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.

(Silent) Poetry Reading 2011

Don't Hesitate

Mary Oliver
 

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don't hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that's often the
case. Anyway, whatever it is, don't be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

This poem is in the collection Swan (Beacon Press, 2010). With thanks, as always, to Reya and with a nod to the 6th Annual Brigid Poetry Festival.

Too much

Hydrangea Neck Warmer in Gobi

Too much winter makes me cranky. Snow on snow, colder and colder. The days may be growing longer, but they just begin to feel endless. A cold has kept me home for a couple of days, though, and I've been knitting and making soup and trying to pull myself out of the pit I seem to be in. I think I see the way out, but I still have a climb ahead of me.

Simple Baktus in Cormo/Mohair

Watching Annabelle as she fades is hard, but I don't really realize it until something in her behavior changes. She likes the idea of eating more than her body wants food. I open a fresh can, offering her whatever she wants, just in case she does want to eat. She peers at it, sometimes taking a bite, sometimes not. She knows best, and I'm trying to listen to her.

Of course I don't want her to go, but I am determined not to keep her here longer than she needs to be. I don't want to think about daily life without my little sentinel, but I must. I've accompanied many beloved pets to the end of their lives, and yet I don't feel prepared for it now. I look at Annabelle and think that I'm so grateful to her, to this little soul more than any other, for watching over me when I was sick.

This little buff tabby has been a good lesson for me, with her affectionate distance and obvious sense of her own self. She's always been this way; the minute I saw her contemplating me from across the room in the ARF adoption center, I knew she had been sent to me.

Until it's time for her to go, I'll be keeping her as close as she will allow, and listening.