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

Pink

This year, my Christmas Cactus bloomed at the end of October. This Pink knitting happened at about the same time. Here are two additions to my Family Project, in Good Karma Farm Yarn merino and alpaca. It's a pleasure to knit, and the color is just girly enough!

Better knitting

Us.

Up.

Close.

When was Rhinebeck — weeks ago? It all went by in a blur. I spent a lot of Saturday "helping" Clara Parkes at her book signing. It was something to see: a line of knitters, all waiting to tell her how much her books mean to them, how they love Knitter's Review, how they learned this or that from her, how much they love that she shares her morning coffee with us via Twitter and Facebook. Knitters are mostly lovely people, and I got to see mostly loveliness that day. Clara signed all the copies of the book that there were, and there weren't nearly enough!

The book is, of course, The Knitter's Book of Socks. Clara asked me to design a pattern, so I did. It came to me on a wintry Sunday morning in Kris' living room, over a cup of coffee in this cup:

Herend 2010.

The pattern is Hickory, in Sundara Sock Yarn. I'm delighted with how they turned out, and with the way the pattern looks and fits into in this incredible book. We are learning so much from Clara Parkes and her books, and she's helping us become better knitters — intuitive, knowledgeable knitters. It's beautiful to see, and that's one reason why standing with her at that table at Rhinebeck, with the line of better-knitters stretching down the aisle, was such an honor.

On Sunday, Judy and the Remarkable R's and I made the rounds at Rhinebeck. It was different because they couldn't be there for both days, but it was still wonderful. I just love our Rhinebeck Tradition. I don't need yarn, of course, but I brought home a little bit of Guanaco and a pair of glass circular needles to add to my small selection.

I've knit a lot since I got home — more hats and some mitts, and a bigger project that's not ready to show yet. I've been working on a design that is about to become a pattern that will eventually become something I hope you might want to knit. Don't tell anyone, okay?

Man Hats I.

 

Man Hats II, and Foxgloves on the needles.