Is it summer yet?

It feels like it should be summer already, doesn't it? Older Daughter has been out of school for over a week now, and Younger Daughter is now done, too. On Wednesday, I finally finished the last really big deadline-driven job I had to do, and on Thursday, after cleaning the house up so we'd be ready for this weekend's visitors, I sat down outside on the back patio and knitted and knitted and knitted. It was absolutely wonderful, and it meant that by yesterday, I'd finished the wrap that I'm working on.

That's a bit of a tease, as I have no pictures yet. But it is done. I even wore it last night when we took Rick out to dinner for his birthday.

My day of knitting also gave me a chance to finally think more about our week up in the Bay Area. It's a funny thing, because I've had to tell people where I was, as a few work deadlines were postponed, and it always feels very dramatic to me to say that we were up there to be with Rick's grandmom while she was dying. I've been trying to figure out why that's so hard to say. I think there are a lot of reasons, but one of them may be that we tend to use verbs like "die" as, essentially, punctatives, verbs that describe a one-time contained action. Like "drop", or "fall", where there's very little time for an internal event structure, and the whole act is encompassed in the verb. But it turns out that, at least sometimes, dying isn't like that. It's a process, an -ing, not an -ed. It's momentous (but not momentaneous), and in many ways indescribable; I kept wishing (as I almost never do) that words like awe-ful and awe-some hadn't changed their meanings over time, because I felt that they might once have been useful in describing a process like die-ing. But simultaneously, because processes (as opposed to punctatives) by their very nature encompass many moments, some of those moments, rather than being awe-some, are instead mundane, quotidien, routine.

The girls finally said to me, almost shamefaced, that they knew this was really big, and they were sad a lot of the time, but that they were also bored. They wanted, in essence, a timetable, to know what and where and when. I told them that those feelings, all of them, are part of the inherent tension in situations like this; they're awesome (in that old sense), but also filled with moments that are, quite honestly, boring. Birth, I said, is also like that. It happens when and as it will, full of exciting moments like breaking water and pushing and new babies crying, but also boring moments like walking between contractions and waiting (and waiting), and the process of dying often works the same way, especially when it's a dying that comes like this, naturally, at the end of a long life (I know just how different it can be in cases of trauma and illness, and I am grateful beyond belief that this is the girls' first experience with death).

I told them that in some ways this was Grandmom's last and great gift, to give them a chance to learn that there are many experiences in life like this, whose schedules and directions are completely outside of our ability to shape, and that all we are in charge of is how we carry ourselves through that. In a world where we are so often taught that everything is under our control, it can come as a shock sometimes to realize how few of the biggest things really are, and it is our job to walk through them with as much grace as we can muster. It's been a hard lesson for me, and one which I have had to relearn (but which I am, gratefully, having to relearn less and less often), and our week with grandmom was one more reminder, one more opportunity to spend time in the process, being rather than doing.

It's a useful reminder to me as a mother, too, that growing up is most definitely an -ing, and that nothing in that process is certain except change. I got to spend some time this week with my young friend who is learning to knit, and who gave me a bit of a window into the changes that happen between twelve (Older Daughter's age), and fifteen (this new knitter's age). I've also known this young woman since she was seven, and talk about changes! I went to pick her up with everyone's suggestions for first knitting projects on a nice little list, in case it was needed, but it was not (as I should have known); she had her own plan, and it was a good one. She wanted to knit a headband. So off we went to my LYS, where we found her a lovely merino/bamboo blend yarn and some needles, and sat down outside to start knitting.
She's a natural. I taught her a cable cast on, figuring that by the time she got through that cast-on row, she'd be well on her way to knitting, and it worked like a charm. She picked up the knit stitch like she was born with knitting in her hands (I don't think her mother had a master -- and shouldn't that be mistress? -- knitter put knitting needles in her hand as an infant, but I'll have to ask). Interestingly, although I'm a thrower, holding my yarn in my right hand, she almost immediately arranged herself so that she was doing something more like picking, with the yarn in her left.
No, she's not left-handed (although I am), but as this works for her, I'm going to brush up on my Continental purling so I can at least show her how it looks. She did also learn to purl, and by the end of the hour, she'd come pretty far.
Aren't those stitches lovely and even? And she even looked like she was having fun.
I know I did. So, I hope we'll get to see each other for another lesson next week; if this continues, I may very well have brought another one over to the Dark Side. If nothing else, maybe knitting will be something that can carry her through some of her own life's processes, and she'll learn what so many of us knitters know: keep walking, and knit through everything.

Knitting continues

I'm trying to alternate knitting posts with the processing-type posts (still doing a lot of processing from last week). I am actually knitting, so it seems like this just might be the place to share it, right?

In particular, I've been working on the Tibetan Clouds beaded stole, and I promised that when I got done with the middle panel and prepared to move on to the "wings", I'd show how that goes, so here it is.

The middle panel is knitted in the round, with increases at each of four corners, resulting (if all goes well) in a square. When I got done with all of the charts for that section, it looked something like this.
A giant blob. It was rather unsatisfying to try to see what was going on with it by this stage, as it looked something like a jellyfish.
(from the underside)

So the next step was to bind off the stitches along one side of the square, resulting in this (the bound-off edge is at the top there).
Then, I knit across the next side of the square, putting the stitches on an extra needle to be held in reserve, resulting in this (first bound off edge on the right, stitches held in reserve on top):
I then bound off the third side, and knitted across the fourth side, and ended up with a square, bound off on two sides (the top and bottom), and with stitches all ready to go on the other two sides (I will now knit back and forth from each of those in turn, to create the long "wings" of the stole).
I don't know if that's clarified anything, but I hope so. From now on, I'll be able to pet and admire the stole more easily as I go, as it can be spread out. This one is time-consuming, because of the beads, but the yarn is absolutely amazing to work with (I truly adore this yarn; silk and merino have to be one of the best fiber marriages in the world), and the results are making me so happy that I don't mind that it's taking a while.
(If you click to embiggen, I think you can see the beads on that one). It's just as well that I don't mind, because in the meantime, I went knitting at my LYS last week, and I appear to have started another stole. Oops.
It's actually much further along than that by now. There's a small part of me that would really like to finish it in time to wear it out to dinner for Rick's birthday on Friday night. The finishing on this one is easy; it's linen, so instead of blocking, it is, quite literally, wash and wear. This makes it marginally less impossible to finish in time than it would be if I had to finish knitting it with time to spare to soak and block it and then wait for it to dry before going out. It may still be a pipe dream, but hey, if it's not done, what's the worst that happens? I'll just have to wear Artichaut, or something, no?

In the meantime, I get to take one of my favorite young people (the daughter of a dear friend of mine) to my LYS tomorrow to teach her how to knit. I absolutely can't wait; I've been trying to arrange this for a while (such a converter, I am). So, any suggestions for a good first project for a 15-year-old? I think in the end that she might end up enjoying one of those beaded bracelets I was obsessed with some time ago, but I'm not sure that's a good first project, as it's a bit fiddly. Maybe the beaded tam, instead?
What first projects do you all use that will neither a) bore your student to tears, nor b) frustrate them to the point of giving up? Balance in all things...

You can't buy that at Walmart, baby

Length in inches of husband's feet? 10.75
Diameter in inches of husband's feet? 9.5
Number of stitches per row? 66
Number of rows per inch? 6
Total number of stitches? Approximately 7,000*

Feeling when husband turns from packing to leave town for big stressful important business meeting to ask whether his new socks might be done in time so he can wear them for good luck?

Priceless.


(Needless to say, I stayed up to finish them before he left town.)

Project details: Sanguine Gryphon Bugga (can't remember the colorway, but it's a stunning dark dark blue). Size two needles. Toe up socks, nothing fancy, just some 2x2 ribbing at the top. I made them so that the legs and feet are the same length when they're folded in half (my standard), but there was some yarn left over, so I might pull out the cast off and add a bit more length when he gets home, we'll see.

*Edited to add: Per sock.

Disappearances

It has been a week of disappearances, of unexpected happenings, of change. I haven't really come to grips with any of it, so this will be a short post. Just before I left for Ohio last weekend, we got the news that Rick's grandmom, whom we both love dearly, had taken a turn for the worse. It wasn't something unexpected, and she's long been ready to take that next big step; we've always known that her death would be something that we grieved for our own sake, while being glad of it for hers. Rick decided that he was going to drive the girls up on Saturday to see her, and I changed my ticket so that I could fly to San Francisco on Sunday night, instead of back home on Monday (this all happened with the help of both my wonderful SIL, who had to change her plans to get me to the Columbus airport on Sunday, instead of Monday, and my amazing brother, who talked me through changing my tickets). We'd planned to give me a chance to see Grandmom on Monday morning, and then to drive home on Monday evening.

We stayed all week.

We had to leave yesterday to get Rick and the girls home for a week they couldn't miss here. By the time we left, Grandmom had fallen into a coma. She died peacefully in her sleep, at the age of 96, at 4:00 this morning. She spent her last week surrounded by the people who love her.

Jacaranda!

It feels like it's been a long week already. Does anyone else ever have that happen? It really seems like today should be Wednesday, and I'm simultaneously relieved (there's so much to do!), and horrified (how could I have done so much and still have it only be Tuesday?!) to find that it's not. Ah, well.

We met yesterday morning with the superintendent of Older Daughter's school to talk about the cancellation of something like 90% of the music program. I have generally noticed that in situations like this, administrators fall into one of two categories.

(Beware: Huge overgeneralization incoming.)

In both categories, administrators say that they have to make hard choices because of the state budget situation. This I accept as truth, knowing what I do about California's budget, and about the persistent refusal of her citizenry to fund the things they say they want. (Obviously, they've never read Heinlein; all I have to say is: TANSTAAFL.*) Administrators also invariably say that they hate to have to make the cuts they're making. I'm willing to accept that as truth, too, but I have noticed over the years a major dichotomy in possible administrator reactions to having one of their constituents suggest alternatives to proposed cuts.

Some administrators seem really happy to know that a) the stakeholders in their enterprise care enough to come to them with ideas, and b) that someone's come up with some other option that prevents quite the same degree of cut-devastation. Those administrators respond to suggestions with lots of information about how to make those suggestions work, or, if they won't, a good reason why not, and an open conversation about what might work instead. Those administrators seem truly to regret having to cut things that are working, and truly happy to find alternatives.

There are other administrative types, though, who respond to stakeholder suggestions as threats to their authority. Those types respond defensively as an automatic reaction, and use tactics like obfuscation, aggression, and allocation of blame to railroad the conversation. They don't share information, but they say that they already have. It's hard to be convinced under those circumstances that they really do regret the cuts, but they certainly feel defensive about them.

I'll leave you to guess with which type I was dealing on Monday morning. Looking at the positives, we did, in the end, come away with some information, and better yet, I came away with the good feeling that I'm not the only parent who cares, and that we parents will be working together to see what we can do with the information that we do have, and to obtain more information when possible. Our strength is great because our cause is just, right?

Because yesterday was one of those days (that's how it started, and it didn't get much better), this morning I took myself off for a long hike with Tilly. We spent nearly an hour on the trail, and I came home feeling much refreshed, and grateful for the chance to be outside, grateful for the lovely cool weather (60 degrees and a marine layer), grateful for the crew of volunteers who have been working faithfully to restore the native plants to the open space where I hike, grateful for the blooming sage that makes my dog smell wonderful for days after a hike, grateful to my dog for her cheerful willingness to walk up hill and down, thinking not about tomorrow or yesterday, but about the now. She's a good nudge toward mindfulness.

And once I was home, I found that Henley Redux, which I finished last night and blocked, was almost dry, and ready to have its buttons sewn on. I also discovered that it's almost exactly the color of my beloved jacarandas which are, even now, busily (as Rick puts it) jacarandizing.
Our jacaranda is always a bit late to the party; by next week at this time, it will be a mass of purple blossoms. For now, it's just hinting at the beauty to come, while all around our neighborhood, trees are entering their blooming phase.

And the sweater? Here it is (a bit washed out in this light, but trust me, the purple is very much like those blooms above).
I'll get better pictures, including some modelling shots, but for now, it really goes with all of the springtime purple blooms, not just the jacaranda.
The sweater turned out beautifully (if I do say so myself); I'm happy with the seams, and I think I did an even better job on the button-band than I did with the first henley (which is also blocking right now, so it'll be pretty and clean for me to take with me to the Great Lakes Fiber Show this weekend -- more on that next time).
And it fits very nicely. I was worried it was going to be too tight, but if anything, I think I blocked it width-wise a bit more aggressively than it might have needed (I'll remember that next time). And it's a good thing that I finished it when I did, because I took a nasty spill on my hike this morning, and landed hard on the ball of the palm of my hand (I'll spare you the pictures); I'm not sure how knitting is going to feel - typing isn't all that pleasant, actually.

So, to recap, this is the Henley with a Twist, from Knitspot, knit in Knitting Notions Merino Bamboo, colorway Dusk. This time I knitted the size small (last time, it was the medium), and used size three and four needles. I also fiddled a bit with the pattern to knit it in the round, since I knew I wasn't going to have the time or inclination to deal with much in the way of seaming at the end. It worked out really well. I'm actually wearing it now -- I put it on as soon as it dried, and I don't think I'll be taking it off any time soon. Here's a quick preview:
Maybe Anne will get some good shots of it this weekend when I see her, on her home turf this time, because as of Friday morning, I'm off to Ohio! See you on the flip side.

*TANSTAAFL: There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch

Seriously?

How is it Tuesday already? Tuesday of this week, I mean; it would make sense if it were Tuesday of last week.

Admittedly, it's been a crazy week. Last week started with the orchestra festival I wrote about, then Older Daughter had hours of dress rehearsals on Monday afternoon and Tuesday evening, then on Wednesday, she had an orchestra performance, followed immediately by Younger Daughter's Spring Concert (we had 30 minutes to get from one to the other), in which Older Daughter had a part to play as well as an alumna of the school. Then on Friday, Older Daughter had another concert. Saturday, Younger Daughter danced at a local elementary school for their cultural festival, and Older Daughter had soccer.

Oy.

And then, after watching Older Daughter's orchestra (and the choir, directed by the same amazing woman) take a prize in the festival, and after listening to both groups perform on Friday night, and perform really, really well (let's be honest here, a beginning string orchestra can sound like they're torturing small furry woodland creatures, but these guys have worked hard, and they were playing some fabulous music and playing it well, and the choir sang the most astonishing range of chorales, in Latin, even, plus Leonard Cohen), and after hearing the announcements of where some of the participating seniors are going to college next year (including Carnegie Mellon), the school announced that they're cancelling the middle school choir program, and shutting down orchestra altogether.

So the fight is on.

I really don't have the energy for this right now, but I also am not going to let this one go without trying my damnedest to change this decision. We'll see what happens in the next week or so, and whether all of the parents and students can rally enough support to convince the superintendent to basically give the director the one extra class she needs during the day in order to be able to afford to run the after school program more or less for free. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, but I'm also feeling very overwhelmed.

Meanwhile, I did have one lovely and relaxing day last week, when I met up with Anne and Kim and Beckie in La Jolla.
We had lunch at the wonderful Brockton Villa, looking out over the La Jolla Cove, where the seals lie in the sun (that's what those fuzzy brown slugs on the rocks are).
Then we went shopping at our favorite little jewelry store. The best part, though, was being with good friends, and laughing, and visiting, and watching the reactions of other tourists to Anne's impromptu sock modelling shoot, using the ever-willing Kim and her gorgeous legs (Beckie's gorgeous legs had been on display the day before; I missed it, but you can visit Anne's blog and see just how much fun that was, too).

Here's Kim, preparing herself for her modelling stint:
The shoot:
You can only imagine the looks we were getting. Beckie and I spent some of the time looking in the tidepools, where we found all kinds of goodies, including anemones, my favorite. No pictures, though; I'm always too busy looking to think of it. It was hard to leave at the end of the day, but I was consoled by the fact that I'll be seeing Anne and Beckie (and my lovely SIL!) at the Great Lakes Fiber Festival in less than two weeks.

In the meantime, I am knitting, I promise! I got about four inches into the first of a new pair of socks Rick while sitting through Younger Daughter's spring concert before discovering that they were too big (how does one make socks too big for a man with size 13 feet? I ask you), and having to rip back again. I think I've got them right now, and I worked on them again during Saturday's soccer game. I'm using Sanguine Gryphon Bugga in the most gorgeous shade of dark blue, and can I just tell you that this yarn seems to be all it's cracked up to be? I'm loving it. I'm also finished with the body of the Henley Redux, and am now working my way up the first sleeve. Once the sleeves are done, I just need to sew them in and put on the collar and button band and away I go. I have high hopes.

In the meantime, I'll just keep on trucking...

The countdown starts

It's finals week. All of my finals are papers this semester; I have one pile in my hands, and two more coming in tomorrow by the end of the day. Three piles to grade, plus grade calculations to do. (We shall not speak of the letters of recommendations that must be written, not to mention the 36 panels and 58 abstracts that I need to have read and ranked by next week when grades also happen to be due. That would be overkill, and perhaps depressing.)

So I don't have much interesting to report. I will say that the first papers I have read from my field methods class are looking very good. Their final assignment was to put together a small grammatical sketch of Bengali based on the data gathered in class, plus a mini-dictionary, and some of them have done a very nice job of it, if I do say so myself. It's exciting, and I'll be sure to show a few to my friend (the language consultant) when I see her tomorrow. On the knitting side of that experience, I gave my friend (the language consultant) Damson last week at a meeting; in a nice display of synchronicity, she was wearing a lovely deep fuchia shirt which perfectly complemented the deep fuchias of the shawl. She put Damson right on, and it looked like we'd planned it. She also said that it solved a problem that she hadn't quite articulated to herself, which is the problem of the cold spot on the back of one's neck, particularly in over-air-conditioned rooms. I informed her that a knit night friend of mine calls that her "hump", which is exactly what it is: the hump at the base of one's neck that gets cold. Little shawlets are perfect for hump-warming.

And there's a sentence I bet you never thought you'd read. Behold the creative function of human language!

Because of the many end-of-year meetings which I have been attending of late (five hours on Friday, when I was on furlough, another nearly five hours today, nearly three more tomorrow), plus grading, I have very little to share (hence the dearth of blogging), although I have been knitting, and Henley Redux progresses apace. So, in no particular order, some thoughts:

Saturday was busy. Older Daughter and I got up very early to be at her school by 7:00 in the morning so we could go to an adjudicated music festival in which her string orchestra was performing. It was an unexpectedly pleasant 4+ hours, her orchestra got reasonable rankings from the adjudicators, plus useful comments, and I got lots of knitting done on Henley Redux.

We went to our first professional soccer game ever on Saturday night, in LA. Rick drove, I knit (very nice). Chivas lost, alas.

Sunday was a lovely day. I'd dithered and dithered about what I wanted to do; I even dithered out loud to Older Daughter for some time, then asked her what she thought, whereupon she said, "I think that your brain must be an interesting place to be." I desisted with regard to the dithering.

But on Sunday morning, I got to drink coffee in a mug. While sitting in a chair. Rather than drinking it in my to-go mug while sitting in the car. It was delightful.

The girls did the laundry. Which was very nice.

But which meant that the happy spring green socks became felted.

Alas.

I got two new knitting books: Anna Zilboorg's Magnificent Mittens and Socks, and Alice Starmore's Fair Isle Knitting. Happy day.

I will leave you with two jokes that the girls shared with me. The first one is from Younger Daughter, who got it from someone at school. It goes like this:
Two muffins are sitting in an oven. The first muffin turns to the second muffin and says, "Boy, it's hot in here." The second muffin says, "Look! A talking muffin!"

I don't know why, but that one just tickles me.

The second one comes from Older Daughter, who made it up herself:
Q: What does a musical chicken say?
A: Bach.

And with that, I will leave you.