Knitters are everywhere

I don't know if you've ever had a Knitter Encounter in an unexpected place and time, but I had one yesterday and it reminded me that knitters really are everywhere; I find this comforting. If only we ruled the world...

Yesterday we drove up to Irvine to the Bowers Museum for the last weekend of their Silk Road exhibit. I have been absolutely dying to see this exhibit since I heard it was coming, both because it looked interesting in its own right, and because I had read a lot about the mummies of Urumchi because one of the researchers who has been studying the textiles found with the mummies is none other than my college professor Elizabeth Barber -- the one whose teaching and research inspired me to become a linguist. I think I've mentioned before that learning to knit, and especially learning to spin, have felt a bit like coming home to something I've been working my way towards for a long time, and I think that's in no small part because of Betchen and my admiration for her work. (I also think I've said this before, but if you haven't read Women's Work: The First 20,000 Years, you most definitely should. I am currently reading her book on prehistoric textiles, too; very dense, and very interesting.)

So, there we were, wandering through the museum. And there I was, getting my face much closer to the textiles than most people, in absolute awe of the fineness and evenness of the yarns used to weave them (will I ever spin that well? probably not... and can I just tell you how much I want a loom? I want to know how they do that!). I stopped in front of an lovely face covering, woven in blue and gold silk, and I said to Younger Daughter, "Wouldn't that make a gorgeous pair of socks?", and a woman standing near us turned to me and said, "Knitting on the brain?" To which I could only reply, "You, too?" I had to laugh. It's good to know a) that I'm not the only one whose knitting practice is inspired by other things, and b) that there are people out there who immediately understand the implications of seeing a textile and wanting to make socks. I wonder if she lay awake last night, too, designing socks based on thousand-year-old textiles? I have plans...

I've been working on a number of textile projects while watching the Tour (and isn't Andy Schleck a doll? Next year, Andy, next year...); I'll share those next time. But I also spent Saturday rewaxing our dining room table, which put a bit of a crimp in the spinning plans for the weekend, as it took a lot longer than I'd thought it would, and didn't turn out as well as it usually does. The table is unfinished (by design), and needs to be waxed from time to time. Generally, this isn't a huge job, especially if one does it on a regular basis. Last time, though, we decided that we really didn't like the toluene that's used in standard waxes, and Rick went on the hunt for something with a slightly less scary solvent. He did finally find something, but by the time he'd found and ordered it, Older Daughter had managed to spill calligraphy ink on the table (don't ask), and the rewaxing job became a get-the-ink-out and rewax job. Long story short, I hauled the table outside and started work.
You can see how uneven the finish is there. The goal was to sand out the ink, then to do a quick run over the table with some fine-grit sandpaper, and then to apply the wax. It was the ink sanding that did us in; Rick recommended 60-grit, and while that took out the ink, it turned out to be a mistake.
60-grit digs deep. From that decision came hours and hours of sanding to try to even things out. The orbital sander doesn't really work, as years of waxing has soaked wax down deep into the wood grain, and the sandpaper clogs up quickly. So I did almost all of it by hand. It looked good before I put on the wax coats (five or so hours of sanding later):
See how much more even and lovely that is? Well, what you're not seeing is the scratching from the 60-grit, which didn't show (after all that work) until I put the wax on. It shows now, drat it. Five coats of wax later, the wood stopped drinking, but I'm going to have to take it all the way back down to bare wood next time with a belt sander (and a LOT of sandpaper) to get the scratches out. Sigh. I stopped before the final buffing of the last coat of wax, both because my hands were a mess (the sandpaper has taken layers of skin off, and they're bruised and swollen, alas), and because the sun had gone, and the sun is what keeps the wax just soft enough to work the extra back off the table. Rick, bless him, did that last bit yesterday. It looks happier, but I'm sad about the scratches.
I probably wouldn't be so sad if I didn't love this table so much. It was an anniversary present from my parents when we'd been married a year and were about to host our first big Thanksgiving dinner (turned out even this table was too small -- we had 20 people at that dinner!). It was custom-made to fit our dining room at the time, and to fit Rick; the legs are an inch longer than standard, and the skirt is cut up an inch, too. It's also wider than a standard table, which means I can, in a pinch, seat two at each end, and also that there's plenty of room for serving dishes down the middle, even when it's fully set. (All of this means that I have to work very hard to sand that puppy, since I don't have much leverage at my height.)
Isn't it pretty? The scratches are a bummer, but the good thing about an unfinished piece of wood is that I can take it back down to the bare wood next time and get rid of them.
And, as an added benefit, I found out this morning that the muscles one uses for sanding and polishing and waxing are also the muscles one needs for a fast breast stroke. Wax on, wax off. Wax on, wax off...

We're baaaackkk!!

Home at last, and home for quite a while, yay! Only two short weekend trips, in-state, before the summer is over, and lots of weeks between now and then (three, but don't burst my bubble). Although I should be honest and mention that when I say "we" are home, I mean "me and Rick"; the girls are still in Maryland with their grandparents.

Rick commented this morning that he doesn't think their rooms have ever stayed clean for this long. But it is really quiet around here. Just sayin'.

Washington, D.C. is such a fun city to spend time in. I only wish that it hadn't been 106 degrees on our first day there (not to mention 102 on our first night). We spent more time indoors than I generally like on a vacation, and the girls were heard to remark on a number of occasions (in tones of horror) that they were sweating. We pointed out that they actually sweat here, too, it just usually evaporates a little more quickly. Perhaps this picture of us waiting in line outside the Archives can convey how they felt about an east coast scorcher.
Snicker.

I suggested that they wouldn't know hot until they'd tried to sleep through a night like those in a third-story bedroom under the eaves of an old house with no air conditioning, with only one window per room (cross-breeze? we don't need no stinking cross-breeze). (Why yes, I have done that, why do you ask?) They were not amused.

We all really did have a wonderful time, though, and I'll share pictures of some of the many things we did (by my count: sculpture garden (ten minutes -- it was hot), American Indian Museum, Air and Space Museum, Textile Museum, National Archives, Spy Museum, Capitol, Library of Congress (fifteen minutes before we were driven out by a fire drill), Old Post Office, Eastern Market, Smithsonian, National Mall). In four days.

Rick and I have actually been home for a few days, but I'm in recovery. This means that I've done some knitting, and I've done some spinning. The spinning has, in my opinion, been rather more successful than the knitting, about which I need some opinions. I knitted a beaded tam for Younger Daughter, which looks absolutely lovely, but which is as limp as a wilted cabbage.
I'm going to try reblocking it on a smaller plate, with the brim pulled in tighter, but I think that this may be a bad yarn match. This is knitted out of a merino singles which was stretched during the spinning, making it silky and beautiful, but leaving it with no spring. I didn't really think about it, having never knitted with this particular yarn before, but I'm starting to wonder whether this is something that isn't going to work for a hat, and if so, whether to attempt to save it with some elastic in the brim (my best thought) or to frog it and try something else (if the singles would survive the frogging). Thoughts?

The other project I need an opinion on is the lovely bamboo lace I finished just before I left. This is Anne's pattern Les Abeilles, with some modifications at the end because I'd run out of yarn. It's the modifications that I'm not sure about. I haven't woven the ends in yet, so this could easily be frogged, and I could figure out something else to do with the yarn (or I could just throw it in the stash for a time-out). Basically, I had to bind off along the top, rather than decreasing away all the stitches. This has left it with a rather odd shape, and I can't tell whether I really like it, or really don't. This matters a bit more than usual, since I was thinking that I would give this to a friend of mine who is due at the end of the summer (people always give hand-knits to new babies; I figure mothers should get hand-knits, too, right?).
It does not in any way close. One could not tie it shut, or use a pin on it. But it does stay put, and it makes a rather nice shoulder cover, I think. I'm torn.
I would like to make it very clear that this is not a pattern issue; you should see Anne's photos of her finished shawlet. This is a problem of my own making, as I thought I'd have more yarn left after finishing my socks, but I didn't.
See? It does a reasonable job of covering the back of one's neck and shoulders. But I wouldn't want to saddle someone with something dorky.

So, opinions? Is this little thing due a visit to the frog pond? Or is it an interesting design choice? You decide...

Finishing before starting

I'm leaving tomorrow for a week, so I thought I'd better do a quick wrap-up of the rest of my adventures at the Great Lakes Fiber Festival. Due to the return of the June gloom (which is now lasting into July), I still have no pictures of my yarn acquisitions (nor, come to think of it, of my fiber acquisitions, which were few but lovely), but I do have a picture of something that I managed to not acquire, in spite of the best efforts of their owner:
Aren't they lovely? There were a number of alpacas at the festival, all of them just gorgeous, with their huge friendly eyes and their soft soft fiber. (Did you know that they really do hum to one another?) The gentleman who owned these two was very friendly, and had his sales pitch down flat. He talked about the fact that they're cheaper to feed than dogs (and got dog food prices from my SIL to prove it), the fact that they'll keep a lawn trimmed and leave deposits of fertilizer to boot (a very classy way to put it, if you ask me), and the fact that since they have padded feet (like a dog's), they won't ruin a hardwood floor (this rather begs the question, no?).

It was tempting. I can imagine the girls walking their alpaca through the neighborhood, just like this:
But I refrained. I also refrained from coming home with an angora rabbit, knowing that taking care of these beauties is a not-insignificant task.
They surely are soft, though!

I did, however, jump one really important and, for me, somewhat frightening hurdle. I did my first-ever interview for the knitting project. Chris (wonderful, kind, and patient Chris) volunteered to be my guinea pig. While I know intellectually that a) she is wonderful and my friend and is unlikely to laugh at me, and b) knitters in general are wonderful, and c) that I've survived far worse than conducting a formal interview, it is still always hard to do something for the first time, and there is a weirdness to sitting down with a friend and turning on a digital recorder. When I finally admitted to Chris how nervous I was, she confided that she was, too, and we agreed that we could bravely try out this new thing together. And it was fine! I don't know if she had as much fun as I did, but it was a wonderful way to start the next stage of the process, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate her patience with my missteps (like forgetting that I'd need to plug my recorder in OR have batteries; I did have some stashed in the car so it wasn't irretrievable, but still -- learning experience), as well as her amazing generosity and trust in sharing her time and story with me. Thank you, Chris!!

So in the end, that trip felt like a real success on lots of levels. Time with my SIL, rare and wonderful, seeing old friends and new, conducting my first interview and buying a first fleece, and learning long-draw (which I'm working on!). Very nice.

Tomorrow, we're off to Washington, D.C. for a little while. We'll have four days there before taking the girls to my in-laws, where they'll stay to visit for another week while we come home. We get to see my brother and his husband, which is wonderful; I haven't gotten to visit them at their home yet, and I'm really looking forward to it. My brother has also arranged for us to tour the White House, which we are all tremendously excited about (the girls keep saying things like, wouldn't it be amazing if we saw the President? I'm trying to talk them down so they're not too disappointed when they don't get to hang out with the Obama girls). This is our family vacation for the summer, and we're going to make the most of it.

I've also packed my knitting. I finished the bamboo socks, as well as the shawlet. I turned out not to have enough yarn to really complete the pattern (sigh), and there's no more to be had at my LYS (double sigh), so I sort of winged something, and I'll need to block it to see if it actually worked. I'll let you know once that's done. If not, I'll frog it and try something else. But the socks fit beautifully! Too bad it's 100 degrees in D.C. where I will not be wearing socks. So with those off the needles, I have packed yarn to knit a pair of socks for Younger Daughter (inspired by Lori, I think I'm going to try these babies), as well as what I need to knit two more of the beaded tams that I love (one for each daughter). All of those are pretty good travel projects (barring the beading part of the tams, but that is only over nine rows, which go pretty quickly). I'll also tuck Bex in for the ride; they're much more complicated than those other projects (an understatement), but good for knitting while listening to an audiobook on the plane.

I may be able to post when I'm there, but the camera kit hasn't arrived for the iPad yet, which means no pictures (and I had such high hopes), unless I can think of a way to get them from my phone to Rick's, whence he can email them to me. I haven't yet figured out how to get a picture from email to save on the iPad, though, so that may be a moot idea. We'll see.

Meanwhile, perhaps I need to research the location of yarn stores near Dupont Circle and the Mall, eh? Any suggestions?

Big yellow orb

The oddest thing happened today. The marine layer burned back, and lo and behold, there in the sky was a giant blazing orb. I was so busy trying to figure out what all those shadows were out in the yard that it took me a few minutes to realize the ramifications of orb appearance, but I got there. Yarn photos!

First, the socks I've been working on.
I've finished the first one, and promptly cast on for the second (this is my hard and fast rule for avoiding second sock syndrome). I haven't gotten too far with the second, due to a distraction of which I will soon apprise you, but I will.
I absolutely adore the fabric of these socks. The hand is drapey and heavy, in the most wonderful way. I made them on the tighter side so they wouldn't sag.
They're knitted out of South West Trading Company Bamboo yarn, using size 2.5 needles. The pattern is Lacy Cable Socks, from Veronik Avery's book Knitting 24/7, which I really quite love. I am not finding this pattern as memorizable as I might (this is not surprising, given my issues with chart memorization), but I quite like the results; I should mention that I modified the pattern (of course) to be smaller, using only three repeats instead of four.

I bought two balls of yarn to knit these socks, knowing in my heart that 250 yards of yarn really was enough for a pair of socks for my (smallish) feet, but worried nevertheless that I'd run out. When I finished the first sock, I weighed it and weighed the yarn that was left in the ball, and saw that I would, indeed, have enough (plus a titch more). So I wondered what I might do with that second ball of yarn (note that returning it to the store didn't even really cross my mind; am I the only one with this problem?). I was wondering along when Anne told me she'd just finished this beauty. (Remember how I said that she is a font of temptation? See why I said that?) The petite size takes 275 yards, each ball of this yarn is 250, and I should have some leftover from that second sock, so, throwing caution to the wind, I cast on.
I'm almost done with the lace part at the bottom. I'm hoping I'll have enough yarn; I'm pretty sure I will, but it'll be a photo finish for sure.
That middle bit just charms me to pieces (as such things often do). The best bit is that once I get done with the lace (tonight), it's on to the garter stitch section, just in time for tomorrow's long fieldwork day up in Tehachapi; with luck, I'll know before I drive home whether I've got enough yarn or not. Keep your fingers crossed for me, OK?

I forgot to mention...

It's a grey day, mid-sixties, and I haven't seen the sun yet (and this is why they talk about "June gloom" in San Diego). I'm actually fine with that, I like this kind of weather (although I admit to liking it just a titch better in the actual winter), but it's not so good for taking a reasonable picture of my latest sock (finished last night, just need to kitchener the toe shut and cast on for the second one). I was lamenting that fact when it occurred to me that I never got to write about my adventures in Ohio -- I got so distracted by what came after that I completely forgot. And they were good adventures! There is so much to cover that I won't get through all of it today, but I'll make a start.

It feels like a really long time ago now, but it was only just Memorial Day weekend (which, come to think of it, is a month ago, isn't it?). I flew out to Columbus on Friday, where my lovely SIL was waiting to pick me up (it was actually a little bit of a miracle that she was there to pick me up on time; did you know that Columbus has two, count 'em, two international airports? ask my SIL how she now knows...) and whisk me away to Wooster. Wooster, home of the Great Lakes Fiber Festival, which was our destination.

On Saturday morning, we got ourselves moving bright and early, since we were both taking classes. I was taking a spinning class on woolen and worsted spinning, for which Anne kindly agreed to loan me her lovely Joy (since I didn't want to try to pack a wheel on the plane, this actually was the thing that made it possible for me to take that class -- thanks, Anne!). We drove into the fairgrounds, searching for a parking space, and grabbed the last open one we saw, only to realized we'd parked right next to Anne, who was standing and looking at all of the knitting and spinning gear her car had disgorged, apparently wondering where to find extra hands for the incipient schlepping. Luckily for her, that's just what we had. So off we schlepped to our classroom space, where Anne settled in to knit, until someone came and told her that her class was in the other building.

I had really been looking forward to my class. I've been trying and trying to figure out how to spin woollen. In essence, spinning is characterized along a continuum between worsted and woollen, where worsted spinning is done using fibers which have been carefully aligned with one another, spun with no twist in the drafting zone (this results in a dense, smooth yarn with very little air), and woollen is done using fibers which are not aligned, spun in a way that allows twist to enter the drafting zone (this results in a fuzzy, light, and airy yarn). (Fellow spinners, does that sound about right?) For whatever reason, I naturally fall into spinning in a worsted style -- I have this Grand Theory that this has to do with having learned how to spin on a drop spindle (which has to be done worsted), as opposed to a supported spindle (which lends itself to woollen spinning), but I'm guessing that now that I've put that out there, seven people will promptly tell me that they spin woollen on a wheel, but learned to spin on a drop spindle. Alas for Grand Theories.

In any case, I've been struggling and struggling with spinning woollen -- I just canNOT, for the life of me, convince myself to let twist in the drafting zone, and as soon as I do, I lock up all my fibers and end up with a giant wadded mess. Not fun. The class started out with worsted spinning and I bided my time, hoping that we'd actually get to the woollen stuff before our three hours were up (and knowing, as a teacher, just how badly timing can work out sometimes). We got there towards the end of class, and I was absolutely sure that I wasn't going to get it in the short time remaining. I listened, and the teacher said pretty much what I've heard and read before, but I wasn't going to waste my chance to figure this out, so off I went. I made mess after mess after mess, until the teacher finally said something about pinching off the fiber while building up some twist, then letting go and allowing the twist to run into the fiber, then pinching again while drafting the fiber with the twist inserted. I don't think I'm saying it right, but somehow that thought clicked with everything I'd learned in my takhli class (where I finally ended up spinning cotton with a long draw), and bam! I was spinning woollen. It was so. much. fun. Seriously. I'm not great at it yet, not by a long shot, and my woollen-spun yarn isn't nearly so even as my worsted spun stuff, but it's fun! I've been practicing when I can since I got home, and it's looking a bit better each time.
Thick and thin, yes, and I'm still definitely not distributing my twist very well, but it's yarn, and it's spun woollen using a long draw. Yay!

Then class was over and my SIL and I went off with Anne to have lunch.
Then Anne and Geri headed back to class (it was an all-day class), and I went off to see the show. OK, I'll be honest, I homed straight in on two of my favorite people in the world: Chris and Christy, in the Briar Rose booth. It was SO good to see them.
I have to admit that I kind of thought about tucking my Briar Rose t-shirt into my luggage so I could sneak into the booth and work with them again. I have such good memories of doing exactly that at Sock Summit! But I didn't, I was good. I did buy some yarn, though, and when we all went out to dinner that night, Chris shared some of her new cashmere with all of us, which is unreal in its softness (and of course, I don't have a picture, and I can't find a link -- maybe Chris will see this and let me know if there's any more coming?); I keep petting it, but it may have to turn into mitts for Rick, who deserves something for hanging out at home with the girls while I do fun stuff like this. (Note to self: as soon as the sun comes back, take pictures of new yarn.)

Once Anne's class was over, we all wandered around the marketplaces for a while. Anne had already bought fleeces for her spinning class (they came on Sunday but wanted to be sure not to miss out on the best fleeces -- don't they look like they have the most fun ever? They do.):
I had decided, however, that I was not, I repeat not, going to buy a fleece. Even though I'd kind of thought that I might -- first fiber festival and all, you know? But no, I decided that I would be mature and grown-up (and I also decided that if I tried to take a fleece onto a plane and put it into an overhead bin, someone would throw me, the fleece, and its smell off that plane instantaneously; better part of valor and all).

I held firm. I really did. Right up until I was staring at the most astonishingly beautiful Coopworth fleece ever (I'm not the only one who thought so, either -- it was sitting right there with the Best in Show plaque). Even then I held firm, until Anne came up and sat on my shoulder and said, "I'll split it with you." Man, does that woman know how to dangle temptation.

And even then I was a grown-up, and I said things about "sleeping on it" and "deciding in the morning" and "don't want to make you buy half a fleece you didn't want to start with". And we walked away. We'd made it about twenty feet when we turned back and saw another woman, bending over OUR fleece, throwing her hands up in delight. I swear we teleported, we got back there so quickly. It turns out that she was the woman who had raised (grown?) that fleece, and was deservedly celebrating her win. The game was up, though. (Geri was politely smothering her laughter; I guess she might know me better than I wish she did.) Five minutes later, we'd written a check, and the fleece was ours. We were pretty excited (and maybe a little giddy and sheepish)(pardon the pun).
Can you blame us, though? This fleece is seven pounds of gorgeousness.
Look at those colors! We left it with its erstwhile owner, who processes fleece; as Anne said, who better to trust with it? We'll each get half of it back (probably about 2.5 pounds each by the time it's been finished) sometime towards the end of the summer. Plenty of time for me to work on that woollen spinning technique, right? I figure this is going to be a sweater, just for me. Or else I'll just pet it. Because I've got to say, this fleece makes me pretty happy all the way around.
Is that so wrong?

Finished Objects!

I really have been knitting through it all, and today I finally have a few FOs to show for it. Of course, I appear to keep casting on just as soon as I cast off, but that's the nature of the beast, right? So, some flower pictures, an update on this weekend's feis, and knitting are all on the agenda.

I thought I'd share a couple of pictures of what I see when I sit in my knitting chair on the back patio. The jacaranda is starting to lose its flowers, so it's all purple snow out there.
But there are still plenty on the tree.
I can also see all the greenery from the shady corner of the house.
And here's the chair itself, tucked away in another shady corner (less shady since the wisteria was hacked back this year, but it's working hard to grow more shade quickly).
That's my favorite place to sit outside and knit, and that's where I got most of the last-minute knitting done on this, in time to wear it out to dinner for Rick's birthday on Friday night.
That's a pretty accurate representation of the color, actually. This is Lacey, from a Louet pattern booklet, knit up in Louet Euroflax sportweight. I used size seven needles, and three skeins of yarn.
I have to admit that I really don't enjoy knitting with this yarn at all (hence the speed-knitting; this is all about product rather than process), but I love the results. I washed and dried it twice (gentle wash cycle, low heat dry), and it's now draping beautifully, completely unlike its original stiff self (like knitting with kitchen twine, really). I'll probably wash it another time just on general principles. Softened like this, the hand that linen develops with wear really shines through.
And I adore the color; next to purples, it looks purpley (for example, it really works over the henley redux, if you can believe), but near blues and denims, it appears more blue. Between the color (do I love denim, or do I love denim?), and the washable nature of linen (no blocking needed), it will be a workhorse of a piece. I can tell I'll be using it a LOT over the summer.

The other project I finished was smaller and easy. I knitted myself a pair of the Turkish Bed Socks that I made for Older Daughter, out of the same yarn. My pictures of the socks on my feet are glitchy for some reason, but they're perfect in clogs, which is exactly why I knitted a pair for myself. I have a lot of skein ends from socks I've knitted for myself (I have small feet) that would be just enough yarn for more of these.
(Excuse the clogs; those are my oldest and most beat-up pair, but you can't beat Danskos -- I've been wearing these constantly for more than nine years now.) These went quickly once I buckled down and worked on them. They're knitted out of Sockotta (Plymouth), on size two dpns. The construction on these is fun, and keeps them from being boring, without being weird and overthought.

Last but not least, Younger Daughter had a very good day at Sunday's feis.
She's been practicing madly for months now (since our last abortive attempt to go to a feis, which ended when she got the stomach flu in the middle of the night before), and it really paid off.
She clanked when she walked. Heh.

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.