Yoga and Wine, 2014.01

A twenty dollar bet, and a bottle of wine, led to a discussion--well persuasion--that I launch a pattern or two.  I snorted.  Then, the conversation again, that I should launch a bag since I make them in my sleep it seems.  A few supporters later, and I give you the first of #ivebeensewinganddrinking (yes, the hashtag is the umbrella of the pattern(s) I've been hashing . . . because, why not?!).

And . . . since every good bag and piece of clothing becomes loved with a story and purpose, I give you one here.  

Yoga is like candy.  At some point nearly everyone looks at it with glee and wonder, lots try it, and scores  in love with it.  Though, yoga gets a bad rap.  Connotations of new wave touchy feely types, with little understanding of grounded life and nature, often fill the popular mind.  Eh.  Here’s the deal: Yoga does everything from center breathing, tone muscles, maintain healthy weights, help loose weight, tone for running, and make friends.  So, high impact people can break a sweat, low impact people can preserve already damaged knees, and in the end a happy medium can arise.  Point: I kinda suck at yoga.  Yes, I said it.  I fall—a lot—and often I’ve looked like a potato balancing on a tight rope.  It’s all good.  Why? I try, I get out there, and in the end I push to my limits, smell a bit rank after an hour, and always feel better.  Yes, I always feel better . . . even the time I pushed to far and had to hobble as I pulled a muscle in my Gluteus Maximus.  Good times, especially as I live on the second floor sans elevator.  My office is also on a second floor, sans elevator.  Good, good times. 

So, in the course of my yoga pursuits—and really the goal of not falling while practicing—I’d been harboring a desire to have a bag that fit my needs.  I wanted the sling, a pocket for my smartphone, a spot for keys, a spot for my wallet, a spot for a notebook (as I jot shidazzles down a lot), and I wanted something cost effective and—well—pretty with a side of funk. 

Enter googling.  Enter opening my bottom drawer filled with scraps.  Enter a few bags later, one Summer Solstice Yoga event, numerous practices in city parks, and yards and yards of thread.  Two, or three, downed needles and . . . a bottle of wine later Yoga and Wine was born.  Of course, I then used her for toting a tripod around and toting a beach towel and sunscreen . . . so yoga is her name, but her stride is one of many.  

Without further ado, since life hi-jinxed this a few times and I might loose my nerve or find another typo to make me go mad, the yoga bag.  Beginners and advanced, jump on board, and sew with humor on the side.  

Download, instructions and one pattern piece, seven dollars.  

Entertainment factor: priceless.