Kisses

My to-do list is filled with mundane things today. Vacuum, change the sheets, get milk, work on the pattern write-ups. Take a walk, make some calls, send those emails.

I'll do all those things, but I have to knit, too. I need to spend some time with garter stitch and silly little edge picots.

You see, I've been standing by as my best friend Judy navigates the process of placing her dear mother in a nursing facility. I'm reminded of my own family's journey through the same maze, led by my siblings and especially my sister Ellen. I'm full of love and admiration for Judy, and I know her mom loves her more than anything in the whole wide world.

I miss my dear Gig, and I wish peace and comfort for Judy's sweet Louise. Kisses to both of them, and to Judy, too.

(And honey, I'm sorry if this makes you cry. You probably need a good one anyway.)

Almost

Soon, the buds are telling me, soon. This morning I noticed that the maple branches are beginning to turn red at the tips, and I had to wait for a flock of turkeys to cross Noyac Road. Before long, yellow daffodils will burst open, brown will be replaced by green, and the turkeys will be leading their poults.

Soon.

I hope you have a lovely weekend — eat lots of chocolate, and hug your families!

Perfectly lovely

It's only taken me a year to finish this Hitchhiker scarf. Simple as it is, it took so long because it kept being pushed aside for other, more "urgent" projects. It's on its way to my sister Sarah (the quilter), and I hope she'll put it aside for next winter, since it wasn't finished in time for this one.

What keeps me from finishing perfectly lovely projects? Distraction, or too many ideas, or deadlines? Sometimes.

It doesn't really matter. Making stitches with beautiful yarn matters. Wrapping my sister in a scarf matters. Discovering the next thing I want to knit matters.

What keeps you from finishing your perfectly lovely projects? What a silly question.

Hitchhiker Scarf, madelinetosh tosh merino light 

Being at home

I've been spending almost all of my time at home, for weeks now. First, there was the move that the bookstore was making, and there wasn't going to be a place for me to work until things were settled in the new space, so I brought my office home. That fit the timing for the surgery I was going to have, which meant that I'd need to be home to recuperate.

The surgery (repair to scar tissue left from previous surgeries) went well, but the work did not. I was working on our website as usual, but while I was, the bookstore was making some hard decisions. The website was eliminated, and so was my job.

Losing my job is a subject for another time. What I'm thinking about today is how much I love my home, my tiny space, my little calm place. It was remade by my sister Sarah when she came to be with me for the surgery, and on the final day, just a few hours before she had to leave, we took pictures of the amazing transformation. My mother's dresser, her little overnight case on top; my knitting spot on the couch, the new television. There's much more that you can't see in one photograph.

And there in the middle: the beautiful, beautiful quilt Sarah made for me, which she put the finishing touches on while I was sleeping.

There's no place like home, is there?

Being a Jane

Rachel and her Jane (2010)

I had an encounter yesterday that didn’t evaporate during the night, and that is still sitting in my gut. A woman I know fairly well—my age, with grown children, who thinks of herself as a feminist, a forward-thinking and compassionate woman, and a nurturer—made some remarks that astonished me, and left me reeling a bit. I have a few things to say about it.

First, some background: I’m not a mother. I didn’t give birth to or adopt children. Rosemary, as dear as she is to me, is a cat and not a substitute child. 

However, I am a kind of parent. I am a Jane. There are children in my life, all grown now, who have counted on me, come to me, needed me in mundane and extraordinary circumstances. I changed diapers, read bedtime stories, had adventures, dried tears, watched “Milo and Otis” too many times, rocked babies, cooked meals, righted wrongs, gave advice, helped with homework, enforced rules, endured more school plays than any parent I know, gave first aid, made mistakes, played Go Fish, and cheered from the bleachers at little league games. I didn’t want to be a mother to all those children, because what I was and am is as satisfying and just as necessary. I am Jane, their Jane, the one and only.

Those children—the ones going off to college or raising children of their own or venturing out into the great big world—know the difference between their parents and their Jane. The parents—their actual mothers and fathers—have for the most part fostered my relationships with their children. There are benefits to them, too. And being a Jane, like being a mother, is a real job.

So back to the conversation: I was explaining to the woman I know fairly well that I'm going to spend part of Labor Day weekend taking Rachel to college in Maine. I’m one of her parents, I said, and I have the same responsibility to her as you do to your children. Her voice grew so chilly that I’m surprised the phone receiver didn’t ice over. It’s not at all the same as it is for me and my children. Not at all. It’s not as important. 

Where did that come from? I know that she is proud of the children that she and her husband raised, and that she loves them deeply, and that they have grown up well because of that. Somehow I threatened her, and so she tried to obliterate the truth of what I was saying. I began to get angry, really angry. But in a split second I decided to hold tight to what I know—that there is more than one kind of parent—so I waited. She flailed. I don’t know the history of your relationship with Judy’s children, she said.

No, Woman I Know Fairly Well, you don’t, and it’s too bad.

Obviously, her children never had a Jane of their own, poor things. There must have been no room for one, no room for someone else to love them, befriend them, or take care of them. They missed out on the fortune of having an extra parent, the awesomeness of having a Jane.

What does this have to do with knitting? I don't know, but I'm going to knit while I ponder.

Two leaves

Brooklyn Tweed's Wool Leaves Pattern, with leaf appliqués added.

Queensland Collection Kathmandu Chunky Yarn

Rachel and Rebecca

My summer knitting can be revealed: two blankets for the Remarkable R's. I began knitting in early July, and I stitched the leaf on to the second blanket on August 1st. I love this pattern, and I'd like to make it again sometime. It was so comfortable to knit — repetitive enough to be easy but complicated enough to keep me interested.

As I went along, I though about how much the girls love each other, and how they'll miss their sis when they're at college. That's when I decided to make a little leaf for each one's blanket, using the yarn from her sister's. I was very proud to see the grey one folded at the end of Becca's dormitory bed as she unpacked on Saturday!

My second summer project has been a new blog, The 40-Year Round Trip. The R's mother Judy and I met on our first day of college, and here we are forty years later, taking her girls to college — so we decided to write about it. Judy wrote an especially lovely post on Sunday morning, after we'd delivered Becca to her dorm at Bard College. 

We'll be driving to Maine at the end of the month to take Rachel to school. By then I'll have something new on the needles — something for the fall, perhaps, or something to pass the time on the long drive, or maybe something to commemorate all these milestones.

Consumed

Yarn from Appalachian Baby Design

I've been a bit random in my knitting lately. I'm spending most of my time on a couple of secret gifts at the moment, but when I want to take a break from the luxurious Queensland Collection Kathmandu (merino, silk, and cashmere!) I have this wonderful yarn discovery to occupy my hands. It's sport weight organic cotton, loosely plied, and it's making the best washcloths ever.

I came across it near the end of a road trip I took a few weeks ago. I had some time off from work so I went down to the Eastern shore of Maryland to visit my friends Kris and Roy. Kris and I knit our fingers to the bone while the three of us had a wonderful visit. On my first day there we drove to Philadelphia, where I got to go to the incredible wish-it-was-my-LYS, Loop. It was everything I'd dreamed it would be: well-curated, full of natural light, and staffed by people who know their yarn.

Then we went to the Italian Market, where we purchased and consumed lots of things like this:

Cheese!

And this:

Cappuccino!

Back at home, there was lots of this:

Espresso!

And this:

Brunch!

And some of this:

Libby!

Kris and I even managed to start a summer knit along project. We're making Color Affection scarves with my yarn crush, Brooklyn Tweed Loft. Purchased at Loop, of course. He's probably finished his by now, while mine is waiting while I finish those secret gifts.

On the day before I went home, Kris and I went to Chesapeake City, Maryland to visit Vulcan's Rest Fibers, where I found the beautiful yarn at the top of this post. It's a little town on the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal, and the yarn shop is lovely, with a good selection and great staff.

Today is one of those Sundays. It's hot, I have things to do at home (not just knitting!) and I'm happy to be here. So, here we are. 

"Why are you taking pictures of a washcloth?"

Corresponding

I don't know how many times I've said to myself, "I wish I/I ought to/I want to write more letters." I just don't. I email, talk on the phone, text (I have several ongoing text conversations that are priceless), use Facebook, or play Words With Friends (you'd be surprised how connected you can feel when you're trading words with someone you don't see very often).

I have a lot of excuses for not writing letters, none of them very good: My handwriting has gotten sloppy, I'm not comfortable holding a pen for very long, I'm busy, I don't have anything important to say... Hogwash. I think I spend more time justifying not writing letters than it would take to actually write one.

Writing letters was always a pleasure. I used to correspond with friends and family. I love that word. Correspondence. When did I begin to neglect it? I'd like to get into the habit of writing a letter or a note, the same way I email or call or post on a wall.

So I decided to participate in the Month of Letters Challenge, which I think I read about on Facebook. It can't be that hard, and it promises be interesting! February is the perfect month for a daily shake-up, too. It's such a long month, even though it has fewer days. I feel like challenging myself out of the winter doldrums, and a little letter-writing might to do the trick.

I even unearthed my trusty Parker 45 "Flighter" for the occasion, figuring that I'll be more inclined to write if I have a nice pen. It was a gift from my parents some time in the late 1960's, and was most certainly purchased at the House Stationery Store, since both of my parents worked on Capitol Hill then. It's a simple, inexpensive pen, but I've always loved it. They aren't made any more, but I still found ink cartridges at my local office supply store. I don't know what happened to the little converter that lets me fill it from a bottle of ink; it will appear one of these days.

After the yarn stopped flying at the end of my Family Project, I took a short knitting break. I've been knitting, but slowly. I always cast on a new project at the New Year, and this time it was a Ptarmigan Cowl. I had the perfect skein of cashmere for Spirit Trail, too.

I'm working on a scarf for a friend, and another Brooklyn Tweed pattern, Winnowing by Bristol Ivy. It's going to take me a while, but every time I pick it up, I'm mesmerized by it. I'm two repeats further into it than this (not very attractive) picture:

It's a rainy Wednesday — a good time to dash off a note, wouldn't you say? Happy February! I'll be posting a poem tomorrow for the annual Silent Poetry Reading, a blog tradition that I've participated in since 2006 (wow).  Do you have a favorite poem to share?

Love came down at Christmas

My sweet mother had a difficult relationship with Christmas. She loved the idea of it, and she loved all our family's traditions — she created many of them, after all. But Christmas also tended to disappoint her sometimes, especially when it wasn't picture-perfect. In a family of nine, things were rarely picture-perfect; we didn't notice, but she did.

When we were growing up our parents created a magical time for us every year, and Gig's creativity and ingenuity were woven through the season — themed Christmas trees, pfeffernüsse cookies, actually-delicious fruit cake, beautiful arrangements of greens and decorations that filled the house, a Christmas morning that was staged as carefully as a Broadway theater set — and often, there were gifts she made herself.

My mother loved to sew. She sewed for most of her life; her mother was a seamstress as well. She made most of my sisters' and my clothes when we were growing up — in the early 1960's she made my sister Sarah and me two beautiful Easter outfits that included reversible linen coats — and she kept at it long after I was grown. When the grandchildren began arriving, starting in 1970, she kept sewing, and she concentrated on Christmas.

Each year seemed to have a theme — I wish I could remember them all. The nightgowns and footie pajamas, stick horses, teddy bears, pillows in the shape of letters for each child, shiny stuffed fish. There might have been dinosaurs, and there must have been others that I just can't remember.

In March, when I came home from Gig's memorial service and that short but amazing visit with my entire family, something began to take shape in my knitter/auntie/crazy-woman brain. What if I were to knit something — some little something — for those nieces and nephews, and their children, the way Gig had sewed for them? Just because I love them. I would be casual about it, and I would knit throughout the year. Things I might want to knit anyway, with yarn I probably already had. My Family Project began.

So I knit things all year long. When I finished, there were seven scarves, five pairs of mitts, and fifteen hats. For my family, and their families and beloveds — for Melody, Sylvester, A'Court, Cynthia, Susan, Ava, Lindsey, Chris, Oliver, Emily, Kylie, Jacob, Amy, Sophie, Sam, Dylan, Will, Rachel, Rebecca, Ben, Angela, another Dylan, Varan, Valerie, Kaiden, Robin, and Matt.

The photo is a link to the Family Project  Flickr page.

On this Christmas morning I am imagining my family, all opening their little packages, smiling as they remember how much Gig loved us, and I hope they know how much I love them. And wherever you are, whoever you're with — and picture-perfect Christmas or not — I hope this day is filled with love that wraps you up in a warm hug.

"Love came down at Christmas,

Love all lovely, Love divine;

Love was born at Christmas,

Star and angels gave the sign."

Christina Rossetti

Fifty-six Hours

That's how long I was without power at home during and after Hurricane Irene. Not too bad, considering that there are many people here on Long Island, and right here on the East End, who don't even know when theirs might be restored.

But fifty-six hours was more than enough. At least I could go to work, where we had power the whole time. At home, I was just uncomfortable and stressed and done. This house gets its water from a well, and when there's no power, there's no water. After I used what I'd stored, I had to haul it from work in a big container. Knowing that my refrigerator full of food was spoiling made it even more difficult. The peaceful haven I count on my little home to be was no longer peaceful, or a haven.

I had a small epiphany this week. Yes, I'm fortunate to live a life where I can count on electricity, running water, and other comforts. But at the same time, I need to acknowledge that I work very hard to provide those things for myself. It's up to me. So when I can't take a shower or flush the toilet, when most of my fresh food becomes inedible, and when I can't see to do much of anything, it's distressing. And I can stop apologizing for that, without diminishing the suffering and hardship that people all over the East Coast — and all over the world — are experiencing right now.

While there was a little bit of daylight on Sunday — in between the moments when I thought I might see Miss Gulch pass my window on her bicycle — I finished the giant swatch I started earlier in the week. It's more of a stitch sampler than a swatch. I worked out the math and the logistics for a shawl with an interesting bit of lace, and played with some lovely lace edges. When my Red Heirloom Tomato yarn arrives from Sundara, I'll begin figuring out how to make it all work on a larger scale. We shall see what becomes of all this swatching and figuring.

I began a pair of socks on Monday, when Kris told me to start something. He even told me what yarn to use (4-ply Organic Poll Dorset from Renaissance Dyeing) and what pattern to knit (Anne Hanson's Caterpillar Socks). I needed someone to tell me what to do by that point, so I'm glad he stepped in and gave me a shake.

Now onward, to Labor Day weekend and the reverse migration of the Summer People — those who haven't given up and gone home already, that is!

Where I'll be

This is my birthday furniture, and it's my new favorite place to be. When the oak pollen has finished making my life difficult, I'll sit here with my knitting and a big glass of iced tea. There will be flowers, and maybe a little table.

The chair was a gift from my friend Judy, the ottoman was from my sister Ellen, and the pillow was stitched by my sister Sarah. There are also plants from the Remarkable R's. Their brilliant gift coordination helped turn my little deck at the top of the stairs into a wonderful place to relax and enjoy the summer!

Two birthdays

Sunset • Long Beach • Sag Harbor • 4/24/11

The first is the one my mother gave me, fifty-six years ago today. The second is the one made possible by Dr. Pearl, some very powerful medicine, and my own perseverance: two years of No Cancer. My birthdays share the same week, and almost the same day, so it makes sense that I've spent this week pondering.

I've been thinking about my mom, and all the birthdays she made so special for me, and for my whole family. Her cakes are legendary. I asked Judy to make me a lemon cake for my birthday dinner on Sunday, and she did, and it was amazing. There was also a BookHampton cake on Monday, with candles and everything. I'm so fortunate to have good friends who are also my family.

I've been thinking about Dr. Pearl, too, and all the people who made my second birthday possible. I'm grateful and lucky and still in awe of his artful doctoring (with a nod to my own fortitude). I've said it before, but it bears repeating: his art and my magic are a powerful combination.

I want to celebrate my two birthdays for years and years to come, so I promise myself that I will wake up every morning and make my life better — somehow, in some small way. Happy birthdays to me.

Repetitive

String Theory Caper Sock "Oban"

At first, I was going to make just one Multnomah. I needed to knit something that was simple, soothing, and that made sense. Most of all, it had to help me as Annabelle was leaving. I knit and knit, with my little cat by my side. Before long it was finished, and it helped dry my tears.

Sundara Sock "Through the Woods"

Then I needed travel knitting as I went to see my mom, so I worked on some Hedgerow socks for my friend Reya. I'm still working on them. Somewhere in there I worked on an Allegan Cardigan from The Knitter's Book of Wool, but that's another story.

Sundara FSM "Beach Pebbles"

And then... I didn't know what to do when my mother died. One day, when my sisters and I were discussing ways we could "represent" our mom at the memorial service, we talked about her favorite colors. She loved blues and purples and the color that Crayola calls Periwinkle. We decided to wear a color that Gig would like, so it came to me — another Multnomah. I had the right yarn (it was already being made into this, but I frogged it without hesitation) and I had enough time (about ten days).

I loved every minute that I spent knitting. Again, it soothed me, gave me focus, and helped me to feel like I was doing something. On the day of the memorial, it felt so good to wear the little shawl that I'd made, along with my mother's pearl necklace.

I'm very grateful for Sundara and her artful colors. More than once — many times — she has created a color that becomes part of my story. My mother would have loved this Beach Pebbles Multnomah, too.

What am I working on now? I needed a project to take with me on my journey to the service and the wonderful visit I had with my family. It begins with an M and ends with an H...

Losses

Annabelle (1996-2011)

Cat Ghosts

I

Years after

in a kitchen of another country

you're still hungry

II

In the heat of the day

your shadow comes back

to lie on your stone

— W. S. Merwin

Gloria Cochran (1924-2011) in 1983, laughing

My mother lived a long and, I think, rewarding life. I always knew she loved me with all her heart, as she did all her family: children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and many others. In fact, we were her heart.

The last time I saw her, just a couple of weeks before she passed away on March 9th, she looked into my eyes, smiled, and poured all that love right back into my heart.

I am missing my little Annabelle, and we are missing our dear Gig.

Ten on Tuesday: Happy Birthday

Shadows one moment...

It's always somebody's birthday! In fact, this evening I'm heading over to Judy's house to help celebrate her mother's 96th birthday. Louise is my Other Mother, and I can't wait to give her a hug and a kiss, and the little box of rugalach I just picked up at the Blue Duck Bakery.

But ten ways to have a happy birthday? I tried, but I just can't improve on Carole's list. After all, it is her birthday today!

...and shadows the next.

Happy Birthday everyone, whenever it is!

Ten on Tuesday: Summer's End

This week's ToT topic is "Ten Things to Do Before the End of Summer." For me, summer just ended. Labor Day weekend was it. Though on this half of the planet summer will last for a couple more weeks, my long, stressful season has passed. My thoughts are happily turning to the next one. Here's my list of some things I'd like to do:

1. Go to the ocean while the water and the sun are still warm. I can do that now that beach permits aren't needed and the crowds are gone. September is the best-kept secret about the East End of Long Island!
2. Clean. There are neglected corners in my apartment — at least four of them!
3. Sort the yarn stash. The Knitter's Review Retreat will be here before I know it, and I want to do a serious assessment of my yarn and fiber so I can take some worthy skeins to the Stash Lounge.
4. Take the big down comforter outside for some air while the days are still long enough, and before I need to get under it in a cold snap.
5. Once and for all, take the bags of unused clothes (that I sorted months ago!) to the donation drop-off.
6. Go out to dinner. At a restaurant. With other people. This is something I never have time to do in the summer, and all the restaurants are too crowded, anyway. I have a date with Judy and the R's this week, as a matter of fact!
7. Take the car to get an oil change and a check-up. It's time.
8. Speaking of check-ups, make an appointment for my annual mammogram. Have you had yours?
9. Relax and enjoy the turning of the season. I love the way fall arrives a little abruptly here. One day it will be warm and muggy, and the next it will be crisp and the leaves will have turned.
10. Open the sock drawer and see if there are any sad pairs that should be retired from the rotation. If there are, think about knitting more! — after all, the real name of the next season is Knitting Season!

All grown up

This is a picture of five of my many nieces, taken in July 1991. I found it stashed in a drawer, and it's been making me smile. 

They're all grown up now, in their twenties, and out in the wide world. One even has a family of her own. They're remarkable women, and when I look at this picture I see it in their little-girl faces. I'm proud to be their auntie!

I blocked Herbivore this morning — it's been perfect blocking weather, comfortable and breezy — and it dried in no time.

I think I'll wear this scarf a lot this winter.

The rest of my Sunday off was spent enjoying the weather, knitting on a little baby hat for a friend, and relaxing. The August People have arrived, and it's nothing but full-on intensity at the bookstore from now until Labor Day. I can handle it as long as I have lots of simple knitting at my fingertips. I'm thinking about a Ruffled Baktus...

... Or Hawthorne, from the new issue of Twist, but it might be a bit complicated for this time of year. Plus, I was sure I had the yarn called for in my stash, but I must have been dreaming. Oh well.

Wishing you a week of perfect weather and knitting that never frustrates!

Ten on Tuesday: Camping

Ten Things to Bring on a Camping Trip:

That's easy. 1-10.:A hotel room. 

The last time I went camping was when I was eleven, and my mother (the Girl Scout leader) made me camp out in our back yard with the troop for the weekend, I think so she could convince me of the joys of being a Girl Scout. It didn't work. I don't remember much (it was 44 years ago), but I do remember wanting to go inside to read the Sunday comics, and she said No. The whole thing was weird, anyway, because we were so completely not an outdoorsy/camping kind of family in the first place. I'll bet my mom felt like an alien, out there in the wilds of Bethesda, thirty yards from the house.

Ironing

I just ironed all my clean shirts. I hadn't planned to. I was knitting my Baktus (almost finished!) when the idea possessed me: "Iron your shirts."

Now, for a few days at least, I won't have to iron one when I'm in a hurry to get ready in the morning.

I feel like I should check the mirror to make sure I'm still me.

Ten on Tuesday: Where I Live

Ten things I like about where I live:


 1. My little home.

2. The beach at the ocean.

3. The beach on the bay.

4. Small-town-ness.

5. Friends nearby.

6. Local berries.

7. Big sky.

8. Beautiful light.

9. Inspiration.

10. All the seasons.