Whatever it wants

There are tiny sprouts of mint leaves in the garden, and I saw an osprey on its nest. Spring must be here somewhere. But today's sky at Long Beach was heavy and dull, as if it is still winter. Even the wind gave up — on my way past the first time, the water was choppy, with little whitecaps hurrying across the surface. Fifteen minutes later, I stopped to see this: calm water, so calm that I could see the bottom yards and yards out.

Back home in the warm house, it's been a good day for quiet. Rosemary is sleeping, and I'm finishing some knitting. There's tea, and Emmylou Harris and Rodney Crowell are here to sing to me. It can snow if it wants, or rain, or whatever. This is the place to be!

Passing time

Rosemary says "It's time to get up."

Oh, this Rosemary is quite a cat. She has me, hook, line, and sinker.

I seem to have been missing again—I'm sorry. The past few months have been so busy, so full of work and knitting and new adventures and yes, a few challenges.

In knitting, there was Rhinebeck—a weekend of new traditions for Rebecca and me, since Rachel and Judy couldn't be there. We had some fun anyway.

Coffee at Gigi's

The beautiful gardens at Bard College

There was the Knitter's Review Retreat, my annual dose of knitter love. It has to last the year.

Inn on the Lake, Canandaigua, NY

And then... there came The Great White Bale. I'll have to write later about the loveliness that is my job as Clara Parkes' Director of Customer Happiness, but let's just say I'm having the time of my life.

And those challenges—well, they're the kind you just rise to meet. My visits to Dr. Pearl continue to be happy ones, although I'm in need of surgery to deal with some scar tissue, and it's scheduled for mid-February. I'll keep you posted.

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.

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?"

Give or take

Baktus with eyelet edge in Sundara Sock "Cactus Flower"

I've been knitting. Finish one thing, start something new. Small things — a scarf, a hat, a pair of mitts. I'm working on what I've come to call The Family Project. That's all I can tell you!

Honey Cowl in Spirit Trail Fiberworks Paivatar, unnamed colorway

Foxgloves in Filatura di Crosa Zara

 There's more.

Simple Ribbed Hat in Bijou Spun Himalayan Trail

Maine Morning Mitts in Sundara DK Merino the 2nd, "Lichen Over Slate"

Saroyan in Sundara Fingering Merino Cashmere "Ocean's Edge"

Foxgloves in Briar Rose Cashmere, unnamed colorway

This represents much of my knitting from April through September, give or take a sock or two, and at least one scarf and hat. And there are other things on the needles or in my head, too! I'm not insane, just inspired.

Hitchhiker Scarf in Sundara DK Silky Cashmere, "Spring Fresh"

 I started this Hitchhiker scarf yesterday. Must keep moving.

With all this knitting going on, the set of Darn Pretty Interchangeable needles I got at the beginning of the year has turned out to be the best investment I've made in my knitting since, oh, my umbrella swift and ball winder back in 1978. They are absolutely worth the wait, and they really do have the best join I've worked with.

Rosemary Likes Knitting, Too

Oh, and I do still have my day job!

Untended

This picture says it all. Two months ago, the wisteria was just beginning to climb up my porch railing. Now, it claims my chair.

It's been the same sort of summer as usual: busy. I work long hours, shuffle back and forth between the bookstore and home, and marvel at how time is flying (or complain about how time seems to have stopped). Our website is a full-time job, and exciting. My head is filled with html and SEO, URL path settings and publishing options. My time is spent on updates and order processing, inventory upload files and shipping quotes. Above all, I keep in touch with books. Books and bookselling are still what I do.

There's been knitting. Free-range knitting. Dabbling. I finished my Saroyan weeks ago (Sundara Fingering Merino Cashmere). I'm working on a couple of pairs of socks, a little shawl experiment, and a few other things. It keeps me sane.

I've also been reading. This should not be remarkable, but it is. My reading mojo has been non-existent for a very, very long time. Tolstoy and the Purple Chair is a beautiful memoir by Nina Sankovitch. It's about her year of reading — a book a day, for 365 days — after the death of her sister. In an article in the New York Times, she said she was seeking answers about "how to live with sorrow and how to find my place in the world." I think I knew that books can provide those answers, but I didn't go to them. Nina Sankovitch's wonderful book has begun to lead me back. I'm reading one of the books on her list now: How to Paint a Dead Man by Sarah Hall.

Maybe reading is keeping me sane, too.

 ❧ Rosemary... Rosemary is a furry firecracker. She is fond of stuffed mousies, especially when they need to be attacked at the foot of the bed in the middle of the night. She doesn't keep me sane, but she makes life interesting.

Rosemaryness

Can I come out there?

I'll be good, I promise.

Really.

Wait. Are you serious?

Forget it, then. I'm leaving.

Life is so much better with Rosemary in it. She is a delight, every single day.

And sock yarn that's as green as the summer trees is delightful, too!

Found

Her name is Rosemary, and a few days ago she found the hole in my heart and stitched it up.

We're just getting to know each other, we two, but I know this: a cat who places her paw in your hand, ever so gently, and lets it rest there — that cat is your cat, and you are her person.

Rosemary came to me — along with her sweet name — from ARF, one of our local rescue organizations. Annabelle was an ARFan, too.

I do knit, and I do have pictures, but I will save them for next time. I've been completely consumed by Rosemary, of course, but also by a monumental project at work. I rarely write about my job (I try not to), but I'm in charge of our new website, and I've been busy putting it together. It launched yesterday and I'm pretty pleased with it.  Go take a look when you have a minute.

This Sunday I'll be at SBUMC Cancer Center to celebrate National Cancer Survivor's Day, and I'll be at a special breakfast for those of us who are participating in clinical trials. I'm so happy to be here, three years after my diagnosis of uterine cancer, and so honored to be helping find better treatment for my sisters who will be diagnosed in the future. All the research money in the world (and all the pink stuff we're encouraged to buy) won't get rid of cancer without patients and doctors participating in clinical trials. Just sayin'.