might have been mine too. Until today. 

Driving through Kildare, I came across a massive army truck at a standstill. It was wedged solidly under the low railway bridge, a mile out of town on the Rathangan road. A few red-faced soldiers stood around itscratching their heads.

Just as I was about to take a ‘selfie’ with them to prove everyone that I am not the only person who ignores warning signs I stopped myself. A selfie with a bunch of soldiers? Diva Teen would lock me in the roof-box forever.