The gathering yesterday at my LYS in honor of Sandy was amazing. I thought I had it together until I walked in and saw everyone there, gathered because of Sandy and the life she lived, and then, of course, I started crying. It took a while before I didn't start up again every time someone gave me a hug hello, too.
The thing of it is, there are obviously a lot of people for whom Sandy's loss is going to be a bigger, deeper, blacker loss than it can be for me; people in whose lives she played many and multiplex roles, who will have fewer places to turn that don't immediately remind them of what they've lost. It got me to thinking about the holes we leave in people's lives when we're gone. And of whether I'll leave any holes, and what kind they will be, and what kind I want them to be, and what that means about how I should live now.
Because let's face it, we all know people who, when they are no longer in our lives for whatever reason, leave holes that are shaped like regret and, guilt-tinged though it may be, relief.
The holes Sandy leaves aren't like that. They're shaped like sorrow, of course, but also like laughter, and good memories, and a profound sense of gratitude for having known her, however much I did get to know her. And I'm pretty sure, looking at that gathering of people yesterday, people who were brought together only and because of their gladness to have known this woman of generous spirit, that I'm not the only one who feels that way. It's a form of grace, and I hope, with all of my heart, that she knew before she went that this was the shape of her life, and of the loss that we all feel.
I spent a not insignificant portion of my weekend knitting quietly and thinking about these things, the image of holes being particularly salient in the knitting of lace, and considering what this might mean for me and for that quiet list of resolutions I keep in the back of my head (don't we all?), and by which I try, in my better moments, to live my life. All that thinking and knitting had at least one concrete result: I finished the Unbloggable Project (do I hear a sigh of relief?). It turns out that it's actually a Partially Unbloggable Project, or a Project Unbloggable In Its Details, and that I can tell you (as if you hadn't guessed, predictable person that I am) that it's Anne's latest, the Dovecote shawl, and that I can show it to you in its preblocking lumpishness.
This was a sort of dual test-knit for me, as I was not only working through the pattern (which was great fun to knit, with fabulous results; more on that when blocking shots come out), but also trying out some yarn that Jeane deCoster, my garment fit teacher at the Institute, sells. She wanted to put this lovely yarn through its paces, and when you ask me to put yarn through its paces, I think of lace, natch (does anyone still say that, or has it gone the way of ymmv?). The yarn is a lovely two-ply Shetland, and Jeane is dyeing it up in gorgeous colors, which you can see on that link. It's a fingering weight yarn.
The lace it produces is, as I knew it would be, rustic and looks handspun, which was exactly the kind of comfort I wanted in this shawl; I am feeling in need of comfort lately. It's soft and fuzzy, and I think it's going to be fabulously warm, trapping air in all the fuzziness. Definitely a good pairing, even if one that's rather atypical for me.
With luck, next time, I'll have a more knitting-centric post, and one with some bloggable progress. Meanwhile, happy Monday; be well.