Or maybe it was something less than that. I'm still not sure. But I'm not sorry I did it.
My love of knitting began when I stole a sweater.
Except I didn't, really.
But it wasn't mine to begin with- that much is certainly true.
When I was in high school I ended up giving a ride to two other girls. We drove together for a fairly long distance- at least two hours.
One of the girls was wearing this sweater. It was made from bulky yarn. It had some lace on the front and beautiful wood buttons. The color was a soft rose. It was just beautiful. When I told her that I really loved her sweater, she gave me an icy look.
"This thing? Ugh. I hate this sweater. My aunt made it for me, so I guess I have to wear it, but I really don't like it. I don't even know why I'm wearing it." She went on for a while about how much she loathed the garment and then when I dropped her off at her destination, she left it in my car.
When we got back to school after break, I told her that I had it. I told her to come and get it. It was in my dorm room... but I didn't take it to her.
Again, I told her. Don't forget that I have your sweater. She never came by. I was hoping that she wouldn't. And she didn't.
One more time I tried. I really did tell her three times that I had her sweater. And I really would have given it back if she'd ever shown up to claim it, but she didn't.
I didn't wear it at all in high school, but I did wear it at college. I loved that sweater. I wore it with jeans and with skirts. I wore it out at nights and I wore it for cool autumn hikes. I wore it every couple of days during cool weather for about seven years.
I wore holes in it and then I darned the holes with matching thread because I had no idea that I could replace the yarn and repair it. Finally, ratty and tattered, it was time to retire my sweater. It really could not be rehabilitated even once more. It made me very sad to throw it out. It had been like a friend to me.
I thought about the girl's aunt often as I wore that sweater. I wondered if she ever thought about the sweater that she knit. She probably thought that it was neglected and unloved, but the opposite was true. I appreciated every stitch that went into it. I marveled over the lace stitching and it kept me snuggly warm when it was cold out. I took it on camping trips and wore it to the library when I studied. It went on vacation with me and I wore it on dates and it accompanied me to many exams. I remember it more than any other garment I have ever owned and to this day I can still recall the color and the pattern, some 25 years or so after I finally threw it out.
I thought about tracking down the aunt to tell her that I loved that sweater
so much that I'd literally loved it to death, but I didn't know how I could do that and not have to give up the sweater, perhaps to be returned to someone who thought of it as "ugh." So I kept it, knowing that it wasn't mine. I also wasn't sure how to find out who she was- any way that I could do that was not going to end well for me, so I kept quiet and I kept wearing the/my sweater.
My kids will occasionally lose the things I make for them. I will occasionally lose the things I make for myself, too. When something goes missing, I think about my sweater from college and I hope that whoever finds the lost hat or mittens or scarf loves their found treasure as much as I loved that sweater. I hope they wear it without guilt but with joy, for each lost item is my penance for misappropriating that sweater in 1982.
Whatever they find, I hope they love it to death- in my mind, they always do.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Friday, January 16, 2015
You Should Sell Those!
It happens to me regularly- I'm knitting something while sitting in the stands or in waiting rooms- swim lessons, baseball games, orthodontist offices- I take my knitting with me everywhere. I'll be knitting and someone says, "Those are really cool; you should sell them."
I know that it's intended as a compliment and so I usually say "Thank you" and leave it at that. Sometimes they press further, "No really, you should sell them- you should have an Etsy shop or sell them at craft shows..." or whatever avenue of commerce they think I should take, they try to convince me to sell my wares.
But that's not why I knit, and for good reason.
I knit because I enjoy the creative process. It somehow feels good for my soul to start with a humble hank of yarn and turn it into something beautiful or functional (or both.)
I knit because having the beauty of the yarn in my hands and feeling its caress as I create each stitch is relaxing- it's my own treat to myself- each bit of knitting is a little gift.
I knit because I am making use of what I call the "in-between times." All of the waiting that comes with parenting is time I get to use- I can still watch the game or the lesson or have a conversation, but I end up with something to gift or use at the end. I knit a shawl with over 80,000 stitches in it while sitting on the sidelines during baseball practice in 2013.
If I was knitting in order to produce something commercially successful, I would use the most inexpensive yarn I could find and knit small items from them in order to maximize my profits. This is not what I do.
One of my favorite things to knit is a lacy shawl. The ones I like to knit generally take about 1 1/2 skeins of fingering weight yarn. I like to add beads to them. Usually I buy about 800 beads for each shawl I knit. If I am knitting a fairly simple pattern, I can knit a shawl in about 35-40 hours of knitting- it just takes time to produce that many stitches and knitting lace is a slower process because the pattern is more complicated and the stitches take a little longer to work.
Good quality fingering weight yarn is not inexpensive. I want something durable and beautiful, something I want to spend 35-40 hours working with. My favorite fingering weight yarns range in price from $18.50 to nearly $40 a skein. My selection is based on the number of skeins I need to purchase, colors available, fiber content and how the fiber content will react with the specific pattern.
Beads are fairly cheap- one packet of beads can be as inexpensive as $3.50 and as expensive as $9.00 for the kind that I buy. Bead price varies based on the composition, shape and size of the bead. I usually need 4 packs of beads for each shawl.
Then there is my time. I would call myself an artisan- a skilled craftsman for sure. I teach other people how to knit- maybe master craftsman is an even better title. How much is the time of a master craftsman worth? I don't even know how to answer that question. Pulling what I think of as a low-ball number out of a hat, I'll say $15.00 per hour. (Based on my knowledge, skill and expertise, I'd actually say that my time is worth much more than $15.00/hour, but I'm going to go with that figure regardless.)
If you calculate the cheapest figures possible- the least expensive yarn with the least expensive beads with the shortest knitting, I would have to charge $576 for a shawl. The materials alone cost $49.
A hat would cost between $67 and $112 depending on the thickness of the yarn and the complexity of the pattern.
A pair of fingerless mittens in one color would cost about $97.
When someone tells me I should sell my wares, I sometimes ask them how much they'd pay for something like what I've made, something beautiful, well fitting, durable, in gorgeous colors; something made with silk or merino or cashmere or baby camel or polwarth or a combination of luxury fibers. The answer is usually about a third of what I think my time is worth.
When I knit for myself family and other people I love, the cost of it all- the cost of the yarn, the supplies and my time, disappears. It's no longer a financial equation. It's making something *just right* for someone- the right color and the right fit, knit from love. Each stitch, each finished item is like giving a permanent hug- all they have to do is put on their hat or their mittens or wrap their shawl around them and they can remind themselves that they are loved by me. How much is that worth? (And yes, knitting for myself is like giving myself a hug.)
You know how, when you find the right gift for someone, you are excited to give it to them? Multiply that joy over the hours spent selecting the pattern, selecting the yarn and then making that item. Having someone squeal with delight when you give it to them is the icing on the cake, but even when it doesn't happen, a simple "thank you" validates all of the joy in the process. If you are knitting in order to sell your items, you lose all of that and it comes back to How much does it cost to make? How many hours does it take to make? What is my time worth? I don't want to do that equation when I gift to people I care about- I just want to enjoy it all.
I know that it's intended as a compliment and so I usually say "Thank you" and leave it at that. Sometimes they press further, "No really, you should sell them- you should have an Etsy shop or sell them at craft shows..." or whatever avenue of commerce they think I should take, they try to convince me to sell my wares.
But that's not why I knit, and for good reason.
I knit because I enjoy the creative process. It somehow feels good for my soul to start with a humble hank of yarn and turn it into something beautiful or functional (or both.)
I knit because having the beauty of the yarn in my hands and feeling its caress as I create each stitch is relaxing- it's my own treat to myself- each bit of knitting is a little gift.
I knit because I am making use of what I call the "in-between times." All of the waiting that comes with parenting is time I get to use- I can still watch the game or the lesson or have a conversation, but I end up with something to gift or use at the end. I knit a shawl with over 80,000 stitches in it while sitting on the sidelines during baseball practice in 2013.
If I was knitting in order to produce something commercially successful, I would use the most inexpensive yarn I could find and knit small items from them in order to maximize my profits. This is not what I do.
One of my favorite things to knit is a lacy shawl. The ones I like to knit generally take about 1 1/2 skeins of fingering weight yarn. I like to add beads to them. Usually I buy about 800 beads for each shawl I knit. If I am knitting a fairly simple pattern, I can knit a shawl in about 35-40 hours of knitting- it just takes time to produce that many stitches and knitting lace is a slower process because the pattern is more complicated and the stitches take a little longer to work.
Good quality fingering weight yarn is not inexpensive. I want something durable and beautiful, something I want to spend 35-40 hours working with. My favorite fingering weight yarns range in price from $18.50 to nearly $40 a skein. My selection is based on the number of skeins I need to purchase, colors available, fiber content and how the fiber content will react with the specific pattern.
Beads are fairly cheap- one packet of beads can be as inexpensive as $3.50 and as expensive as $9.00 for the kind that I buy. Bead price varies based on the composition, shape and size of the bead. I usually need 4 packs of beads for each shawl.
Then there is my time. I would call myself an artisan- a skilled craftsman for sure. I teach other people how to knit- maybe master craftsman is an even better title. How much is the time of a master craftsman worth? I don't even know how to answer that question. Pulling what I think of as a low-ball number out of a hat, I'll say $15.00 per hour. (Based on my knowledge, skill and expertise, I'd actually say that my time is worth much more than $15.00/hour, but I'm going to go with that figure regardless.)
If you calculate the cheapest figures possible- the least expensive yarn with the least expensive beads with the shortest knitting, I would have to charge $576 for a shawl. The materials alone cost $49.
A hat would cost between $67 and $112 depending on the thickness of the yarn and the complexity of the pattern.
A pair of fingerless mittens in one color would cost about $97.
When someone tells me I should sell my wares, I sometimes ask them how much they'd pay for something like what I've made, something beautiful, well fitting, durable, in gorgeous colors; something made with silk or merino or cashmere or baby camel or polwarth or a combination of luxury fibers. The answer is usually about a third of what I think my time is worth.
When I knit for myself family and other people I love, the cost of it all- the cost of the yarn, the supplies and my time, disappears. It's no longer a financial equation. It's making something *just right* for someone- the right color and the right fit, knit from love. Each stitch, each finished item is like giving a permanent hug- all they have to do is put on their hat or their mittens or wrap their shawl around them and they can remind themselves that they are loved by me. How much is that worth? (And yes, knitting for myself is like giving myself a hug.)
You know how, when you find the right gift for someone, you are excited to give it to them? Multiply that joy over the hours spent selecting the pattern, selecting the yarn and then making that item. Having someone squeal with delight when you give it to them is the icing on the cake, but even when it doesn't happen, a simple "thank you" validates all of the joy in the process. If you are knitting in order to sell your items, you lose all of that and it comes back to How much does it cost to make? How many hours does it take to make? What is my time worth? I don't want to do that equation when I gift to people I care about- I just want to enjoy it all.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
As the Fall Settles In
Tomorrow will mark eleven months since my 9-year-old nephew was killed when a driver left the roadway and killed Lucian on the sidewalk.
The weather outside is starting to turn more towards fall and away from summer. It's starting to be more like the weather when IT happened, that moment that divided my family into Before and After.
We have weathered our year of firsts- the first of every holiday After. The first Thanksgiving After, the first Christmas shopping After: How many times did I see something cool and think, "I'll bet Lucian would really like that." And then I would remember. Birthdays, family gatherings, vacations and celebrations- they've all come and gone and we've all been very aware that Lucian was missing; that he should have been there.
My oldest son turned 9 this year- the age that Lucian was and will always be. It didn't seem right or fair. Lucian was always supposed to be the older cousin.
There have been times in this last year when I've thought of him, of his parents and his brother and I've thought that IT didn't happen- IT couldn't have happened- and then I remember that IT did. Sometimes when I remember, it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. Sometimes the tears physically hurt- they start in the center of my chest and work their way up my throat before they come spilling out of my eyes.
Mostly I have been able to think about Lucian with life and love and laughter. We have talked about him often- my children have had a need to discuss Lucian- who he was, what he liked and what he meant to them. We have bought books he loved or would have enjoyed and donated them to the library at my kids' school. We have talked about him when we've flown kites and played baseball and walked in the woods. We've talked about him when they were making contraptions out of Legos. He was important to us and we have missed him.
As the weather has begun to turn, though, I find myself transported to the day that compartmentalizes us- the one that thrust us into After. I remember the flat, lifeless sound of my mother's voice as she told me the words that couldn't be real. I remember the heartbreak in my father's voice when I talked to him later that evening. My phone wouldn't stop ringing and no one told me what I wanted to hear- that IT didn't happen. When I think about those phone calls and the sound of people whom I love so dearly in so much pain, that's when the tears come the hardest. Those phone calls have left a scar behind- a brand that hurts when you touch it.
I can't say that I'm moving on. That makes it seem like I'm leaving something behind and that's clearly not the case. I can say that I'm moving forward. I can think about him without always thinking of his death. I do not tell every stranger I meet about what happened (I was doing that for a while- I couldn't help myself.)
I may no longer think of fall as a season of rest, though. It has become a season of sorrow instead. Hopefully not forever, but at least for a little while.
The weather outside is starting to turn more towards fall and away from summer. It's starting to be more like the weather when IT happened, that moment that divided my family into Before and After.
We have weathered our year of firsts- the first of every holiday After. The first Thanksgiving After, the first Christmas shopping After: How many times did I see something cool and think, "I'll bet Lucian would really like that." And then I would remember. Birthdays, family gatherings, vacations and celebrations- they've all come and gone and we've all been very aware that Lucian was missing; that he should have been there.
My oldest son turned 9 this year- the age that Lucian was and will always be. It didn't seem right or fair. Lucian was always supposed to be the older cousin.
There have been times in this last year when I've thought of him, of his parents and his brother and I've thought that IT didn't happen- IT couldn't have happened- and then I remember that IT did. Sometimes when I remember, it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. Sometimes the tears physically hurt- they start in the center of my chest and work their way up my throat before they come spilling out of my eyes.
Mostly I have been able to think about Lucian with life and love and laughter. We have talked about him often- my children have had a need to discuss Lucian- who he was, what he liked and what he meant to them. We have bought books he loved or would have enjoyed and donated them to the library at my kids' school. We have talked about him when we've flown kites and played baseball and walked in the woods. We've talked about him when they were making contraptions out of Legos. He was important to us and we have missed him.
As the weather has begun to turn, though, I find myself transported to the day that compartmentalizes us- the one that thrust us into After. I remember the flat, lifeless sound of my mother's voice as she told me the words that couldn't be real. I remember the heartbreak in my father's voice when I talked to him later that evening. My phone wouldn't stop ringing and no one told me what I wanted to hear- that IT didn't happen. When I think about those phone calls and the sound of people whom I love so dearly in so much pain, that's when the tears come the hardest. Those phone calls have left a scar behind- a brand that hurts when you touch it.
I can't say that I'm moving on. That makes it seem like I'm leaving something behind and that's clearly not the case. I can say that I'm moving forward. I can think about him without always thinking of his death. I do not tell every stranger I meet about what happened (I was doing that for a while- I couldn't help myself.)
I may no longer think of fall as a season of rest, though. It has become a season of sorrow instead. Hopefully not forever, but at least for a little while.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Give Me Liberty
My kids are in second grade and Kindergarten, so the news of the Sandy Hook shooting hit me very close to home. At this writing we are a couple of weeks out from the tragedy and the aftermath is alarming on a number of levels. What is most disturbing to me is that the media (and their customers) seem to have an unquenchable thirst for news on the subject. We are feeding on the grief of the parents with an unending appetite for their sorrow. It is time to let these people grieve in private, without the rest of the world looking in their windows.
What is also disturbing to me is the reaction to the tragedy in a more practical way. How can we prevent such a tragedy from occurring again? The truth is that we can't. Mental illness is not always predictable and how do we know when someone is going to commit acts that are unspeakable, unthinkable? Should we have armed guards at every school, shopping mall and playground? Or do we shut them down completely?
We fear something whose chance of occurring is remote and unpredictable that we can't adequately prepare for regardless.
Bad things happen in this world and they happen all over the world. We are a violent and terrifying species- our capacity for atrocity is unmatched in the animal kingdom. We try to curtail this part of our nature, but occasionally it leaks out.
I went to my children's elementary school last week and had to sign in and put on a visitor's badge in order to check the lost-and-found for my kid's hat (it wasn't there). Everybody knows me there and I'm on the PTO board. I am not a threat to the school and they know that. Is it a good idea for the school to know exactly who is in their building at all times? Probably, but I wonder what we're giving up in the process.
Locked doors, security checkpoints, body scans, please get your id ready, don't talk to strangers, everyone is a suspect. What is the message in all of this? I was raised with the old rule that I had to get home when the street lights come on. Has the world really changed that much in the intervening years? Or is it simply that we think that we can protect ourselves from the random, unpredictable injury if we simply put up one!more!barrier! to it.
How many more steps toward protection to we need to take before we no longer leave our homes? When I was 7, I was riding my bike a couple of miles from my home in order to visit friends. We'd then get on our bikes and ride around their neighborhood. The thought of putting my 7-year-old on his bike and telling him to be home in time for lunch is terrifying and I wonder what kind of adults we are raising with all of this "protection." Can we really expect our kids to explore their world if we're constantly looking over their shoulder? I believe in living life boldly while at the same time I prevent my children from experiencing the same freedoms I enjoyed while growing up.
I feel as though we are on a precipice as we navigate these post-Sandy-Hook waters. I don't know what the right answer is, but I don't feel that we can adequately insulate ourselves from harm and danger. I feel that freedom is too precious commodity to trade in for "safety," especially when you consider that the safety we seek isn't even achievable.
The words of Patrick Henry, "Give me liberty, or give me death." seem a little chilling under the circumstances, but I keep coming back to them. I truly hope that our freedoms are not too greatly impacted by the legislation that is sure to be the aftermath of this tragedy. Protection from harm comes with its own price, and I am anxious to learn what that cost will be and can only pray that the cost of the freedoms we will give up will be less than the price of the injury it seeks to avoid.
(I also truly hope that the parents of the Sandy Hook victims are afforded some privacy as they try to find some peace in the tragedy's wake. My heart goes out to them all.)
What is also disturbing to me is the reaction to the tragedy in a more practical way. How can we prevent such a tragedy from occurring again? The truth is that we can't. Mental illness is not always predictable and how do we know when someone is going to commit acts that are unspeakable, unthinkable? Should we have armed guards at every school, shopping mall and playground? Or do we shut them down completely?
We fear something whose chance of occurring is remote and unpredictable that we can't adequately prepare for regardless.
Bad things happen in this world and they happen all over the world. We are a violent and terrifying species- our capacity for atrocity is unmatched in the animal kingdom. We try to curtail this part of our nature, but occasionally it leaks out.
I went to my children's elementary school last week and had to sign in and put on a visitor's badge in order to check the lost-and-found for my kid's hat (it wasn't there). Everybody knows me there and I'm on the PTO board. I am not a threat to the school and they know that. Is it a good idea for the school to know exactly who is in their building at all times? Probably, but I wonder what we're giving up in the process.
Locked doors, security checkpoints, body scans, please get your id ready, don't talk to strangers, everyone is a suspect. What is the message in all of this? I was raised with the old rule that I had to get home when the street lights come on. Has the world really changed that much in the intervening years? Or is it simply that we think that we can protect ourselves from the random, unpredictable injury if we simply put up one!more!barrier! to it.
How many more steps toward protection to we need to take before we no longer leave our homes? When I was 7, I was riding my bike a couple of miles from my home in order to visit friends. We'd then get on our bikes and ride around their neighborhood. The thought of putting my 7-year-old on his bike and telling him to be home in time for lunch is terrifying and I wonder what kind of adults we are raising with all of this "protection." Can we really expect our kids to explore their world if we're constantly looking over their shoulder? I believe in living life boldly while at the same time I prevent my children from experiencing the same freedoms I enjoyed while growing up.
I feel as though we are on a precipice as we navigate these post-Sandy-Hook waters. I don't know what the right answer is, but I don't feel that we can adequately insulate ourselves from harm and danger. I feel that freedom is too precious commodity to trade in for "safety," especially when you consider that the safety we seek isn't even achievable.
The words of Patrick Henry, "Give me liberty, or give me death." seem a little chilling under the circumstances, but I keep coming back to them. I truly hope that our freedoms are not too greatly impacted by the legislation that is sure to be the aftermath of this tragedy. Protection from harm comes with its own price, and I am anxious to learn what that cost will be and can only pray that the cost of the freedoms we will give up will be less than the price of the injury it seeks to avoid.
(I also truly hope that the parents of the Sandy Hook victims are afforded some privacy as they try to find some peace in the tragedy's wake. My heart goes out to them all.)
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Now What?
The bus has pulled away and an eerie silence settles over the house. I can hear the refrigerator. I can hear the cat walking across the room. Can this be the same house in which I was just commanding, "Henry, stop shouting! Henry, Stop Shouting!?" In fact, it is, but it feels like a different place all together. Both of my kids are in school full time.
Henry started Kindergarten three weeks ago- hah! Henry started Kindergarten last week- I just double-checked the calendar. It seems like it's been so much longer. I already feel spoiled when I go to the grocery store and don't have to explain why Mario or Angry Birds-themed foods might not be the best nutritional choices on the shelves.
It's a new chapter for me and I'm curious to see what the year is going to bring. I've been teaching knitting at the local Y for almost 2 years now and the Y, which originally courted me to teach, has been continually frustrating to work with and I've just been informed that I'm losing my room (again) and can teach my class in an outdoor pavilion, the lobby, or a windowless dungeon of a conference room that is burdened with large tables and an oft-used supply closet: I may be looking for new digs in which to teach my class.
I'm treasurer of our PTO and I'm excited to be in a position where I can be an ambassador to the school and the organization (while recognizing that the one who handles the money may also have to be unpopular sometimes.)
My law license is active and I need to attend some continuing education courses to stay in good standing- what's going to happen with my career, such as it is, over the next year or two or five? What opportunities will come my way? I have lots of unanswered questions right now.
My promise to myself is that I'm not going to make any rash decisions- measured steps only. As I've gotten older, I've become more inclined to take longer to make decisions and this has resulted in fewer, better decisions about my life. I don't know what path I'm on right now, but I know that my life is good. I'm not anxious about my current lack of clear direction- I have enough purpose in my immediate tasks- but I'm interested to see what's next.
Henry started Kindergarten three weeks ago- hah! Henry started Kindergarten last week- I just double-checked the calendar. It seems like it's been so much longer. I already feel spoiled when I go to the grocery store and don't have to explain why Mario or Angry Birds-themed foods might not be the best nutritional choices on the shelves.
It's a new chapter for me and I'm curious to see what the year is going to bring. I've been teaching knitting at the local Y for almost 2 years now and the Y, which originally courted me to teach, has been continually frustrating to work with and I've just been informed that I'm losing my room (again) and can teach my class in an outdoor pavilion, the lobby, or a windowless dungeon of a conference room that is burdened with large tables and an oft-used supply closet: I may be looking for new digs in which to teach my class.
I'm treasurer of our PTO and I'm excited to be in a position where I can be an ambassador to the school and the organization (while recognizing that the one who handles the money may also have to be unpopular sometimes.)
My law license is active and I need to attend some continuing education courses to stay in good standing- what's going to happen with my career, such as it is, over the next year or two or five? What opportunities will come my way? I have lots of unanswered questions right now.
My promise to myself is that I'm not going to make any rash decisions- measured steps only. As I've gotten older, I've become more inclined to take longer to make decisions and this has resulted in fewer, better decisions about my life. I don't know what path I'm on right now, but I know that my life is good. I'm not anxious about my current lack of clear direction- I have enough purpose in my immediate tasks- but I'm interested to see what's next.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
My New Gig
I got a new gig. I'm the Lake YMCA's new knitting teacher.
I'm really excited about the position for many reasons:
I'll meet new people in my still-fairly-new community and they won't all be moms of young children- I like variety in my friends
I get to pass along the craft I've grown to really love
I get to hone my skills in the process
I get to unload some of my yarn stash
A little over a year ago I recognized how much I love knitting. I love the feel of the yarn in my hands. I love the way the needles slide against each other in a gentle shhh shhh as I knit. I make garments in vivid colors, warm and durable and soft; sweaters, hats, mittens and blankets to embrace my husband, my children, my family, my friends and myself.
The process of creation is multi-step and every step is one of discovery. The pattern choice is probably the most important and most exciting- who will it be for? What season? What function will the garment have? What will it have to match? Cables? Or color?
The pattern choice drives the yarn choice. Choosing the yarn is the most exciting step- what fibers? What weight? What colors? Does it need to be machine washable? Where will I get the yarn? When do I get to feel it?
Next comes the gauge swatch and then measuring the intended recipient- torso length, arm length, shoulder to fall line, chest size. The most exciting step is next: starting. Seeing the sweater or hat or mittens or blanket begin to take shape on the needles it delightful. Does it look just as I thought it was going to look, or is it a little different? How quickly is the project going to appear. Seeing the project grow off the needles is like watching a genie come swirling out of a lamp- it's just as magical.
Blocking comes next and blocking is usually fairly straightforward. However, I have had an item or two completely change again during the blocking process. A knit blanket once went from being lumpy-bumpy and cute to being flat and sleek and beautiful. Even blocking delivers an occasional surprise.
The final stage I can't complete fast enough- the finishing up so that the knitted item can be used. The sewing together and weaving-in of the ends always looks like it will take forever until I actually start doing it. Suddenly I'm down to the last end and I can give it away. Giving something away is like giving someone a perpetual hug. It's love and warmth and comfort.
I get to pass it all along to a new group of people. That makes me one lucky person. Maybe the most exciting part will be seeing a new group of knitters complete their first projects.
Life is good.
I'm really excited about the position for many reasons:
I'll meet new people in my still-fairly-new community and they won't all be moms of young children- I like variety in my friends
I get to pass along the craft I've grown to really love
I get to hone my skills in the process
I get to unload some of my yarn stash
A little over a year ago I recognized how much I love knitting. I love the feel of the yarn in my hands. I love the way the needles slide against each other in a gentle shhh shhh as I knit. I make garments in vivid colors, warm and durable and soft; sweaters, hats, mittens and blankets to embrace my husband, my children, my family, my friends and myself.
The process of creation is multi-step and every step is one of discovery. The pattern choice is probably the most important and most exciting- who will it be for? What season? What function will the garment have? What will it have to match? Cables? Or color?
The pattern choice drives the yarn choice. Choosing the yarn is the most exciting step- what fibers? What weight? What colors? Does it need to be machine washable? Where will I get the yarn? When do I get to feel it?
Next comes the gauge swatch and then measuring the intended recipient- torso length, arm length, shoulder to fall line, chest size. The most exciting step is next: starting. Seeing the sweater or hat or mittens or blanket begin to take shape on the needles it delightful. Does it look just as I thought it was going to look, or is it a little different? How quickly is the project going to appear. Seeing the project grow off the needles is like watching a genie come swirling out of a lamp- it's just as magical.
Blocking comes next and blocking is usually fairly straightforward. However, I have had an item or two completely change again during the blocking process. A knit blanket once went from being lumpy-bumpy and cute to being flat and sleek and beautiful. Even blocking delivers an occasional surprise.
The final stage I can't complete fast enough- the finishing up so that the knitted item can be used. The sewing together and weaving-in of the ends always looks like it will take forever until I actually start doing it. Suddenly I'm down to the last end and I can give it away. Giving something away is like giving someone a perpetual hug. It's love and warmth and comfort.
I get to pass it all along to a new group of people. That makes me one lucky person. Maybe the most exciting part will be seeing a new group of knitters complete their first projects.
Life is good.
Friday, November 5, 2010
I Want a Hot Dog
My oldest child is in Kindergarten. He's sensitive and high-strung and inquisitive, stubborn, smart and very sweet. Putting him on the bus that first day in August and pushing him out of the nest was hard, but I knew he'd love school. I knew it was the first major step towards him becoming his own person, independent from me.
He's got his own friends and his own relationships now. He knows people I don't know- the gym teacher and the lunch ladies, the librarian and the school nurse. He had some conflict two days ago with one of the women who monitors the playground- yesterday afternoon he told me it had been resolved.
It's fascinating to me to see the evolution of my child. I see glimpses of the person he's going to be, even while the majority of his self is still firmly rooted in the 5 year-old person he is now.
Many of the changes are subtle; this morning's was not. "I want a hot dog for lunch today, Mom." Ted announced at breakfast. For the first time ever, he went to school without a lunch I'd packed. He's going to stand in line with the other kids and get his lunch, typing his code into the cash register to take the payment out of his account. He's not going to have me there to cut it up for him- he'll have to manage it by himself.
I want to be a fly on the wall and check on him. I'd like to ride in his pocket and just make sure that he's doing fine- give him encouragement throughout the day. Of course, that's not mine to do. He's got to figure it out on his own, just like I did when I was his age.
He took charge of another area of his life today. I am proud of him each time he takes another step towards independence.
I'd already packed his lunch when he asked for the hot dog. I didn't tell him that though, and his sandwich, vegetables and goldfish crackers are in the fridge. He can have them tomorrow.
Today he's having a hot dog.
He's got his own friends and his own relationships now. He knows people I don't know- the gym teacher and the lunch ladies, the librarian and the school nurse. He had some conflict two days ago with one of the women who monitors the playground- yesterday afternoon he told me it had been resolved.
It's fascinating to me to see the evolution of my child. I see glimpses of the person he's going to be, even while the majority of his self is still firmly rooted in the 5 year-old person he is now.
Many of the changes are subtle; this morning's was not. "I want a hot dog for lunch today, Mom." Ted announced at breakfast. For the first time ever, he went to school without a lunch I'd packed. He's going to stand in line with the other kids and get his lunch, typing his code into the cash register to take the payment out of his account. He's not going to have me there to cut it up for him- he'll have to manage it by himself.
I want to be a fly on the wall and check on him. I'd like to ride in his pocket and just make sure that he's doing fine- give him encouragement throughout the day. Of course, that's not mine to do. He's got to figure it out on his own, just like I did when I was his age.
He took charge of another area of his life today. I am proud of him each time he takes another step towards independence.
I'd already packed his lunch when he asked for the hot dog. I didn't tell him that though, and his sandwich, vegetables and goldfish crackers are in the fridge. He can have them tomorrow.
Today he's having a hot dog.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
.....And They're Off
We got a puppy. He's going to be a big dog- he's 4 months old now and is almost the size of a small Lab. He's jumpy and nippy and boisterous, but we can tell that he'll eventually settle down into a very nice dog. He's sweet, tolerant and lovable.
Henry adores him. He can't get enough of Skipper. Every day I run interference so that Skipper can sleep without being piled with toys, blankets and Henry. Eventually, despite my best efforts, Skipper has to give up his nap, get up and play with Henry instead.
We were outside one morning- Skipper was minding his own business, napping under a lilac bush. I was pulling weeds in the herb garden. Henry was playing with a bungee cord he found. Henry spied Skipper sleeping and took the bungee cord over and used it to attach the lid of the sand box to Skipper's collar. Henry then came over to me to get sun-screened for the morning.
The sandbox lid is made of a lightweight plastic, but it's fairly large- maybe 2'x 3'Here's a picture of it:
As I was spraying Henry down with sunscreen, Skipper must have moved. The lid moved with him and spooked him. Skipper took off like a shot. Howling and running as fast as he could, he bolted past me and down the driveway, turned the corner and flew in front of the house, sandbox lid trailing behind him like a flying carpet. "Rooooooooooo! Roooooooooooo!" I dropped the sunscreen and started running after him as fast as I could, "Skipper! I'll saaaave youuuuuuuuu!" With a scramble of nails against asphalt, he turned the corner and ran past the garage. "Roooooooooooo!" all the while pulling his airborne sled. He scrambled around the last corner and got the sandbox lid wedged between the trashcans and our yard trailer. I finally caught up to him there and was able to release him from his pursuer.
Skipper ran off to recuperate. Henry, I'm sure, was already thinking of the next thing he's going to do with Skipper. Yesterday Henry covered him with truck stickers. Henry tells me that Skipper is his best friend and I believe it, but I don't think Skipper is going to fall asleep near the sandbox any time soon.
Henry adores him. He can't get enough of Skipper. Every day I run interference so that Skipper can sleep without being piled with toys, blankets and Henry. Eventually, despite my best efforts, Skipper has to give up his nap, get up and play with Henry instead.
We were outside one morning- Skipper was minding his own business, napping under a lilac bush. I was pulling weeds in the herb garden. Henry was playing with a bungee cord he found. Henry spied Skipper sleeping and took the bungee cord over and used it to attach the lid of the sand box to Skipper's collar. Henry then came over to me to get sun-screened for the morning.
The sandbox lid is made of a lightweight plastic, but it's fairly large- maybe 2'x 3'Here's a picture of it:
As I was spraying Henry down with sunscreen, Skipper must have moved. The lid moved with him and spooked him. Skipper took off like a shot. Howling and running as fast as he could, he bolted past me and down the driveway, turned the corner and flew in front of the house, sandbox lid trailing behind him like a flying carpet. "Rooooooooooo! Roooooooooooo!" I dropped the sunscreen and started running after him as fast as I could, "Skipper! I'll saaaave youuuuuuuuu!" With a scramble of nails against asphalt, he turned the corner and ran past the garage. "Roooooooooooo!" all the while pulling his airborne sled. He scrambled around the last corner and got the sandbox lid wedged between the trashcans and our yard trailer. I finally caught up to him there and was able to release him from his pursuer.
Skipper ran off to recuperate. Henry, I'm sure, was already thinking of the next thing he's going to do with Skipper. Yesterday Henry covered him with truck stickers. Henry tells me that Skipper is his best friend and I believe it, but I don't think Skipper is going to fall asleep near the sandbox any time soon.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Changed Again
I changed my comment posting policy to something that may cut back on the spam but that allows my friends to leave comments again. Hopefully this will help- I'm still getting spam comments so my attempts to curb it haven't been totally successful. I still don't think my readers are interested in German Viagra so I've been vigilant about removing the spam comments.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
An Unfortunate Name
Winnie the Pooh has been around forever, but I am still sometimes taken aback when my kids say his name.
Every mom has probably snapped to attention when she's heard her kid squeal with delight, "Look mom! There's Pooh!" (The first thing you think as a mom is "Where's poo? Do I have wipes? Is this going to require doing a load of laundry?" Then you realize it's "Pooh," not "poo." Sigh of relief.)
Never is this so true for me as in the evenings. I'm tired and ready for the kids to go to bed so that I can unwind for a little while.
I get a little burst of adrenaline every evening when Ted shouts "Mom! There's Pooh on my toothbrush!"
I really ought to get him a new toothbrush.
Every mom has probably snapped to attention when she's heard her kid squeal with delight, "Look mom! There's Pooh!" (The first thing you think as a mom is "Where's poo? Do I have wipes? Is this going to require doing a load of laundry?" Then you realize it's "Pooh," not "poo." Sigh of relief.)
Never is this so true for me as in the evenings. I'm tired and ready for the kids to go to bed so that I can unwind for a little while.
I get a little burst of adrenaline every evening when Ted shouts "Mom! There's Pooh on my toothbrush!"
I really ought to get him a new toothbrush.
I'm Supposed to Care?
Tiger Woods apologized the other day for cheating on his wife. He said that he hoped that the public could forgive him.
I was puzzled by the apology.
The pundits came on and told us how we were supposed to feel about it and psychologists told us about his body language and whether or not they felt he was being honest.
I was even more puzzled by all of that.
Tiger Woods is a golfer. Period. Tiger Woods probably owed his wife an apology, but I don't know what their arrangement was (nor do I care to) and I don't know what kinds of things she was engaged in while Tiger was... busy.
If Mr. Woods was my moral Northstar from whom I sought guidance on how to live a moral and corruption-free life, then I would surely be confused by his transgressions. But as far as I can tell, Mr. Woods never claimed to be an awesome family man from whom others could learn. If he ever marketed himself to the public as a domestic bliss Svengali, then the public would have a right to expect an apology.
I feel sort-of sorry for celebrities sometimes- I think that the public expects way too much from them. Actors are folks who are good at pretending to be someone else. This does not give them political insight greater than anyone else. I don't care who Tim Robbins or Spike Lee or Susan Sarandon thinks should be president. I see the ads and the interviews where the celebrities are giving their opinion on political issues and I wonder why they think they've got the answers.
I don't care what they think about gun control, same-sex marriage, the war in Iraq or wearing fur because they aren't experts in the field- they're actors.
I'd like to know what Sarah Jessica Parker does for her skin (truly, not just what the ads say she does) because she's my age and I look 15 years older than she does. Clearly she has some kind of insider information on how to keep your eyelids from being baggy, but I still don't care who she's going to vote for.
So Tiger cheated on his wife and apparently disappointed his public. Maybe they shouldn't count on him to be anything other than a really good golfer. Maybe the public should have apologized to him for expecting him to be more than simply an impressive athlete. Maybe we got it backwards. Maybe when the spotlight fell upon him for his off-the-course behavior we all should have turned the spotlight off and said, "We're sorry; we forgot- you're an incredibly good golfer- nothing more, nothing less. We'll see you on the course."
I was puzzled by the apology.
The pundits came on and told us how we were supposed to feel about it and psychologists told us about his body language and whether or not they felt he was being honest.
I was even more puzzled by all of that.
Tiger Woods is a golfer. Period. Tiger Woods probably owed his wife an apology, but I don't know what their arrangement was (nor do I care to) and I don't know what kinds of things she was engaged in while Tiger was... busy.
If Mr. Woods was my moral Northstar from whom I sought guidance on how to live a moral and corruption-free life, then I would surely be confused by his transgressions. But as far as I can tell, Mr. Woods never claimed to be an awesome family man from whom others could learn. If he ever marketed himself to the public as a domestic bliss Svengali, then the public would have a right to expect an apology.
I feel sort-of sorry for celebrities sometimes- I think that the public expects way too much from them. Actors are folks who are good at pretending to be someone else. This does not give them political insight greater than anyone else. I don't care who Tim Robbins or Spike Lee or Susan Sarandon thinks should be president. I see the ads and the interviews where the celebrities are giving their opinion on political issues and I wonder why they think they've got the answers.
I don't care what they think about gun control, same-sex marriage, the war in Iraq or wearing fur because they aren't experts in the field- they're actors.
I'd like to know what Sarah Jessica Parker does for her skin (truly, not just what the ads say she does) because she's my age and I look 15 years older than she does. Clearly she has some kind of insider information on how to keep your eyelids from being baggy, but I still don't care who she's going to vote for.
So Tiger cheated on his wife and apparently disappointed his public. Maybe they shouldn't count on him to be anything other than a really good golfer. Maybe the public should have apologized to him for expecting him to be more than simply an impressive athlete. Maybe we got it backwards. Maybe when the spotlight fell upon him for his off-the-course behavior we all should have turned the spotlight off and said, "We're sorry; we forgot- you're an incredibly good golfer- nothing more, nothing less. We'll see you on the course."
Friday, January 29, 2010
Is it Spring Yet?
I have my garden planned and my seeds purchased already. They're waiting in the basement for warmer weather, or at least for the calendar date when I can put the seeds in some soil, under the lights in their fake Spring in order to get a jump on our growing season.
Yes, I know it's only January, but the snapdragons get started at the end of February and I was one of the last people to order my snapdragon seeds before the company ran out of the variety I wanted, so I'm not that crazy to have them this early.
Besides, ordering my seeds makes the weather outside seem less bleak, less endless.
We're putting in a garden this year. For the last couple of years I've had an ever-growing series of pots lining my driveway. We had no room for a garden in the front without turning the front yard into a garden and the back yard was shady and wooded. I'd have had to take down the neighbors' trees in order to get enough sunlight in the back, and I think they would have objected.
We bought a new house and moved in November; I brought along all of my pots so that I could plant flowers around the back deck. In our new house we have 3 acres of land with only one line of trees at the back of the property, so we have plenty of room for a garden. We've walked the property and decided exactly where the garden should go and I wait.
The neighbor, a Mennonite carpenter named Elmer Yoder who's lived in his house forever, told me that our property is largely "muck." While this sounded to me like it meant rich, fertile soil, I have since discovered that "muck" is actually a technical term used to describe property that is too wet for crops. There is a broken field tile in the front that will need to be fixed in order to alleviate some of the drainage issues and the county is overdue for dredging the creek that abuts our parcel.
The spot which we've chosen sits a little bit higher than some of the surrounding yard and I'm hopeful that there will be no standing water in that spot at the end of Spring. We'll figure something out, I'm sure, but if I end up using my old system for growing my tomatoes this year, heck, at least I've already got the pots for it.
Yes, I know it's only January, but the snapdragons get started at the end of February and I was one of the last people to order my snapdragon seeds before the company ran out of the variety I wanted, so I'm not that crazy to have them this early.
Besides, ordering my seeds makes the weather outside seem less bleak, less endless.
We're putting in a garden this year. For the last couple of years I've had an ever-growing series of pots lining my driveway. We had no room for a garden in the front without turning the front yard into a garden and the back yard was shady and wooded. I'd have had to take down the neighbors' trees in order to get enough sunlight in the back, and I think they would have objected.
We bought a new house and moved in November; I brought along all of my pots so that I could plant flowers around the back deck. In our new house we have 3 acres of land with only one line of trees at the back of the property, so we have plenty of room for a garden. We've walked the property and decided exactly where the garden should go and I wait.
The neighbor, a Mennonite carpenter named Elmer Yoder who's lived in his house forever, told me that our property is largely "muck." While this sounded to me like it meant rich, fertile soil, I have since discovered that "muck" is actually a technical term used to describe property that is too wet for crops. There is a broken field tile in the front that will need to be fixed in order to alleviate some of the drainage issues and the county is overdue for dredging the creek that abuts our parcel.
The spot which we've chosen sits a little bit higher than some of the surrounding yard and I'm hopeful that there will be no standing water in that spot at the end of Spring. We'll figure something out, I'm sure, but if I end up using my old system for growing my tomatoes this year, heck, at least I've already got the pots for it.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Change to Blog
I've got another post coming, probably more than one, but I made a change today that I wanted to alert my readers to.
I've been getting spam posts in my "comments" sections on my posts and it's been a pain to log in and clear them out- invariably they show up on older posts and I have to figure out when I wrote the entry first.
I am no longer able to accept anonymous comments on the blog- I am hoping that the change will completely eliminate spam postings (I really don't think anyone who reads this is interested in German Viagra) but I know that some of my regulars will no longer be able to post comments. I've hesitated to make the change for that reason, but I'm sure you all will understand.
Check back soon- I'm in a writing mood- I just need the time to sit down. I'll get something up this month though, for sure.
Edited to add: I got another spam comment today, written in a character language, so clearly the problem hasn't been solved yet. Spam is something, like vandalism, that I just don't "get." Hmph.
I've been getting spam posts in my "comments" sections on my posts and it's been a pain to log in and clear them out- invariably they show up on older posts and I have to figure out when I wrote the entry first.
I am no longer able to accept anonymous comments on the blog- I am hoping that the change will completely eliminate spam postings (I really don't think anyone who reads this is interested in German Viagra) but I know that some of my regulars will no longer be able to post comments. I've hesitated to make the change for that reason, but I'm sure you all will understand.
Check back soon- I'm in a writing mood- I just need the time to sit down. I'll get something up this month though, for sure.
Edited to add: I got another spam comment today, written in a character language, so clearly the problem hasn't been solved yet. Spam is something, like vandalism, that I just don't "get." Hmph.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Speaking Chinese and Doing Calculus
Disney has just announced they'll refund your money if you bought "Baby Einstein" videos from 2004-2009. Apparently, parents bought the videos with the expectation that they would increase their child's intelligence.
Although I purchased several of the videos I don't think I could ask for a refund. I never thought they were educational so I don't consider myself defrauded. There are lots of toys that bill themselves as "educational" whose claim seems ludicrous. I have occasionally joked that a toy is "educational" because if you throw it, you will witness the physical law of gravity in action.
Putting a picture of a square, a triangle, an oval and a rectangle on something does not make it educational. Nor does making the different sides out of different colors of plastic. As for the videos, the fact that there are toys and creepy puppets filmed against a soundtrack of classical music, in my mind at least, did not make it "educational." The surprising part about Disney's announcement (to me) is that people thought it was.
As I said, I have had the videos. They allowed me to take a shower or make dinner. I know that the American Academy of Pediatrics has recommended no video watching before the age of two, but until one of their members wants to come over and make dinner for us, I have to find some way to get things done. My kids happily watched the videos while I got something done. They didn't watch them all day but I did let them watch them on a regular basis.
I'm not surprised that my 4 year-old isn't doing calculus or speaking Chinese. I am thankful that I had an electronic babysitter to help me get dinner made or laundry in the washing machine, but I never expected the videos to be anything more than that. The fact that it has been determined that the videos are not educational do not make me feel parental guilt- I never thought they were anything other than entertainment for my child.
So Disney, you can keep your money from me. The videos came in handy. If some of the major toy manufacturers take note of Disney's actions and start using the word "educational" a little more judiciously when describing their toys, that'd be great. If they don't, I'll just keep using their "educational" toys to teach my children the law of gravity.
Although I purchased several of the videos I don't think I could ask for a refund. I never thought they were educational so I don't consider myself defrauded. There are lots of toys that bill themselves as "educational" whose claim seems ludicrous. I have occasionally joked that a toy is "educational" because if you throw it, you will witness the physical law of gravity in action.
Putting a picture of a square, a triangle, an oval and a rectangle on something does not make it educational. Nor does making the different sides out of different colors of plastic. As for the videos, the fact that there are toys and creepy puppets filmed against a soundtrack of classical music, in my mind at least, did not make it "educational." The surprising part about Disney's announcement (to me) is that people thought it was.
As I said, I have had the videos. They allowed me to take a shower or make dinner. I know that the American Academy of Pediatrics has recommended no video watching before the age of two, but until one of their members wants to come over and make dinner for us, I have to find some way to get things done. My kids happily watched the videos while I got something done. They didn't watch them all day but I did let them watch them on a regular basis.
I'm not surprised that my 4 year-old isn't doing calculus or speaking Chinese. I am thankful that I had an electronic babysitter to help me get dinner made or laundry in the washing machine, but I never expected the videos to be anything more than that. The fact that it has been determined that the videos are not educational do not make me feel parental guilt- I never thought they were anything other than entertainment for my child.
So Disney, you can keep your money from me. The videos came in handy. If some of the major toy manufacturers take note of Disney's actions and start using the word "educational" a little more judiciously when describing their toys, that'd be great. If they don't, I'll just keep using their "educational" toys to teach my children the law of gravity.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Uprooting the Deeply Rooted
We're currently 2 1/2 weeks away from moving and there are boxes everywhere. The guy who works the Goodwill truck knows me by name. I'm starting to count things down- this is the last time I'll pay this bill or get this magazine or buy toilet paper until we move to our new house. The kids asked to drive by the new house yesterday. We're all excited, but it's a lot of work.
I bought our house 9 years ago when I was married to my ex-husband. I was working full-time and this house needed a LOT of work. There was a hole in the balcony as big as a garbage-can lid and every room was ugly beyond description. Instead of putting time into carefully going through and cleaning out my old house, I came over to the new one after work and painted, prepped, stripped and cleaned. The boxes in the attic, left there from my move from law school, were moved into the attic here. Some of them had been untouched during the 9 years I'd been here.
My husband Nate moved in after we got married in 2004. He already had a house, but we decided we'd live in mine. It was clearly MY house, with all of my artwork on the walls, my furniture everywhere.
Nate sold his house 3 days after he'd put it on the market, a year after we were married. We already had a child at that time and Nate didn't have the time or the energy to go through his things. They joined mine in the attic. I tried to make as much space for his things in my house as I could- I felt he'd sacrificed his home identity when we got married.
We had too much furniture, too many things. Two sets of plates and two coffee makers, eight phones, two standing mixers, three blenders, 12 blankets, 15 towels- we simply had too much.
Both of us tend to be pack rats and I have had to remind myself that just because something has value doesn't mean it has value to me.
There is an emotional component to it too- prior to meeting Nate, I had gone through a divorce which left me feeling like the stuff I'd kept was like the piece of myself he hadn't chipped away. I didn't want to give up anything I still had left. I was not done healing from my divorce when Nate and I married.
When Nate and I got married, Nate had been a widower for 4 years. Tossing out things that had been theirs was like treating his past with disregard- it was a dishonoring of her memory.
We've been married for over 5 years now. We have two children, we've been on 8 vacations; lost a grandparent and a friend; bought two cars; been to the doctor numerous times and to the hospital 5 times; been to a few weddings; welcomed a nephew into the family and gone through the daily and weekly trials and tribulations that a family goes through together. In short, we've both moved beyond our pasts. We carry them with us, for good and for bad, but we don't need the things anymore that were as important to us as they were when we united our households.
We've been going through the boxes one by one. We've had an extra trash pick-up at our house and we've borrowed an extra trash can a couple of times. We've made many trips to the Goodwill truck.
It feels good to clean out and sort and purge the things we have.
We're moving into our house. We chose it together after looking at a LOT of houses. We'll pick out the wall coverings and the floor coverings together because it's our house. I'm excited about what it's going to mean for us as a family.
I still have too much fabric and he probably has more tools than he needs, but neither one of us is moving something into our new house simply because we don't know what to do with it.
That's a very clean feeling.
I bought our house 9 years ago when I was married to my ex-husband. I was working full-time and this house needed a LOT of work. There was a hole in the balcony as big as a garbage-can lid and every room was ugly beyond description. Instead of putting time into carefully going through and cleaning out my old house, I came over to the new one after work and painted, prepped, stripped and cleaned. The boxes in the attic, left there from my move from law school, were moved into the attic here. Some of them had been untouched during the 9 years I'd been here.
My husband Nate moved in after we got married in 2004. He already had a house, but we decided we'd live in mine. It was clearly MY house, with all of my artwork on the walls, my furniture everywhere.
Nate sold his house 3 days after he'd put it on the market, a year after we were married. We already had a child at that time and Nate didn't have the time or the energy to go through his things. They joined mine in the attic. I tried to make as much space for his things in my house as I could- I felt he'd sacrificed his home identity when we got married.
We had too much furniture, too many things. Two sets of plates and two coffee makers, eight phones, two standing mixers, three blenders, 12 blankets, 15 towels- we simply had too much.
Both of us tend to be pack rats and I have had to remind myself that just because something has value doesn't mean it has value to me.
There is an emotional component to it too- prior to meeting Nate, I had gone through a divorce which left me feeling like the stuff I'd kept was like the piece of myself he hadn't chipped away. I didn't want to give up anything I still had left. I was not done healing from my divorce when Nate and I married.
When Nate and I got married, Nate had been a widower for 4 years. Tossing out things that had been theirs was like treating his past with disregard- it was a dishonoring of her memory.
We've been married for over 5 years now. We have two children, we've been on 8 vacations; lost a grandparent and a friend; bought two cars; been to the doctor numerous times and to the hospital 5 times; been to a few weddings; welcomed a nephew into the family and gone through the daily and weekly trials and tribulations that a family goes through together. In short, we've both moved beyond our pasts. We carry them with us, for good and for bad, but we don't need the things anymore that were as important to us as they were when we united our households.
We've been going through the boxes one by one. We've had an extra trash pick-up at our house and we've borrowed an extra trash can a couple of times. We've made many trips to the Goodwill truck.
It feels good to clean out and sort and purge the things we have.
We're moving into our house. We chose it together after looking at a LOT of houses. We'll pick out the wall coverings and the floor coverings together because it's our house. I'm excited about what it's going to mean for us as a family.
I still have too much fabric and he probably has more tools than he needs, but neither one of us is moving something into our new house simply because we don't know what to do with it.
That's a very clean feeling.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
50 First Dates
We just sold our house.
Thank goodness too, because the suspense was killing me.
Every time we had a showing it was like a first date. I never liked first dates- it was simply too stressful. Does he like me? Was this the right perfume? Is my neckline too low? Too high? Was that a good joke or did I just sound stupid?
Then the next couple of days were torture. Did he like me? Is he going to call again? Do I get a second date? I knew I wore the wrong shoes.
Selling the house was the same way. I'd do a last-minute clean-up of the kids' toys and walk out of the house, drive down the street and the questions would start: Are they there now? Do they like the paint color? Is my kitchen showing itself off well? Do they like the yard? Did my 4-year old pee all over the toilet right before we left? And then the inevitable: What did they think? Are they going to call again? Do they want a second showing? Maybe they'll pop the question!!
One time (I am not making this up and am still embarrassed by it) one of our cats threw a hairball on the dining room table, all over the literature about our house AFTER we'd left, but BEFORE our prospective buyers came through. Needless to say, they did not make an offer.
Sometimes we found out why the prospective buyers declined to make an offer and most of the times the reason made sense- they didn't like the ravine abutting the back yard or the layout wasn't conducive to their lifestyle. Sometimes the reason made no sense- one couple said that our kitchen was too small. The kitchen is a showplace room that I spent way too much money on. One of the largest rooms in the house and bigger than any kitchen in any house I'd looked at, the kitchen boasts top-of the line appliances and about a mile of Silestone counters. The kitchen, ugly when I bought it, sold the house to me because my old kitchen was a cramped little space that I couldn't work in. Those buyers made up a reason- their agent called them "crazy."
When we got a rejection, we'd kvetch and speculate about the real reason, much the way my girlfriends and I would kvetch and speculate about the real reason he didn't call back, whoever the he of the moment was.
When the first offer came in, our response was mixed. We were a little insulted by his figure- we'd made every major repair during our 9 years in the house- roof, furnace, A/C, kitchen renovation- and thought our house was worth more. We were part elated- someone liked our house enough to make an offer! And we were part terrified- lay-offs had just been announced at my husband's job and while he was unlikely to be directly effected, we weren't sure how deep the lay-offs would go or what kind of financial concessions we'd be asked to make in order to save jobs. In addition, we would be moving to a new community and neither Nate nor myself likes change- I like knowing where everything is in my grocery store.
We rejected the offer.
And then our buyer came back with more money. He really liked our house. It was going to be a good fit for him. Nate and I joined hands, closed our eyes and stepped off the cliff.
We signed the contract.
We didn't know where we were going to move to but had a couple of houses we were contemplating. We had a couple more we wanted to see. I did not sleep.
We went out one more time with our agent and narrowed our choices down to two.
We decided to make an offer. Again, I did not sleep. We'd made an offer on a house we'd decided was our dream house. It had everything we'd hoped for, including some things we thought we'd never get in one house. We knew other people were also interested in the house. We crossed our fingers and waited to hear from our agent.
This was worse than any first-date jitters I'd ever had. The phone rang and I jumped at it. Our agent! NO! I was NOT interested in taking a short telephone survey! The phone rang. Our agent! Sorry, dear friend, I will have to call you back later. AFTER our agent has called. The phone rang! Our agent! With a signed contract in hand.
Phew. I am so glad that's over. Now we just have to move. Ugh.
Thank goodness too, because the suspense was killing me.
Every time we had a showing it was like a first date. I never liked first dates- it was simply too stressful. Does he like me? Was this the right perfume? Is my neckline too low? Too high? Was that a good joke or did I just sound stupid?
Then the next couple of days were torture. Did he like me? Is he going to call again? Do I get a second date? I knew I wore the wrong shoes.
Selling the house was the same way. I'd do a last-minute clean-up of the kids' toys and walk out of the house, drive down the street and the questions would start: Are they there now? Do they like the paint color? Is my kitchen showing itself off well? Do they like the yard? Did my 4-year old pee all over the toilet right before we left? And then the inevitable: What did they think? Are they going to call again? Do they want a second showing? Maybe they'll pop the question!!
One time (I am not making this up and am still embarrassed by it) one of our cats threw a hairball on the dining room table, all over the literature about our house AFTER we'd left, but BEFORE our prospective buyers came through. Needless to say, they did not make an offer.
Sometimes we found out why the prospective buyers declined to make an offer and most of the times the reason made sense- they didn't like the ravine abutting the back yard or the layout wasn't conducive to their lifestyle. Sometimes the reason made no sense- one couple said that our kitchen was too small. The kitchen is a showplace room that I spent way too much money on. One of the largest rooms in the house and bigger than any kitchen in any house I'd looked at, the kitchen boasts top-of the line appliances and about a mile of Silestone counters. The kitchen, ugly when I bought it, sold the house to me because my old kitchen was a cramped little space that I couldn't work in. Those buyers made up a reason- their agent called them "crazy."
When we got a rejection, we'd kvetch and speculate about the real reason, much the way my girlfriends and I would kvetch and speculate about the real reason he didn't call back, whoever the he of the moment was.
When the first offer came in, our response was mixed. We were a little insulted by his figure- we'd made every major repair during our 9 years in the house- roof, furnace, A/C, kitchen renovation- and thought our house was worth more. We were part elated- someone liked our house enough to make an offer! And we were part terrified- lay-offs had just been announced at my husband's job and while he was unlikely to be directly effected, we weren't sure how deep the lay-offs would go or what kind of financial concessions we'd be asked to make in order to save jobs. In addition, we would be moving to a new community and neither Nate nor myself likes change- I like knowing where everything is in my grocery store.
We rejected the offer.
And then our buyer came back with more money. He really liked our house. It was going to be a good fit for him. Nate and I joined hands, closed our eyes and stepped off the cliff.
We signed the contract.
We didn't know where we were going to move to but had a couple of houses we were contemplating. We had a couple more we wanted to see. I did not sleep.
We went out one more time with our agent and narrowed our choices down to two.
We decided to make an offer. Again, I did not sleep. We'd made an offer on a house we'd decided was our dream house. It had everything we'd hoped for, including some things we thought we'd never get in one house. We knew other people were also interested in the house. We crossed our fingers and waited to hear from our agent.
This was worse than any first-date jitters I'd ever had. The phone rang and I jumped at it. Our agent! NO! I was NOT interested in taking a short telephone survey! The phone rang. Our agent! Sorry, dear friend, I will have to call you back later. AFTER our agent has called. The phone rang! Our agent! With a signed contract in hand.
Phew. I am so glad that's over. Now we just have to move. Ugh.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Project Grace Completed
If you don't know about Project Grace, please read my last entry first- it will save me the time of re-writing it here.
I finished Project Grace a couple of weeks ago. We'd just gotten back from vacation and it took me until tonight to put my hands on my camera so that I could take pictures that would provide the evidence that I wanted.
There were two panels that gave me trouble- one was fairly easy to suss out- it took a couple of hours of research and a new book purchase, but my first attempt revealed the correct pattern. The "Bramble" was indeed "Bramble."
The "Slip Stitch Diamonds" turned out to be a bit harder to unravel. I searched every book I had including two newly purchased ones. I made a practice square- it looked good on the front, but the back was clearly different. It had to be perfect- good enough was not going to be good enough. I was also concerned that as the blanket aged, the difference between Grace's pattern and mine would become more evident.
Finally I went to a local knitting shop and asked the ladies there for help. One of them pointed out a bit of knitting that I would have missed- every fourth stitch had one more row to it- an odd bit of knitting indeed. They'd never seen a stitch like it before- it makes a perfectly flat diamond pattern. It's brilliant construction. Their discovery enabled me to work out the stitch the rest of the way.
The cabling was simply resolved with a little math.
Here's the blanket, in all its glory:
(Grace loved cats, so I let Patches stay and be photographed.)
Here's a picture of the end that I knit:
Here's a picture of the juncture where Grace's knitting ends and mine begins:
I tried to take that last picture at a point where the knitting is the most complicated because I figured that if there was a place where the transition would show, that would be it. I can't tell where she left off and I took over. My goal was for the transition to be seamless, and it appears that I accomplished that.
I'm pretty proud of the work I did and glad that I could do it right. I have a blanket I cherish and I will think of Grace often when I am curled up beneath it, with a cat in my lap. Anyone who knew Grace would know that spending time under a hand-knit blanket, sharing its comfort with a cat is the perfect way to remember Grace. I am lucky to have her blanket (and so is Patches.)
I finished Project Grace a couple of weeks ago. We'd just gotten back from vacation and it took me until tonight to put my hands on my camera so that I could take pictures that would provide the evidence that I wanted.
There were two panels that gave me trouble- one was fairly easy to suss out- it took a couple of hours of research and a new book purchase, but my first attempt revealed the correct pattern. The "Bramble" was indeed "Bramble."
The "Slip Stitch Diamonds" turned out to be a bit harder to unravel. I searched every book I had including two newly purchased ones. I made a practice square- it looked good on the front, but the back was clearly different. It had to be perfect- good enough was not going to be good enough. I was also concerned that as the blanket aged, the difference between Grace's pattern and mine would become more evident.
Finally I went to a local knitting shop and asked the ladies there for help. One of them pointed out a bit of knitting that I would have missed- every fourth stitch had one more row to it- an odd bit of knitting indeed. They'd never seen a stitch like it before- it makes a perfectly flat diamond pattern. It's brilliant construction. Their discovery enabled me to work out the stitch the rest of the way.
The cabling was simply resolved with a little math.
Here's the blanket, in all its glory:
(Grace loved cats, so I let Patches stay and be photographed.)
Here's a picture of the end that I knit:
Here's a picture of the juncture where Grace's knitting ends and mine begins:
I tried to take that last picture at a point where the knitting is the most complicated because I figured that if there was a place where the transition would show, that would be it. I can't tell where she left off and I took over. My goal was for the transition to be seamless, and it appears that I accomplished that.
I'm pretty proud of the work I did and glad that I could do it right. I have a blanket I cherish and I will think of Grace often when I am curled up beneath it, with a cat in my lap. Anyone who knew Grace would know that spending time under a hand-knit blanket, sharing its comfort with a cat is the perfect way to remember Grace. I am lucky to have her blanket (and so is Patches.)
Friday, July 31, 2009
Project Grace
A dear friend of mine died recently. Grace was only 64 and she died of pancreatic cancer. It was a horrible end to a gentle and generous person. I will miss her tremendously.
Grace was a knitter and seamstress extraordinaire. She could puzzle out a pattern in her head and solve other people's mistakes and mis-stitches. She could create patterns and tailor and calculate in her head. Her ability was both fascinating and impressive.
I have had the good fortune to inherit a mostly-finished blanket that was part of her legacy. It's about ten inches too short and it comes without any notes or patterns. This is it:
There are a total of seventeen patterned panels across the front and a border around it.
A couple of the patterns are easy to figure out:
This one is a simple X and O cable with a Diamond Bobble cable in the center
This one is a Trophy Cable on either side and a Seed Stitch Diamond in the center:
And the center section is a simple diamond trellis cable:
Then there are the Mystery Stitches:
Bramble?
Slip Stitch Diamonds?
I think that finishing this blanket without a pattern is the perfect way to remember Grace. I will have to use my head and I will have to be careful. I'm checking my gauge to make sure it will go seamlessly from her work to mine- I'll have to use a larger diameter needle- she always knit looser than I do. I've been thinking about how to recreate the mystery stitches and I've poured through my books. I think I have one of them solved- I found a pattern that looks like it's the right one and I have a swatch knitted up that I'll subject to a close comparison. The "Slip Stitch Diamond" I haven't found a pattern for yet, but I think I've worked it out in my head. I have a swatch of that started too- I don't have it perfect yet, but I think I'm on the right track.
Grace would have it figured out by now, most likely. She'd have loved the challenge.
I love it too.
Grace was a knitter and seamstress extraordinaire. She could puzzle out a pattern in her head and solve other people's mistakes and mis-stitches. She could create patterns and tailor and calculate in her head. Her ability was both fascinating and impressive.
I have had the good fortune to inherit a mostly-finished blanket that was part of her legacy. It's about ten inches too short and it comes without any notes or patterns. This is it:
There are a total of seventeen patterned panels across the front and a border around it.
A couple of the patterns are easy to figure out:
This one is a simple X and O cable with a Diamond Bobble cable in the center
This one is a Trophy Cable on either side and a Seed Stitch Diamond in the center:
And the center section is a simple diamond trellis cable:
Then there are the Mystery Stitches:
Bramble?
Slip Stitch Diamonds?
I think that finishing this blanket without a pattern is the perfect way to remember Grace. I will have to use my head and I will have to be careful. I'm checking my gauge to make sure it will go seamlessly from her work to mine- I'll have to use a larger diameter needle- she always knit looser than I do. I've been thinking about how to recreate the mystery stitches and I've poured through my books. I think I have one of them solved- I found a pattern that looks like it's the right one and I have a swatch knitted up that I'll subject to a close comparison. The "Slip Stitch Diamond" I haven't found a pattern for yet, but I think I've worked it out in my head. I have a swatch of that started too- I don't have it perfect yet, but I think I'm on the right track.
Grace would have it figured out by now, most likely. She'd have loved the challenge.
I love it too.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
My Orange Alarm CLock
I have an alarm clock that goes off every morning sometime between 5:30 and 6, regardless of what I do to silence it. It used to make me a little hostile-feeling, but now I have some compassion for the annoying little bugger.
We have 3 cats, Feisty, Patches and BK. We also used to have Neal. Neal and Feisty were brothers; Neal was put to sleep back in January after being diagnosed with cancer.
In our bedroom, we have installed a pet door that goes out onto the balcony so that the cats can go outside. BK uses it as her main form of ingress and egress from the house. Patches will routinely go out and sunbathe as well. Feisty and Neal used to go out every morning and experience the sunrise from the balcony- they'd lounge out there for about an hour and a half before coming inside.
Feisty is a very dumb cat. Every morning, bright and early, Feisty starts to call out, "Mwrow? Mwrow? Mwrow?" while trying to figure out how to get outside. He'll paw at the wall a little bit. "Mwrow? Mwrow? Mwrow?" The other cats don't have this problem. They go over to the kitty door and nose it open and walk outside without hesitation. Feisty can't figure it out. I don't know if he can't find it or doesn't know how it works- I've tried to teach him countless times, but every morning it's the same drill. "Mwrow? Mwrow? Mwrow?"
I drag myself out of bed and open the kitty door for him (I stick my foot into it and lift the flap and he figures it out and goes outside- I do this every morning.) I used to get aggravated by it and throw pillows at him to try to get him to stop. Nothing worked.
Then I realized that he used to go outside without any problem when Neal was around to lead the way. Now when my alarm goes off every morning, I drag myself out of bed, go over to Feisty and give him a scratch behind the ears and simply open the door for him.
I don't know if he consciously misses Neal. As I mentioned, he's a dumb cat, even bearing in mind that he's a CAT. What I do know is that his life is a little harder for him without having his brother around.
Every morning at around 5:30 or 6, I miss Neal a little bit and I have a bit of extra affection for Feisty. It's not so bad a way to start the day, actually.
We have 3 cats, Feisty, Patches and BK. We also used to have Neal. Neal and Feisty were brothers; Neal was put to sleep back in January after being diagnosed with cancer.
In our bedroom, we have installed a pet door that goes out onto the balcony so that the cats can go outside. BK uses it as her main form of ingress and egress from the house. Patches will routinely go out and sunbathe as well. Feisty and Neal used to go out every morning and experience the sunrise from the balcony- they'd lounge out there for about an hour and a half before coming inside.
Feisty is a very dumb cat. Every morning, bright and early, Feisty starts to call out, "Mwrow? Mwrow? Mwrow?" while trying to figure out how to get outside. He'll paw at the wall a little bit. "Mwrow? Mwrow? Mwrow?" The other cats don't have this problem. They go over to the kitty door and nose it open and walk outside without hesitation. Feisty can't figure it out. I don't know if he can't find it or doesn't know how it works- I've tried to teach him countless times, but every morning it's the same drill. "Mwrow? Mwrow? Mwrow?"
I drag myself out of bed and open the kitty door for him (I stick my foot into it and lift the flap and he figures it out and goes outside- I do this every morning.) I used to get aggravated by it and throw pillows at him to try to get him to stop. Nothing worked.
Then I realized that he used to go outside without any problem when Neal was around to lead the way. Now when my alarm goes off every morning, I drag myself out of bed, go over to Feisty and give him a scratch behind the ears and simply open the door for him.
I don't know if he consciously misses Neal. As I mentioned, he's a dumb cat, even bearing in mind that he's a CAT. What I do know is that his life is a little harder for him without having his brother around.
Every morning at around 5:30 or 6, I miss Neal a little bit and I have a bit of extra affection for Feisty. It's not so bad a way to start the day, actually.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Penguins at the Feeder
All kids say cute things and mine are no exception. I've been told "write them down" more times than I can shake a stick at. Being someone who likes to write, I ponder this advice.
Where? is the first question. I'm not a scrapbooker. I think scrapbooks are neat if you're into that kind of thing, but I'm not. And I'm not going to get into scrapbooking- it'd be another expensive unfinished project category that I'd need to store somewhere. Between my knitting and my quilting I have plenty of that. Besides, I don't have that sort of eye- it's just not my thing.
Why? is the second question. The obvious answer is so that I don't forget. I'm sure I'll forget some things. The other day Ted was wearing just a t-shirt and a pair of underpants. He and Henry were discussing the location of something and Henry queried of Ted, ""In pocket?" Ted responded, "No, Henry, I don't have pockets in these underpants." I laughed at the time and smiled rewriting it here; next week it likely will be a distant memory. If I wrote it down would it be a diary for myself? Perhaps something to read when they're 15 and 17 and driving me crazy?
I don't write a diary. I tried keeping one and didn't like it. Writing here is different because I don't keep a schedule and don't feel obligated. If I get to the point where I feel done I can simply delete the whole blog- there will be no books to discard or for my kids to worry about.
I also like the idea that my memories are not cataloged, not confined rigidly to a book. It seems more natural and right to me- Ted went through a phase where all birds were "chickens." We'd go to the zoo and he'd point excitedly at the flamingos and shout "Chickens, mommy!" There were chickens at the bird feeder and on the wires next to the highway. I realized the other day that Henry's doing the same thing. We were looking at a book of animals and there was a picture of a peacock; Henry excitedly exclaimed, "Penguin!" Since then I have found that there are penguins in our trees and at the pond nearby.
In the future I may confuse who was "chickens" and who was "penguins," but does it really matter? I think I'd rather let my memories be my memories, foggy though they may become.
Besides, it will give Nate and me something to correct each other on when we're older.
Where? is the first question. I'm not a scrapbooker. I think scrapbooks are neat if you're into that kind of thing, but I'm not. And I'm not going to get into scrapbooking- it'd be another expensive unfinished project category that I'd need to store somewhere. Between my knitting and my quilting I have plenty of that. Besides, I don't have that sort of eye- it's just not my thing.
Why? is the second question. The obvious answer is so that I don't forget. I'm sure I'll forget some things. The other day Ted was wearing just a t-shirt and a pair of underpants. He and Henry were discussing the location of something and Henry queried of Ted, ""In pocket?" Ted responded, "No, Henry, I don't have pockets in these underpants." I laughed at the time and smiled rewriting it here; next week it likely will be a distant memory. If I wrote it down would it be a diary for myself? Perhaps something to read when they're 15 and 17 and driving me crazy?
I don't write a diary. I tried keeping one and didn't like it. Writing here is different because I don't keep a schedule and don't feel obligated. If I get to the point where I feel done I can simply delete the whole blog- there will be no books to discard or for my kids to worry about.
I also like the idea that my memories are not cataloged, not confined rigidly to a book. It seems more natural and right to me- Ted went through a phase where all birds were "chickens." We'd go to the zoo and he'd point excitedly at the flamingos and shout "Chickens, mommy!" There were chickens at the bird feeder and on the wires next to the highway. I realized the other day that Henry's doing the same thing. We were looking at a book of animals and there was a picture of a peacock; Henry excitedly exclaimed, "Penguin!" Since then I have found that there are penguins in our trees and at the pond nearby.
In the future I may confuse who was "chickens" and who was "penguins," but does it really matter? I think I'd rather let my memories be my memories, foggy though they may become.
Besides, it will give Nate and me something to correct each other on when we're older.
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