It was to cry.
I had to go back to the doctor's yesterday for the physical that went with my bloodwork. I brought along Simurgh, which is totally addictive. I was feeling good about the doctor's appointment, because I knew I'd have to wait for ages (it was a doctor's appointment after all), and I was on the last repeat of the small feather pattern. I guessed I'd be able to get that done, and maybe even start on the quill motif before I was through. I was in it for the long haul.
I settled into the waiting room, feeling like a veritable ambassadress of Knitdom; people looked at me, but I didn't care. I was knitting, and knitting made me happy. How many other people were happy because they had to wait? I was called back to the window for my copay a few minutes later, and, feeling quite smart, carefully set everything down mid-row, checking to be sure the needles wouldn't fall out. I paid, I sat back down. I was on top of the world.
Pride goeth before a fall.
Another few minutes later, an older man came out of the offices, pushing a woman in a wheelchair. He moved a chair out of his way, and I realized that he had no one to help him. As he headed for the door, nobody got up to help him open it. No one. Not even the able-bodied, empty-handed teenager sitting with his mother right next to the door. She didn't say anything, either. They just sat and watched the man heading for the door. So I hopped up, set down my knitting quickly, and ran for the door. I had it open and was outside before I realized that I had caught my yarn on my leg and was dragging it with me. Before you ask, yes, I looked like an idiot. I unhooked my leg, and the woman who was right next to the door finally got up and retrieved my yarn, taking it back to my seat for me while I held the door.
I went back to my seat, thinking that I'd done nothing worse than to look stupid (not a new thing for me, I should mention), and prepared to perhaps be recalled from my ambassadorial duties as an embarrassment to the knitting world. That's when I saw my knitting. I hadn't just pulled yarn with me, I'd ripped stitched off the needles and then pulled the yarn. This is lace, people, and it had been ripped out. Not frogged (so much more gentle), not tinked. Flat out ripped. Second aphorism of the day: No good deed goes unpunished.
I picked up the stitches quickly, and I have to say, it looked horrible. I just about cried, but managed to hold it together. I sat there staring at it, trying to figure out exactly where the bad bits were and how I could fix them. And they called me back for my appointment. So, back it went into the bag, carefully, to ensure that I wouldn't lose more than I already had. I figured I'd have plenty of time, clad in paper in a cold office waiting for the doctor, to fix it. I changed, I had my blood pressure taken (a little higher than usual, I wonder why?), I settled down and hauled out my knitting, and who should walk in but the doctor.
It was a Twilight Zone moment. I mean, I thought it was accepted medical practice to make patients wait in their little paper gowns, in order to soften them up so they won't ask questions and take up valuable time. I actually told my doctor what had happened; it was killing me to keep the whole thing inside (I was already planning to come straight home and tell you all about it). To be honest, I love my doctor (she really does try to keep the waiting down and she always answer questions; I should have known that on the day that I most needed and wanted to wait, there would be no wait). In fact, she told me about a time that she was coming out of her doctor's office, with her then-new baby in a car seat on one arm, and the other arm full of things. She was (literally) standing on one foot trying to open the office door with her other foot, when a man sitting right there said, "These young mothers today -- they can do anything!" She said she would've hit him if her arms hadn't been full. I said it would have been worth putting the baby down to do it.
I made it through the appointment, and got the kids and came home, but the whole time I had that sick feeling in my stomach that I was going to have to rip back to some part where everything was OK, and I really don't like ripping lace, and I had so hoped to finish Simurgh this weekend (hence pride = fall).
Well, I sat down in very good light, told the girls that they needed to leave Mama alone for just a small period of time, and analyzed what was left. Turns out that, with some very careful reconstruction of the yarn-overs, and by paying strict attention to where the double decreases were to keep everything in line, it was possible to put it back together without ripping back any more -- it was my own little miracle. And I needed to share it with all of you. Badly. So I opened up the computer and tried to log on to write, and found out that my computer just couldn't find the internet. It tried for all it was worth, but no go. And I found myself contemplating a philosophical question for the ages: If something happens to a knitter and she can't blog about it, did it really happen? Because it sort of felt unfinished until I'd actually heard what you all think.
Well, not having to rip back put me back on schedule (but in a humbler, no-pride-here-oh-no sort of way). I forgot to mention that it poured and poured yesterday, and that Rick has been out of town, so when the girls and I got back from piano lessons and dinner at Souplantation, we lit a fire, and settled down for some serious crafty goodness. I knitted like a mad thing and made it halfway through the edging before the fire burned out and my back hurt too much to keep knitting.
This morning was very productive. I can now say (forgive me people, it has to be said), that the Raven has landed. It's drying on the blocking wires now, and as soon as it's dry (why oh why do the Santa Anas not blow when you want them?) I'll put pictures up so that you can be as thrilled as I am. All I have to say at this point is that Anne is an unmitigated designing genius. And that I love Simurgh. Truly, madly, deeply.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
You know you've been knitting too much when...
You dream that you're going camping with Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, and you spend half the trip getting to the campsite wondering if she's going to hate you because you might actually choose to go for a hike instead of knitting the whole time. What does this mean?
I'm done with the second set of large feathers on Simurgh, and have started the small feathers. These are going much faster for me (I think because the WS rows are all purl, except for the edge stitches; this means less thought per pair of rows). I am still loving this stole, which strikes me as a very good sign. If all continues to go as it has gone, I should be blocking this weekend (!!).
One thing about doing this test knitting is that it's given me a chance to do a lot of thinking about my personal knitting style and history. Looking back at what and how I was knitting last fall, I realize just how very far I have come. I could never have test knit something then. I didn't have any confidence in my ability to read my knitting, to know what is supposed to come next. So if I something looked off-kilter to me in a pattern, I would have assumed it was me, not the pattern, which doesn't make for good test knitting.
Now I feel like I have some kind of intuition about what's supposed to happen next in a pattern. The great joy of this is that, if something is wrong with the pattern, I am far less likely (although not entirely unlikely) to sit beating my head against the nearest wall trying to figure out what's wrong with me. This was a huge benefit this past summer when I was knitting the millicent socks for Tess and knew, just knew, that something was really wrong with the stitch counts. Turns out I had a beta version of the pattern, so it wasn't me at all, but there was a time, not so long ago, when it wouldn't have even occurred to me to write to the designer to ask about it.
But it's not just the joy of less headaches that makes this stage so much fun. It's also the fact that I'm starting to get what I think of as the jokes in the ways that particular designers handle design elements. The closest experience I have had to this is in music. I played piano for years and years (my first job was teaching piano). I was trained in classical piano and learned to read music starting at about four years old, so for quite a while I was a proficient sight-reader. One of the most fun experiences of sight reading music (aside from that amazing feeling of flow you get when your eyes are directly connected to your fingers, with no intervening brain) is when you're moving along, reading a few measures ahead, knowing what's "supposed" to come next because that's what music does, and the composer does something unexpected. And it's beautiful, and it's fun, and you know that it's there just for someone like you, who will understand that it's unexpected and that it's precisely that quality that makes it wonderful. I always thought of it as a composer's little joke with those in the know (Mozart is particularly good at it). And there was a thrill to being in the know, and being in that flow state and laughing as I played.
I don't think I'm really there yet with knitting, but I can see that it could be that way. You're moving through a pattern, and everything's going as you'd expect and then there's this sudden unexpected left turn, and you know enough to see how it's going to work, and that it's precisely the unexpectedness of it that makes it not only something that will work, but something that is just a bit glorious. Too cool.
I'm done with the second set of large feathers on Simurgh, and have started the small feathers. These are going much faster for me (I think because the WS rows are all purl, except for the edge stitches; this means less thought per pair of rows). I am still loving this stole, which strikes me as a very good sign. If all continues to go as it has gone, I should be blocking this weekend (!!).
One thing about doing this test knitting is that it's given me a chance to do a lot of thinking about my personal knitting style and history. Looking back at what and how I was knitting last fall, I realize just how very far I have come. I could never have test knit something then. I didn't have any confidence in my ability to read my knitting, to know what is supposed to come next. So if I something looked off-kilter to me in a pattern, I would have assumed it was me, not the pattern, which doesn't make for good test knitting.
Now I feel like I have some kind of intuition about what's supposed to happen next in a pattern. The great joy of this is that, if something is wrong with the pattern, I am far less likely (although not entirely unlikely) to sit beating my head against the nearest wall trying to figure out what's wrong with me. This was a huge benefit this past summer when I was knitting the millicent socks for Tess and knew, just knew, that something was really wrong with the stitch counts. Turns out I had a beta version of the pattern, so it wasn't me at all, but there was a time, not so long ago, when it wouldn't have even occurred to me to write to the designer to ask about it.
But it's not just the joy of less headaches that makes this stage so much fun. It's also the fact that I'm starting to get what I think of as the jokes in the ways that particular designers handle design elements. The closest experience I have had to this is in music. I played piano for years and years (my first job was teaching piano). I was trained in classical piano and learned to read music starting at about four years old, so for quite a while I was a proficient sight-reader. One of the most fun experiences of sight reading music (aside from that amazing feeling of flow you get when your eyes are directly connected to your fingers, with no intervening brain) is when you're moving along, reading a few measures ahead, knowing what's "supposed" to come next because that's what music does, and the composer does something unexpected. And it's beautiful, and it's fun, and you know that it's there just for someone like you, who will understand that it's unexpected and that it's precisely that quality that makes it wonderful. I always thought of it as a composer's little joke with those in the know (Mozart is particularly good at it). And there was a thrill to being in the know, and being in that flow state and laughing as I played.
I don't think I'm really there yet with knitting, but I can see that it could be that way. You're moving through a pattern, and everything's going as you'd expect and then there's this sudden unexpected left turn, and you know enough to see how it's going to work, and that it's precisely the unexpectedness of it that makes it not only something that will work, but something that is just a bit glorious. Too cool.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Halfway mark
First, thank you all so much for your kind comments about my husband's bike; he was really touched that The Knitting Bloggers cared. I think that, as devastated as he is by the loss of his bike, what made it all worse was the thought that someone could have really been hurt. He's so relieved that it didn't work out that way (and he's definitely buying a new rack!).
Aside from that ending, we really did have a lovely weekend. Friday was a very relaxing day for us; we puttered around the house, and I knitted and listened to knitting podcasts (this is a dangerous discovery, as it extends my knitting time almost infinitely). My favorite local yarn store was having a sale (20% off everything!), so I popped over there in the afternoon. I picked up a few things that I've had my eye on for a while, which strikes me as the perfect use for a sale (as opposed to being lured into buying things just because they're on sale). First, I got this:
which is much less orange and more goldy in the real world. It's already been designated for Anne's acorn socks (the little bitty acorn that goes into the heel flap on those socks just kills me every time I see it, and I lust to possess a pair of my own; you all know how I feel about California's live oaks, so these are the perfect socks; between these and my raven stole, I shall feel quite mythic)(or something).
I've also been wanting for some time to knit a lap blanket, probably a log cabin one (a la Kay and Ann), so I got some yarn for that, too. This really was the perfect use for a sale, since the yarn for a blanket is no small investment. I got some of the Lorna's Laces worsted weight, which I have been lusting after for exactly this purpose for some time. The only trouble was choosing the colors!
But I think that these will do nicely. I got two of the navy, since that'll also be the edging for the blanket. This will be a nice mindless break from complicated knitting, and, until it gets too big to lug around, perfect meeting knitting.
On Saturday, we spent the day in San Diego. First, though, there was a brief detour at Common Threads, since they carry a set of blocking wires (with yardstick and t-pins, no less!), which I know I'm going to want when Simurgh is done (Rick and the girls were very patient with this detour). We went to Hillcrest and pottered about until we'd found a place to eat lunch (this is something we rarely get to do, so it was part of The Plan For the Day). Then we headed to the San Diego Museum of Natural History in Balboa Park to see the Dead Sea scrolls exhibit, which I've been looking forward to since before it got here (I love the whole archaeological/historical part of the find).
I must say that I was tremendously disappointed with the way the museum handled the crowds. We knew we were going on a bad weekend, but it's been the only weekend we've had to go. We bought our tickets ahead of time, for a particular time slot, and then got there 15 minutes early. The security line (which was apparently a relatively new thing) took over half an hour. They were taking away people's pens. I'm not sure I entirely understand why, since everything was under glass, but there it was. In the long run, it's not so much that I object to the security (although I do feel quite a bit of frustration with the culture of fear, but that's for another post), as to the fact that they put up no warnings on their website about either the security line or the pen-confiscation, nor did anyone mention it to Rick when he called to buy the tickets. That strikes me as silly in the information age.
Once we got in, the crowds were insane, which made it hard to see the exhibit (especially since grown-ups who should have known better were leaning against display cases and wall posters, making it impossible to see). This was a pity, since the exhibit itself was very well put together, and did a great job of conveying what makes the Dead Sea scrolls such an amazing archaeological find. If the crowds had been half their size, or better managed, it would have been a wonderful exhibit. As it was, it was good (and it wasn't just this weekend; my friend who went months ago told me the crowds were bad then, too). I particularly loved the last part of the exhibit, which was about the art of printmaking, and which showed some illuminated manuscripts. At the end, they also showed three pages from a King James Bible which had been illuminated in the 1990s -- the first illuminated version in hundreds of years. It was truly a work of art, and (in keeping with this week's theme of continuity), I loved the idea of people sitting down to a task which printmakers did for centuries. Griping notwithstanding, I'm very glad we went.
The rest of the weekend was spent knitting. I am now over halfway through with Simurgh. I was very tempted to block the first half before picking up the stitches for the second half, but couldn't bear the idea of waiting for it to dry before knitting again, so I didn't. However, here it is laid out.
It's about 30 inches long, with no stretching at all, so I think it's going to be the right length once it's been blocked. The lace motifs are lovely. Here's the larger feather merging into the smaller feather motif.
And here's the quill section and the edging at the bottom:
This yarn has the most amazing sheen to it. It really does look exactly like a raven's feathers. I can't wait to be wearing it -- and it looks like it'll be done in time for Rick's company party (I hate company parties, and have no idea what to wear -- but this stole is something!), which is a good thing.
Tomorrow it's back to classes. I really should be reading right now, but am having trouble getting back into the swing of things. Wish me luck!
P.S. Kate: thanks so much for your wonderful comment from yesterday. I will definitely check out that cookbook -- I have a shelf of vegetarian cookbooks (they're some of my favorites) and that one sounds like something I'd love. Hope you're feeling better soon!
Aside from that ending, we really did have a lovely weekend. Friday was a very relaxing day for us; we puttered around the house, and I knitted and listened to knitting podcasts (this is a dangerous discovery, as it extends my knitting time almost infinitely). My favorite local yarn store was having a sale (20% off everything!), so I popped over there in the afternoon. I picked up a few things that I've had my eye on for a while, which strikes me as the perfect use for a sale (as opposed to being lured into buying things just because they're on sale). First, I got this:
which is much less orange and more goldy in the real world. It's already been designated for Anne's acorn socks (the little bitty acorn that goes into the heel flap on those socks just kills me every time I see it, and I lust to possess a pair of my own; you all know how I feel about California's live oaks, so these are the perfect socks; between these and my raven stole, I shall feel quite mythic)(or something).I've also been wanting for some time to knit a lap blanket, probably a log cabin one (a la Kay and Ann), so I got some yarn for that, too. This really was the perfect use for a sale, since the yarn for a blanket is no small investment. I got some of the Lorna's Laces worsted weight, which I have been lusting after for exactly this purpose for some time. The only trouble was choosing the colors!
But I think that these will do nicely. I got two of the navy, since that'll also be the edging for the blanket. This will be a nice mindless break from complicated knitting, and, until it gets too big to lug around, perfect meeting knitting.On Saturday, we spent the day in San Diego. First, though, there was a brief detour at Common Threads, since they carry a set of blocking wires (with yardstick and t-pins, no less!), which I know I'm going to want when Simurgh is done (Rick and the girls were very patient with this detour). We went to Hillcrest and pottered about until we'd found a place to eat lunch (this is something we rarely get to do, so it was part of The Plan For the Day). Then we headed to the San Diego Museum of Natural History in Balboa Park to see the Dead Sea scrolls exhibit, which I've been looking forward to since before it got here (I love the whole archaeological/historical part of the find).
I must say that I was tremendously disappointed with the way the museum handled the crowds. We knew we were going on a bad weekend, but it's been the only weekend we've had to go. We bought our tickets ahead of time, for a particular time slot, and then got there 15 minutes early. The security line (which was apparently a relatively new thing) took over half an hour. They were taking away people's pens. I'm not sure I entirely understand why, since everything was under glass, but there it was. In the long run, it's not so much that I object to the security (although I do feel quite a bit of frustration with the culture of fear, but that's for another post), as to the fact that they put up no warnings on their website about either the security line or the pen-confiscation, nor did anyone mention it to Rick when he called to buy the tickets. That strikes me as silly in the information age.
Once we got in, the crowds were insane, which made it hard to see the exhibit (especially since grown-ups who should have known better were leaning against display cases and wall posters, making it impossible to see). This was a pity, since the exhibit itself was very well put together, and did a great job of conveying what makes the Dead Sea scrolls such an amazing archaeological find. If the crowds had been half their size, or better managed, it would have been a wonderful exhibit. As it was, it was good (and it wasn't just this weekend; my friend who went months ago told me the crowds were bad then, too). I particularly loved the last part of the exhibit, which was about the art of printmaking, and which showed some illuminated manuscripts. At the end, they also showed three pages from a King James Bible which had been illuminated in the 1990s -- the first illuminated version in hundreds of years. It was truly a work of art, and (in keeping with this week's theme of continuity), I loved the idea of people sitting down to a task which printmakers did for centuries. Griping notwithstanding, I'm very glad we went.
The rest of the weekend was spent knitting. I am now over halfway through with Simurgh. I was very tempted to block the first half before picking up the stitches for the second half, but couldn't bear the idea of waiting for it to dry before knitting again, so I didn't. However, here it is laid out.
It's about 30 inches long, with no stretching at all, so I think it's going to be the right length once it's been blocked. The lace motifs are lovely. Here's the larger feather merging into the smaller feather motif.
And here's the quill section and the edging at the bottom:
This yarn has the most amazing sheen to it. It really does look exactly like a raven's feathers. I can't wait to be wearing it -- and it looks like it'll be done in time for Rick's company party (I hate company parties, and have no idea what to wear -- but this stole is something!), which is a good thing.Tomorrow it's back to classes. I really should be reading right now, but am having trouble getting back into the swing of things. Wish me luck!
P.S. Kate: thanks so much for your wonderful comment from yesterday. I will definitely check out that cookbook -- I have a shelf of vegetarian cookbooks (they're some of my favorites) and that one sounds like something I'd love. Hope you're feeling better soon!
Sunday, November 25, 2007
My poor husband
Some of you may remember that Rick had his bike stolen from a locked roof rack when we were in Berkeley this past summer (he doesn't have the best luck with bikes, as you will soon see). He spent months researching what bike he wanted next, waiting for the insurance money to come in, and trying to decide whether to go with the bigger wheels (a mountain biker thing). About a month ago, he made the decision and ordered a new bike. He loved that bike (notice the past tense) like a child. Rode at every opportunity, was so happy with the bigger wheels.
He went riding today, while I finished the edging on Simurgh. We were having friends over to dinner, so he called on the way home to see what I needed from the store. I got a call five minutes later and thought he'd forgotten the list. But what I heard on the phone, in a dull voice, was, "The bike came off the bike rack. On the freeway." He sounded ready to cry. Long story short, the bike flew off the rack, dented the hood of the car behind him, and got completely smashed by everyone behind that guy. Thank god, no-one was hurt, no-one crashed. But the bike is destroyed. (Dinner got cancelled; thank goodness it was my dear friend who was totally understanding and supportive.)
I was planning to wait until tomorrow to write a nice, long post about our weekend and about the lovely Simurgh (which is now at the halfway point), but I had to tell someone. Thanks for listening.
He went riding today, while I finished the edging on Simurgh. We were having friends over to dinner, so he called on the way home to see what I needed from the store. I got a call five minutes later and thought he'd forgotten the list. But what I heard on the phone, in a dull voice, was, "The bike came off the bike rack. On the freeway." He sounded ready to cry. Long story short, the bike flew off the rack, dented the hood of the car behind him, and got completely smashed by everyone behind that guy. Thank god, no-one was hurt, no-one crashed. But the bike is destroyed. (Dinner got cancelled; thank goodness it was my dear friend who was totally understanding and supportive.)
I was planning to wait until tomorrow to write a nice, long post about our weekend and about the lovely Simurgh (which is now at the halfway point), but I had to tell someone. Thanks for listening.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Thanks giving
I meant to post yesterday, and I meant to take pictures to show all of the wonderful food we ate, and the amazing friends who came to share Thanksgiving with us, but I was so busy cooking and eating that food and enjoying those friends, that the pictures didn't happen, alas.
It was a lovely day, though. On Wednesday night, Rick and the girls helped me to make an apple pie and a walnut tart (we have to have three desserts every year: walnut tart because I love it so, apple pie because no holiday is a holiday for Rick without one and because he says he loves my apples pies and I'm a sucker for flattery, and pumpkin pie because it's Thanksgiving and we're not complete traditionless heathens), and the cornbread for the stuffing. Then on Thursday we cleaned the house (our poor vacuum gets a bit overwhelmed with all of the oos from the pets that it's responsible for cleaning up on days like this), and I cooked. And cooked. And cooked. Sausage, leek, and mushroom cornbread stuffing, the turkey, butternut squash, and mashed potatoes. Zucchini with bay leaves. I have two friends who come every year -- one of them has an eastern European Jewish background and brings stuffed cabbage; the other is from Bombay and brings cranberry chutney (I tell you, I hated cranberry relish until she came and brought this the first time -- I LOVE this stuff!). Layers of food traditions on the table. We also had a family of friends over and they brought salad and pumpkin pie. All in all, we were well taken care of. My table just barely seated the 12 of us, so we were all very friendly. I hauled out our good china, which was my mother and father's wedding set, and which I loved throughout childhood, and which they therefore gave us when we got married. It glowed against the newly-waxed pine of our old farmhouse table.
I have long ago removed the whole pilgrim/Squanto hideousness from Thanksgiving (and spend every year unbrainwashing the girls when they have to hear it at school), which leaves me with my favorite holiday of the year, one which is about feeling thankful for what we've got, and which ties in to every harvest celebration humanity has ever had.
I feel about cooking very much the same way that I do about knitting. It ties me in to traditions and histories that are larger than myself. Standing at my stove, cooking stuffing and smelling the turkey roasting, I feel connected to generations of people who, at this time of year, looked around at the stores that were going to keep winter's wolves from the door, and said "let's make us a feast", and they roasted and stuffed and baked and stewed. I often wonder at this deep connection to tradition and to family history, given that I am adopted. It's not something I think about often, in spite of the fact that people throughout my life have, at one time or another, tried to insist that I must feel cut off from my past and history, that I must feel abandoned in some way, because of it. I have considered carefully whether I am hiding this from myself, but what I really feel is that, far from being abandoned, I was chosen, and in the end, the history of my parents is mine, too. I grew up with the results, both good and bad, of their personal histories, no-one else's, and so those histories are mine and have made me what I am today. When I had Older Daughter, far from feeling some deep sense of betrayal that someone could have given me up when I was a baby like her (as a friend of mine insisted that I should feel), I felt instead a renewed sense of amazement that my mother had had less than 24 hours' notice that I was coming along; can you imagine? I was barely prepared for having a baby, and I'd had over 9 months' notice -- 24 hours' would've killed me!
I thought about much of this as I cooked, and realized that for me (and speaking only for me), this is part of the reason why I've not taken the logical next step in my desire to eat closer to home, in the sense of using up fewer resources in eating, by becoming a vegetarian, instead of limited myself to free-range. When I cook sausage for stuffing, I don't see (as my vegetarian friends tell me they do) some disgusting byproducts from some poor animal stuffed into further disgusting byproducts (although I can understand how it's possible to see that, no matter how free-range the animal was), but an ingenious human response to the desire to waste no precious resources. I know that this doesn't mean that I need to eat sausage, as I have far more resources than my ancestors, but cooking as they did sometimes reminds me of why they did it, and I feel connected to those reasons. When I make french onion soup, something which so many people think of as elegant or fancy, all I can think is that it is the ultimate it's-winter-and-I'm-running-out-of-food meal. I mean, you take a beef bone, and maybe a bit of some wine and make stock, then use onions -- the ultimate wintering-over root vegetable -- in a bit of whatever fat you've got around, some stale bread, and the tail ends of cheese, and you've got a meal. How creative is that? I can imagine a mother at the end of a long day, looking around a bare kitchen and thinking, NOW what do I do? I know exactly how that feels.
So, I am thankful to have those connections, reaching in all directions: back in time, towards my family and my ancestors; forward in time, towards my daughters, who are building their own memories of family traditions in our Thanksgivings; out, to my friends who come to build those traditions with us, year after year, and to all those parents who have come home at the end of a long day and have cooked dinner for their families, and who have found a reason to celebrate as the dark nights of winter close in; to all of you who are kind enough to read what I write and to send me comments and emails to let me know that you're thinking about me. How lucky am I?
Today has been a day to sit and contemplate that feeling of thankfulness, with my husband and daughters safe and healthy at home with me, and my house clean and smelling good. I went to yoga this morning, and then came home and knitted. I'm almost done with the smaller feather motifs on Simurgh, and might be able to start the pinfeathers edging tonight (the joy of leftovers means no cooking for a night, and you can't tell me that every parent, ever, through the history of the world hasn't felt that joy!). Then I can go back and unpick my provisional cast-on (it's my first, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed here) and start the second half.
I've also been (re)reading the next book for my book club: The Bone People. I haven't read this book in ages, and, while it's always been on my top-ten list, I had forgotten just how many things I love about this book. I love the writing style, I love the characters, I love their complexity and the lack of easy answers, I love the hope even amidst the despair. It's an amazing book. Have any of you read it? I'd love to hear what you think, too.
There's also some knitting reading going on (the other day, Rick came in the house and said to me, "some yarn porn came for you in the mail" and handed me the KnitPicks catalogue. That man makes me laugh), but I'll tell you all about that (and the yarn purchase I made today in an effort to support the sagging U.S. economy -- we all have to do our parts!) later this weekend. For now, it's time to finish this last repeat before everyone gets home from piano lessons. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
It was a lovely day, though. On Wednesday night, Rick and the girls helped me to make an apple pie and a walnut tart (we have to have three desserts every year: walnut tart because I love it so, apple pie because no holiday is a holiday for Rick without one and because he says he loves my apples pies and I'm a sucker for flattery, and pumpkin pie because it's Thanksgiving and we're not complete traditionless heathens), and the cornbread for the stuffing. Then on Thursday we cleaned the house (our poor vacuum gets a bit overwhelmed with all of the oos from the pets that it's responsible for cleaning up on days like this), and I cooked. And cooked. And cooked. Sausage, leek, and mushroom cornbread stuffing, the turkey, butternut squash, and mashed potatoes. Zucchini with bay leaves. I have two friends who come every year -- one of them has an eastern European Jewish background and brings stuffed cabbage; the other is from Bombay and brings cranberry chutney (I tell you, I hated cranberry relish until she came and brought this the first time -- I LOVE this stuff!). Layers of food traditions on the table. We also had a family of friends over and they brought salad and pumpkin pie. All in all, we were well taken care of. My table just barely seated the 12 of us, so we were all very friendly. I hauled out our good china, which was my mother and father's wedding set, and which I loved throughout childhood, and which they therefore gave us when we got married. It glowed against the newly-waxed pine of our old farmhouse table.
I have long ago removed the whole pilgrim/Squanto hideousness from Thanksgiving (and spend every year unbrainwashing the girls when they have to hear it at school), which leaves me with my favorite holiday of the year, one which is about feeling thankful for what we've got, and which ties in to every harvest celebration humanity has ever had.
I feel about cooking very much the same way that I do about knitting. It ties me in to traditions and histories that are larger than myself. Standing at my stove, cooking stuffing and smelling the turkey roasting, I feel connected to generations of people who, at this time of year, looked around at the stores that were going to keep winter's wolves from the door, and said "let's make us a feast", and they roasted and stuffed and baked and stewed. I often wonder at this deep connection to tradition and to family history, given that I am adopted. It's not something I think about often, in spite of the fact that people throughout my life have, at one time or another, tried to insist that I must feel cut off from my past and history, that I must feel abandoned in some way, because of it. I have considered carefully whether I am hiding this from myself, but what I really feel is that, far from being abandoned, I was chosen, and in the end, the history of my parents is mine, too. I grew up with the results, both good and bad, of their personal histories, no-one else's, and so those histories are mine and have made me what I am today. When I had Older Daughter, far from feeling some deep sense of betrayal that someone could have given me up when I was a baby like her (as a friend of mine insisted that I should feel), I felt instead a renewed sense of amazement that my mother had had less than 24 hours' notice that I was coming along; can you imagine? I was barely prepared for having a baby, and I'd had over 9 months' notice -- 24 hours' would've killed me!
I thought about much of this as I cooked, and realized that for me (and speaking only for me), this is part of the reason why I've not taken the logical next step in my desire to eat closer to home, in the sense of using up fewer resources in eating, by becoming a vegetarian, instead of limited myself to free-range. When I cook sausage for stuffing, I don't see (as my vegetarian friends tell me they do) some disgusting byproducts from some poor animal stuffed into further disgusting byproducts (although I can understand how it's possible to see that, no matter how free-range the animal was), but an ingenious human response to the desire to waste no precious resources. I know that this doesn't mean that I need to eat sausage, as I have far more resources than my ancestors, but cooking as they did sometimes reminds me of why they did it, and I feel connected to those reasons. When I make french onion soup, something which so many people think of as elegant or fancy, all I can think is that it is the ultimate it's-winter-and-I'm-running-out-of-food meal. I mean, you take a beef bone, and maybe a bit of some wine and make stock, then use onions -- the ultimate wintering-over root vegetable -- in a bit of whatever fat you've got around, some stale bread, and the tail ends of cheese, and you've got a meal. How creative is that? I can imagine a mother at the end of a long day, looking around a bare kitchen and thinking, NOW what do I do? I know exactly how that feels.
So, I am thankful to have those connections, reaching in all directions: back in time, towards my family and my ancestors; forward in time, towards my daughters, who are building their own memories of family traditions in our Thanksgivings; out, to my friends who come to build those traditions with us, year after year, and to all those parents who have come home at the end of a long day and have cooked dinner for their families, and who have found a reason to celebrate as the dark nights of winter close in; to all of you who are kind enough to read what I write and to send me comments and emails to let me know that you're thinking about me. How lucky am I?
Today has been a day to sit and contemplate that feeling of thankfulness, with my husband and daughters safe and healthy at home with me, and my house clean and smelling good. I went to yoga this morning, and then came home and knitted. I'm almost done with the smaller feather motifs on Simurgh, and might be able to start the pinfeathers edging tonight (the joy of leftovers means no cooking for a night, and you can't tell me that every parent, ever, through the history of the world hasn't felt that joy!). Then I can go back and unpick my provisional cast-on (it's my first, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed here) and start the second half.
I've also been (re)reading the next book for my book club: The Bone People. I haven't read this book in ages, and, while it's always been on my top-ten list, I had forgotten just how many things I love about this book. I love the writing style, I love the characters, I love their complexity and the lack of easy answers, I love the hope even amidst the despair. It's an amazing book. Have any of you read it? I'd love to hear what you think, too.
There's also some knitting reading going on (the other day, Rick came in the house and said to me, "some yarn porn came for you in the mail" and handed me the KnitPicks catalogue. That man makes me laugh), but I'll tell you all about that (and the yarn purchase I made today in an effort to support the sagging U.S. economy -- we all have to do our parts!) later this weekend. For now, it's time to finish this last repeat before everyone gets home from piano lessons. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
In which all is revealed
All right, I guess I'm done being mysterious.
It's been a couple of good days for knitting. Last night's TV marathon really paid off in knitting time, and I made it through the first chart's repeats. I had thought I would have some knitting time waiting at my doctor's office yesterday, but things didn't work out quite as planned. I headed in for an 8am routine blood work appointment (for a physical), figuring that I'd also get the x-rays I needed for the follow-up on last year's back surgery. Of course, I forgot the x-ray orders, but Rick kindly agreed to drop them by on the way to work. Then, as I was about to get stuck, the technician asked me if I had fasted that morning. Of course, since no-one had told me to, I hadn't (believe me, there is no fasting chez Ahlers unless I've been told to do so). So the whole appointment was for naught, I told Rick not to worry about the orders, rescheduled for today, and headed off to do my Thanksgiving shopping (the only good thing here being that I got to the store early enough that they weren't out of sage yet -- whoo-hoo! livin' large). So, no knitting time.
This morning, it was back for a later (and hungrier) appointment, x-ray orders in hand. I should say here that I am often not fond of getting blood drawn. It turns out I have very small veins, and the ones I do have, have a tendency to collapse. This means that hospital stays are hideous, since the only place they can ever put an IV is in the vein that runs along the bone on the outside of my wrist. (I'm still paying for this one from the back thing -- they put it in there, and I got phlebitis, which let me tell you HURTS; that spot still bugs me when I knit sometimes, sigh.) So this morning's tech was no different -- she poked and prodded, had me pump little squeezy balls, checked both arms, looked at me, looked at my arms again, and finally agreed with what I'd said to start with, which was that she'd need a very very small needle to get the job done. All that aside, she did a good job and only went through the vein in one place (where I have a nice little blackberry colored bruise to show for it -- this is why we do this on my right arm, as I am left-handed). All I can say it's that it's a darned good thing that I have no aspirations to become an intravenous drug user, because it would never work.
Then it was off to x-rays. Those went smoothly, and I headed home (hence the lack of knitting time). I have to say here that it is disconcerting in the extreme to look at an x-ray of your spine and see screws in it. I'm talking real, live, threaded screws (I don't know why I find this particularly weird, to see them looking just like regular hardware store screws -- altho' these are titanium). It just feels like, at any moment, something might come unthreaded with an ungodly SPROING (shades of Kauni here), and I'll end up on the floor with strange metal pieces falling from my back. It hasn't happened yet, but whenever I try to do something I haven't done since the surgery (you should have seen me when I did my first backbend in yoga!), the fear is there.
I did, however, comfort myself with handknits. I wore my new socks for the x-rays.
I found them comforting (yesterday, I was wearing other handknitted socks AND Kauni; it's so nice to now have enough of my own knitting to be able to wear something I made even through rescheduling messes).
So, this is all by way of saying that, while I did get a lot done, I'd wanted to be able to show you two of the motifs on this thing that I am knitting when I Revealed All, but I can't. However, I promised a reveal today, and a reveal you shall have. (all this drama for such a small thing)
I (and the wonderfully friendly and supportive Rachael) am test knitting Simurgh for Anne Hanson (check the link on the name for the full story -- I love it). I love this stole and this yarn with the flaming passion of a thousand white-hot suns, truly, madly, deeply, but it's amazingly hard to photograph, as it mostly just sits there looking crumpled, and not giving any sense of how gorgeous the yarn is, and how perfect the feather motifs are (Anne designed this one and the faroese version, which I adore equally -- I'm a bit of a slut that way -- for the new Raven colorways at Blue Moon). So, with that in mind, here are a few pictures:
The first one is from yesterday; I included it because I think the color is more accurately represented on that one. The next two are from today. I've finished three repeats of the bigger feather motif, and pinned it out loosely to try to show it a bit -- without pinning, it tends to look like a puckery lump. I can't wait to see what this baby looks like all blocked out.
So there it is. I'm thrilled Anne's letting me do this one. I love all of her designs (there is a bee stole in my future, and some acorn socks as soon as I can afford them), but this one is just exactly right for me. I am such a fan of all corbae. I have to be one of the most magpie-brained people I know -- you know, the brain is thinking along on one train of thought and then it says, "ooh, look, shiny object!" and goes darting off in another direction to grab something to take home to its nest. It amazes me what I find in there sometimes, and believe me, this is not to say that I have some amazing brain. Most of what's in there is the mental equivalent of a bottle cap or a gum wrapper -- there are very few diamond bracelets to be found. But knitting a shawl that's inspired by ravens, now that is cool.
It's been a couple of good days for knitting. Last night's TV marathon really paid off in knitting time, and I made it through the first chart's repeats. I had thought I would have some knitting time waiting at my doctor's office yesterday, but things didn't work out quite as planned. I headed in for an 8am routine blood work appointment (for a physical), figuring that I'd also get the x-rays I needed for the follow-up on last year's back surgery. Of course, I forgot the x-ray orders, but Rick kindly agreed to drop them by on the way to work. Then, as I was about to get stuck, the technician asked me if I had fasted that morning. Of course, since no-one had told me to, I hadn't (believe me, there is no fasting chez Ahlers unless I've been told to do so). So the whole appointment was for naught, I told Rick not to worry about the orders, rescheduled for today, and headed off to do my Thanksgiving shopping (the only good thing here being that I got to the store early enough that they weren't out of sage yet -- whoo-hoo! livin' large). So, no knitting time.
This morning, it was back for a later (and hungrier) appointment, x-ray orders in hand. I should say here that I am often not fond of getting blood drawn. It turns out I have very small veins, and the ones I do have, have a tendency to collapse. This means that hospital stays are hideous, since the only place they can ever put an IV is in the vein that runs along the bone on the outside of my wrist. (I'm still paying for this one from the back thing -- they put it in there, and I got phlebitis, which let me tell you HURTS; that spot still bugs me when I knit sometimes, sigh.) So this morning's tech was no different -- she poked and prodded, had me pump little squeezy balls, checked both arms, looked at me, looked at my arms again, and finally agreed with what I'd said to start with, which was that she'd need a very very small needle to get the job done. All that aside, she did a good job and only went through the vein in one place (where I have a nice little blackberry colored bruise to show for it -- this is why we do this on my right arm, as I am left-handed). All I can say it's that it's a darned good thing that I have no aspirations to become an intravenous drug user, because it would never work.
Then it was off to x-rays. Those went smoothly, and I headed home (hence the lack of knitting time). I have to say here that it is disconcerting in the extreme to look at an x-ray of your spine and see screws in it. I'm talking real, live, threaded screws (I don't know why I find this particularly weird, to see them looking just like regular hardware store screws -- altho' these are titanium). It just feels like, at any moment, something might come unthreaded with an ungodly SPROING (shades of Kauni here), and I'll end up on the floor with strange metal pieces falling from my back. It hasn't happened yet, but whenever I try to do something I haven't done since the surgery (you should have seen me when I did my first backbend in yoga!), the fear is there.
I did, however, comfort myself with handknits. I wore my new socks for the x-rays.
I found them comforting (yesterday, I was wearing other handknitted socks AND Kauni; it's so nice to now have enough of my own knitting to be able to wear something I made even through rescheduling messes).So, this is all by way of saying that, while I did get a lot done, I'd wanted to be able to show you two of the motifs on this thing that I am knitting when I Revealed All, but I can't. However, I promised a reveal today, and a reveal you shall have. (all this drama for such a small thing)
I (and the wonderfully friendly and supportive Rachael) am test knitting Simurgh for Anne Hanson (check the link on the name for the full story -- I love it). I love this stole and this yarn with the flaming passion of a thousand white-hot suns, truly, madly, deeply, but it's amazingly hard to photograph, as it mostly just sits there looking crumpled, and not giving any sense of how gorgeous the yarn is, and how perfect the feather motifs are (Anne designed this one and the faroese version, which I adore equally -- I'm a bit of a slut that way -- for the new Raven colorways at Blue Moon). So, with that in mind, here are a few pictures:
The first one is from yesterday; I included it because I think the color is more accurately represented on that one. The next two are from today. I've finished three repeats of the bigger feather motif, and pinned it out loosely to try to show it a bit -- without pinning, it tends to look like a puckery lump. I can't wait to see what this baby looks like all blocked out.So there it is. I'm thrilled Anne's letting me do this one. I love all of her designs (there is a bee stole in my future, and some acorn socks as soon as I can afford them), but this one is just exactly right for me. I am such a fan of all corbae. I have to be one of the most magpie-brained people I know -- you know, the brain is thinking along on one train of thought and then it says, "ooh, look, shiny object!" and goes darting off in another direction to grab something to take home to its nest. It amazes me what I find in there sometimes, and believe me, this is not to say that I have some amazing brain. Most of what's in there is the mental equivalent of a bottle cap or a gum wrapper -- there are very few diamond bracelets to be found. But knitting a shawl that's inspired by ravens, now that is cool.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Next clue
We made it home. Whew. And I made it through the guest lectures I had to do in a friend's classes yesterday. Double whew. With luck, things will now ease up for the rest of the week (says the woman who is hosting Thanksgiving dinner -- but only for twelve people total, which is a dawdle, really).
The weekend was, as always, incredibly intense. It's a training for people who are working to revitalize endangered California Indian languages. I've been going to these trainings since 1994, and I never cease to be amazed and awed by the dedication and tenacity of all of the people there. It is a constant honor and privilege to be allowed to be there and to work with these teams. This training was particularly wonderful in that there were families there in which the parents had learned their languages through this program and were now raising their children speaking these languages as first languages. Unreal.
It's also held in one of my all-time favorite places on earth -- the Marin Headlands. The whole family came up with me; this is one of the places where Rick and I (and the dog!) used to come and hike and hang out on the beach before we moved -- hell, before we had kids. I love going back. There is some part of me that gets to the Headlands and just unwinds, like all the muscles in my body say aahhh... We went for a few hikes, but mostly I was working. The hikes were foggy and wonderfully cool.
I know it's blurry, but that's how it looked out there. I honestly could not be happier than in weather like that -- fog so thick it's almost, but not quite, rain.
You know, I just really looked at that photo. T is almost as tall as I am. Wow. OK, I can't think about that right now. Moving along...
The girls each sat in on some of the meetings with me, which is a new thing -- they're finally old enough for this to mean something to them. After the first evening's meeting, which T attended with me, and in which all the participants introduced themselves and talked about their goals for the workshop, I asked T what she had gotten out of it. She said, "Well, people want to learn their languages so they won't die." (she meant the languages, not the people) I said, why do you think they want that? She looked at me like I was nuts and said, "Because their languages are part of who they are." (there was a clear note of duh, mommy there) All right. Full marks.
Knitting took place as well. This is the only benefit of over 1,000 miles of driving in three days (well, that and listening to Harry Potter on audio book). I finished the Embossed Leaves socks, but don't have a picture of them right now. To be frank, the second one looks just like the first one (a definite plus in socks), so it's not like you'd be seeing anything new and exciting. I also made some progress on the sweater that I'm knitting for Kivrin -- only about five more inches to go, and since I'm now decreasing for the yoke, that should go relatively quickly. I also cast on for a pair of socks for Rick (with the Trekking I've been hoarding, and the now-not-so new size three sox stix I bought last time we were up north). However, all of that was a way to keep myself entertained because I hadn't received the necessary stuff for the Mystery Project (which most of you probably already know about from other sources, but allow me to maintain my Air of Mystique for one more day; I don't often get to be mysterious).
However, when we arrived home on Sunday night, guess what was waiting for me? The Yarn. It's Geisha, in the Shadow colorway. I adore it. Truly, madly, deeply. It's gorgeous. I was really torn between Shadow and Haida, which I'm just going to have to get for something else sometime. Anne can tell you how I agonized -- she patiently talked me through it. I actually ordered the Haida, and then decided that I just had to have the Shadow. The nice folks at Blue Moon were kind enough to change the order for me. I am SO glad. This yarn is stunning. It shimmers. It's black. Really black. In a subtle variegated way, so that looking at it is like seeing the Pleiades when you live in the city -- you can spot the light spot where they are out of the corner of your eye, but not straight on. This yarn is like that. I have pictures, but they don't do it justice.
The pot is very black and shiny; the rock is a slate (ha) gray. Maybe that helps give a sense of what this yarn is like? Except it's blacker than in that photo.
The pattern was waiting for me, too. And then I discovered, to my horror, that I had no needles. My needle list says I have size 5s, but they were nowhere to be found (note: they were found this morning. Ah, well). So I had to wait until yesterday, after giving the guest lectures, to drive an insane distance to the only yarn store in the area that's open on Mondays to buy needles. I came straight home and cast on. I'm one and a half repeats into the first bit, and tonight will be a marathon (Bones, House, and SVU are all on). Tomorrow, I will lift the Veil of Secrecy, and All Will Be Revealed.
The weekend was, as always, incredibly intense. It's a training for people who are working to revitalize endangered California Indian languages. I've been going to these trainings since 1994, and I never cease to be amazed and awed by the dedication and tenacity of all of the people there. It is a constant honor and privilege to be allowed to be there and to work with these teams. This training was particularly wonderful in that there were families there in which the parents had learned their languages through this program and were now raising their children speaking these languages as first languages. Unreal.
It's also held in one of my all-time favorite places on earth -- the Marin Headlands. The whole family came up with me; this is one of the places where Rick and I (and the dog!) used to come and hike and hang out on the beach before we moved -- hell, before we had kids. I love going back. There is some part of me that gets to the Headlands and just unwinds, like all the muscles in my body say aahhh... We went for a few hikes, but mostly I was working. The hikes were foggy and wonderfully cool.
I know it's blurry, but that's how it looked out there. I honestly could not be happier than in weather like that -- fog so thick it's almost, but not quite, rain. You know, I just really looked at that photo. T is almost as tall as I am. Wow. OK, I can't think about that right now. Moving along...
The girls each sat in on some of the meetings with me, which is a new thing -- they're finally old enough for this to mean something to them. After the first evening's meeting, which T attended with me, and in which all the participants introduced themselves and talked about their goals for the workshop, I asked T what she had gotten out of it. She said, "Well, people want to learn their languages so they won't die." (she meant the languages, not the people) I said, why do you think they want that? She looked at me like I was nuts and said, "Because their languages are part of who they are." (there was a clear note of duh, mommy there) All right. Full marks.
Knitting took place as well. This is the only benefit of over 1,000 miles of driving in three days (well, that and listening to Harry Potter on audio book). I finished the Embossed Leaves socks, but don't have a picture of them right now. To be frank, the second one looks just like the first one (a definite plus in socks), so it's not like you'd be seeing anything new and exciting. I also made some progress on the sweater that I'm knitting for Kivrin -- only about five more inches to go, and since I'm now decreasing for the yoke, that should go relatively quickly. I also cast on for a pair of socks for Rick (with the Trekking I've been hoarding, and the now-not-so new size three sox stix I bought last time we were up north). However, all of that was a way to keep myself entertained because I hadn't received the necessary stuff for the Mystery Project (which most of you probably already know about from other sources, but allow me to maintain my Air of Mystique for one more day; I don't often get to be mysterious).
However, when we arrived home on Sunday night, guess what was waiting for me? The Yarn. It's Geisha, in the Shadow colorway. I adore it. Truly, madly, deeply. It's gorgeous. I was really torn between Shadow and Haida, which I'm just going to have to get for something else sometime. Anne can tell you how I agonized -- she patiently talked me through it. I actually ordered the Haida, and then decided that I just had to have the Shadow. The nice folks at Blue Moon were kind enough to change the order for me. I am SO glad. This yarn is stunning. It shimmers. It's black. Really black. In a subtle variegated way, so that looking at it is like seeing the Pleiades when you live in the city -- you can spot the light spot where they are out of the corner of your eye, but not straight on. This yarn is like that. I have pictures, but they don't do it justice.
The pot is very black and shiny; the rock is a slate (ha) gray. Maybe that helps give a sense of what this yarn is like? Except it's blacker than in that photo.The pattern was waiting for me, too. And then I discovered, to my horror, that I had no needles. My needle list says I have size 5s, but they were nowhere to be found (note: they were found this morning. Ah, well). So I had to wait until yesterday, after giving the guest lectures, to drive an insane distance to the only yarn store in the area that's open on Mondays to buy needles. I came straight home and cast on. I'm one and a half repeats into the first bit, and tonight will be a marathon (Bones, House, and SVU are all on). Tomorrow, I will lift the Veil of Secrecy, and All Will Be Revealed.
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