A very long time and a very old art ...

It has been a long while since I felt the urge to write or post anything. I guess I can't really call myself a blogger. That said, my life has been busy; not much knitting going on due to summer (I don't consciously stop knitting in the summer, just seem to do it less: I did finish a shrug for my sis-in-law and a sock, but that's about it!) but now I have something really exciting to report. I took my first spinning lesson on Monday evening. No, not Spinning as in the cycling class taught at most gyms but SPINNING, making yarn with a drop spindle. Yes, THAT kind of spinning. And I have to say, I hadn't been doing it two minutes and I thought, "This is so cool ... why has it taken me so long to 'commit' to trying it?!" Well, one thing is just time ... finding the time to do everything I like to do: hang out with boyfriend and his kids, do Tae Kwon Do, do my job, rehearse a show, take voice class, hang out with friends and knit ... yes, I guess there is a lot going on in my life. Not much time for spinning. But now I'm hooked and I'm searching online to find the perfect beginner's spindle and am checking out websites that sell roving (carded wool or other fiber that's ready to be spun).

Now there was a conscious thought behind picking up the spindle: I'm currently rehearsing a production of "Brigadoon" (set in Scotland) and even when I'm in the chorus I tend to think of things to do that would possibly be visually interesting on stage so I'm not just standing around in a kilt, looking cute. The Scots are known for their yarn and sheep so I talked to the director about maybe knitting on stage, if there was an opportunity and if he wanted that kind of "setting of scene" and he appeared to be open to the idea. Then I mentioned spindle spinning as an afterthought and he got quite excited about that idea. I don't know if we'll have an opportunity to use it in the show, but I'm glad that by doing the show and thinking about the setting and my character, it took me through a process that allowed me to get to the point of actually having wool roving in my hand and a spindle hanging down in front of me from the yarn I'd just spun!

Too, I'm learning a whole new vocabulary: whorl, roving, nep, noil, batt ... and sheep names like Corriedale, Romney, Bluefaced Leicesters (BFL to those in the know). And I'm learning a technique that has been used for 9000 years. I mean, 9000 ... years! There are Egyptian paintings that depict women using a drop spindle. Wow. The closet archeologist in me really likes that.


I'm really jazzed about both learning this new thing and about the eventual possibility of spinning my own yarn in order to knit it up into socks. For some reason that just floats my boat. And beyond that, I think it's really important to continue to learn; to continue to use my hands, to explore new things and to continue being creative. I'm not getting any younger and they say that it's very important for us to keep using our brains as we age. I'm glad I've just added another "learning" to my list of things that I do. Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?! I'll report back when I've ordered my new spindle!

Monkey Socks!

Finally I feel the need to write about my knitting. I just finished the first of Lexi's so called "Monkey" socks. Not because they look like a monkey or were inspired by one, but rather, because the designer, one Cookie A., had an idea and had to work and work at it until she could get the pattern to work out the way she wanted ... thus getting the monkey off her back.

I really enjoyed working on this sock for several reasons. I don't usually swatch for socks but I read a few posts on Ravelry that said the socks came out bigger than people expected. These are a Christmas gift for Alexis whose feet are a little smaller than mine (she's 10 years old). So I swatched. And I'm glad I did. I ended up doing these on 0 needles. Initially, I was a bit stressed about that as I figured it would take me forever but in reality, they've gone pretty quickly. I can only knit on the train to and from work (or sitting at the doc's office) as Alexis is around and I don't want her to see so I'm thrilled that it goes as quickly as it does.

I'm about 80% done and expect to finish the second sock by the end of this week. This has been a fun pattern to knit and I am sure that I will re-visit it to make some for myself after my holiday knitting rush is done. Here's a photo of sock number 1.

Where Were You When ...

Where were you when Barack Obama was elected as the 44th President of the United States? I was just leaving tech rehearsals for "Into the Woods." The tech process is slow. Our musical director had his laptop in the pit and kept checking online to see the returns. Every so often, we would hear a voice drift up from the pit: "We took Delaware!" "We WON Pennsylvania!" And a cheer would rise from us backstage. Most of us voted for Obama. Of course some did not, and I feel for them. I am, after all, a Red Sox fan ... I know what it is to lose.

We have not had many "where were you when" moments in my lifetime, not that I remember anyway. The biggest (and saddest), was 9/11, and I'm a New Yorker so was here when the planes struck the towers and in the hours after when we fretted and worried and cried and prayed and tried to donate blood and thought about fleeing north. That day is still very vivid in my mind but I am so relieved, to the point of tears several times in the last 24 hours, that I now have a much more exciting, potent, indeed, important "where were you when" to tell people about when I'm older. Where were you when Barack Obama was elected President?

Because the tears have been coming, off and on, since last night it occurred to me that we, especially New Yorkers and Washingtonians, have been in a state of Post-Traumatic Stress since 9/11/01. When a trauma happens, the mind cannot take it all in at once so it fragments and blocks parts that are too painful. Great damage was done to this country on that day and we've been living in fear since then. I think now great healing can begin, thanks to the people who worked so hard and tirelessly (my friends Cecelia and Wendy and Paula, especially) in the grassroots effort to get someone to the White House who can begin the healing process.

I can't really explain what it was like to get off the bus in Times Square last night (a bus on which I was the minority--the other 4 riders were black and sporting enormous grins from ear to ear and I was grinning right along with them) ... to hear the crowds cheering and hooting and the cabbies laying on their horns as they raced down Broadway. People were talking to each other ... people who didn't know each other before last night, in the same way we came together on 9/11 but oh, the energy was completely different. This was a happy, boisterous and youthful energy and I wanted to suck it in, contain it somehow. Alas, I had to head home to bed. (I did watch Obama's acceptance speech before crashing!)

I just read someone's angry comment on a Yahoo website stating that we're going to be tested very soon and that he/she did not feel that Obama is adequately suited to defend the country or to take on the role of Commander in Chief. I think that speaks volumes about the people who did not vote for Obama. They are still operating in the fear space that says: run for your lives, be defensive or whatever the catch phrase of the day may be that means protect yourself from "the enemy." If we are not open to other opinions, ideas, cultures, realities ... then WE are the enemy. Our own worst ...

When will we understand that security is an illusion and that by "protecting" ourselves, we block the very communication that might actually allow healing?

One of my favorite quotes is one spoken by Helen Keller: Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.

We are on the road to a very daring adventure and I'm looking so forward to the ride!

Happy Halloween!

Well, I tried to upload this cute animated pumpkin and I guess I don't know how to do it because it's not working! In any case, I wanted to wish you all a very spooky and treat-filled Halloween!

On losing my balance ...

The other day I posted about losing my mom. She died on August 5th. I got through the initial weeks after her death far better than I'm faring now. I feel completely out of synch with the world. A significant compass point, perhaps the most significant, has left my life and I'm experiencing the reverberations.

A week ago Monday, I tripped over my bathroom door. I know, it's sounds funny, right? How do you trip over a door? Well, I broke my pinky toe in that little slip up. My toe got caught UNDER the door. Ouch.

So this morning I tried to carry too much stuff out to the car and missed a step and, rather than putting all my weight (plus what I was carrying) onto my already broken right foot, I fell down onto my left knee. Ouch.

And last night I called two friends with whom I've been trying to catch up. They are people I hold very dear and whom I do not see often. I got voicemail for one and busy signal for the other ... and I wept. I was reaching out and there was no one there. In the past I would've called mom next. Because she was basically house-bound, she was always there. And now she's not. Ouch.

Oh, I know I'm being dramatic. Of course my friends are there and of course we'll catch up sooner or later but, last night, it served to highlight the fact of my mom's disappearance into the ether.

The lovely thing that happened yesterday is that I received an email from my dearest, oldest friend, Mary. Mary's mom and my mom were best friends and Mary and I have known each other our whole lives. Mary went to Maine this past weekend to the beach were our families used to meet and play in the summer.


We have scattered ashes of both my father and mother off the back side of a rocky island that's connected to the beach by a sandbar at low tide. I sort of jokingly said to Mary, "Give my best to mom and dad." Well, she did. She went out to Fox Island and bid them a lovely afternoon.

The other lovely thing that happened was that Joe found me weeping last night and crawled into bed next to me and held me while I processed this next little bit of grief. Right now I'm at that place where I feel like I'll be grieving forever, and perhaps a part of me will; and I know, from having lost my dad previously, that the pain will become less evident. Pain is a reminder that we're alive ... I guess, in that case, I must be very alive 'cause my toe and my knee are killing me!

On losing my mom ...

I didn't lose her, really. She just left after a brief period in hospital and hospice. I was with her a lot during her final days and for that I'm very grateful.

My mom is the person who taught me to knit, among other things. She taught me to persevere. And to rip things out if they weren't going along properly. She said: If you're going to learn to knit, you have to learn to rip things out. I think that's true in life, too. Sometimes things don't work and it's OK to got back and rip them out. We did not always have an easy relationship, mom and I, and I am now realizing just how very much I learned being her daughter.

Mom shared with me her love of music, ragtime piano, choral singing; her love of animals, especially cats and dogs. There are a great many things my mother shared with me and it has been a tough summer and early fall facing her death. I have not felt much like writing because of the loss. Very soon, I'm going to scan a photo of my mom when she was a year or so old. Sitting there in ridiculously frilly baby clothes with two dogs. I'll add it to this post. She did away with frills just as soon as she was able to purchase her own clothing. But the dogs stayed.

Once, when I was about 12, we had a litter of seven English Cocker Spaniel puppies: Alfie, Bertie, Monty, Reggie, Daisy, Marple and Muffin. I was there when they were born. It was the only litter of puppies my mom would mid-wife into existence. She wanted to be a breeder but it was cost-prohibitive.

I started crying just now, writing this so am going to share a really funny story about mom to make me feel better. My mom was terribly afraid of flying which was strange because she'd learned how to fly small planes when she was younger. She really wanted to go to England ... she loved all things English and it is our family heritage. So when I had the financial means, I took her on a trip there. It was my (small) way of paying mom back, of saying "Thank you for being my mom." She loved it and so my elder brother and sis-in-law and I took her again a few years ago. While we were hanging around Logan Airport in Boston awaiting our flight, she had to go to the "loo" so I went with her. She was walking with a cane at this point but didn't necessarily need my assistance. I ended up in the stall next to her.

I heard her pulling out one of those tissue paper seat covers and placing it on the toilet seat. I heard the rustle of her clothes as she turned around ... then I heard the toilet flush [beat] I heard her take a second tissue seat cover out of the holder, place it on the seat, more rustling of clothing ... the toilet flushed. [beat] Mom cursed softly under her breath. I heard her drawing yet a third seat cover out of its holder, placing it on the seat, rustle, rustle, flush. "Shit," mom said quietly. At which point I burst out laughing and then rapidly apologized. Mom did not use that expression frequently. The toilet's auto-flush function was too sensitive so by the time she put the seat cover ON and turned around, the sensor would tell the toilet to flush. Poor mom. At least she had a sense of humor about it. She did chuckle along with me and we agreed that it would make for a funny comedy skit.

That is something else I will miss, already miss, a lot. Mom's sense of humor. She was smart AND funny, droll is the word that comes to mind. I think she was a bit shy about using her humor with people she didn't know well, but I have great memories of my mom saying things that made me laugh ... And when she was in hospital and had been mostly unconscious for a few days, she woke up a bit one day and one of the nurses came in and asked if there was anything she needed: Mom, without skipping a beat said, "a diagnosis?" The docs really didn't have any idea what was going on with her. They argued about what they thought it was. I think my mom had just had enough. Enough of living in a body challenged by Parkinson's Disease, osteoperosis, and a host of other things. She knew that we, her three kids, were doing OK and so, she left. And it is OK. My dad died in 2003 so I am now an orphan.

I am a really lucky orphan. I had two parents who struggled with different physical challenges in their later years (my dad was quadraplegic due to a neck injury) but who toughed it out and taught us, their kids, a great deal about compassion and perseverence and courage. They were both incredibly courageous. They worked together in the best way they knew how--of course they fought and sometimes exchanged harsh words--they'd been dealt a difficult hand, a hand no one would be able to work with without some emotional upheaval. We don't know what happens after we die. But I really like thinking of mom and dad together with a host of animals somewhere out there. I love them and I miss them terribly and I'm OK.

Happy Birthday, Romeo!

The gorgeous black cat-ten you see in my blog opening photo is Romeo. I adopted him last September, about 6 weeks after losing my most precious Fiona (pictured here).

I met Romeo when he was an as-yet-unnamed kitten of about 3 months. He'd just been fished out of a midtown Manhattan dumpster by some kind soul. He and 4 siblings. The kind soul gave the kittens into the care of my vet. All of them but this little bit of a fuzzy black thing were adopted very quickly. I went to my vet's office to retrieve Fiona's ashes and the vet tech said, "Oh, I think we have someone here you need to meet." I was barely able to keep back the tears. I put down the tin of ashes and she handed the kitten to me. For a moment, he attached himself to my chest with tiny sharp claws. Then he pulled himself up to my left shoulder and started purring furiously in my ear. He almost won me over. Fiona was an amazing little (6.2 lb) fur person to whom I was very attached and she left this earth quite suddenly so I was really shaken and didn't feel up to adopting a kitten just then. Flash forward one month. My boyfriend's wonderful, elderly Himalayan cat, Vermie, was very close to death. His daughter was nearly inconsolable. She'd known him her whole life.

He was a very wise old cat and the day he left us is the day Romeo came home. The vet's office called me about a week earlier to see if I would reconsider. I was so surprised that in a month's time, no one had scooped up that little adorable fuzz ball. Here's a photo of him the first day.

He was a very happy cat, indeed. He made himself right at home. When I adopted him, the vet tech said he was born in June so I wanted to select an "official" birthday for him. With the help of some Ravelry friends I've decided that today (Friday the 13th) should be Romeo's official first birthday. Happy Birthday, Romeo!