C is for

Cotton.

I don't suppose too many people have a little bundle of cotton in their collection of family heirlooms, do they? I do. My grandfather was a cotton classer from the 1920's through the 1940's. He started out in Texas, and his company sent him to work in Brazil in the 1930's.

This paper-wrapped bundle is what he brought home as a souvenir. It was a favorite item for Show and Tell for all of us kids, and somehow it has remained intact. I think my grandfather must have been good at classing cotton; he was meticulous and focused. I don't have any idea what grade this bit would be, though.

This is my father at about age ten, with my grandparents, on the ship to Brazil. What adventures were they imagining? I know that they loved living there, in Recife and Sao Paulo, and that they made many life-long friends and good memories. [Wow, I look a lot like my grandmother!]

My sister has much of the correspondence that went back and forth between them and their families, there are boxes of documents to sort through, and I have the one photo album from their time there. Shouldn't we put them all together one of these days? I'd love to know the whole story!

C could also be for Miss Nosy-Cat.

Annie hearts yarn

But I sure do wish that her devotion didn't include drooling.

It was all I could do to get an unobstructed shot of my new favorite thing in the world (besides the cat, of course).

This is Buffalo Gals Bison Merino 2-Ply in Garnet. Clara Parkes reviewed its cousin, Bison Merino 3-Ply, in this past week's Knitter's Review newsletter. I don't post about most of the yarn I find, but this one deserves the spotlight. It is so soft, so sweet, and such a deep, rich color.

I happened to click on the newsletter just as it was posted late Wednesday night. This yarn spoke to me in a sweet voice, yet a firm one. I didn't even attempt to think it over. I was also extremely impressed by Judith MacKenzie McCuin's journey with this fiber, and I wanted to support her effort. Before the page had finished loading I think I was on my way over to Carolina Homespun to place an order (I heart Morgaine).

Now that I have it in my hands (or wrapped in a cloth to keep somebody from rolling in it) and can feel it and make plans for it, I want more. I'm resisting for now, but that Montana Nights blue is gorgeous. As Clara pointed out, this is not an inexpensive yarn, but it's also in limited supply. I know I'll treasure the knitting and the wearing.

I don't have any knitting to write about. I've been working on Stuff, but most of my time has been spent dealing with work things. Yes, I know that last week I rhapsodized about how much I love my job, how I love to go to work every day, how I look forward to the possibilities...

But some days -- some weeks, even -- my idyllic, romantic job leaves me drained and speechless. It's over now, and it wasn't a crisis, but it sure was complicated, uncomfortable and exhausting. Now I really am looking forward to going to work tomorrow!

B is for

Book(store).

I spend an average of ten hours a day, five days a week in this long, narrow, creaky-floored, book-filled space. It is my second home, my responsibility, my daily challenge.

Each morning when I walk in the door I take it all in, survey my domain, take deep breaths. What is on my list today, orders? Will I have a chance to get to that reorganizing project? Will we be busy? Do I have enough of this or that title?

I'm fortunate. I have an extraordinary job in an extraordinary independent bookstore. It has weathered the stormy waters of the book business for thirty-seven years. In my almost thirteen years here it has been rare that I wake up thinking I wish I didn't have to go to work. It's only when I'm still worn out from the day before that I want to stay put...

...or, sometimes -- I must confess -- when I am in the midst of some knitting that consumes me!

(Silent) Poetry Reading

LOOKING AT THE SKY

I never will have time
I never will have time enough
To say
How beautiful it is
The way the moon
Floats in the air
As easily
And lightly as a bird
Although she is a world
Made all of stone.

I never will have time enough
To praise
The way the stars
Hang glimmering in the dark
Of steepest heaven
Their dewy sparks
Their brimming drops of light
So fresh so clear
That when you look at them
It quenches thirst.

Anne Porter
Living Things: Collected Poems