Comfort Yarn

We all know about
comfort food:

mashed potatoes and gravy
baking powder biscuits
mac and cheese
chocolate chip cookies

And I'm sure there are
others on your list.

But do you buy "comfort yarn?"

Yesterday I set off
to purchase red yarn...
something perky.

A yarn to start
the fall season...

No kidding,
it was 103
on the deck.

I had in mind
my school days:
tartan skirt,
red lamb's wool vest
and penny loafers.

With three shades
of red to choose from...
I just couldn't get there.

And would you believe
I bought a soft pearl gray
wool-ease (blend of
lamb's wool and acrylic)?

The actual non de plume
is Gray Heather.

Yarn to:
caress
cherish
admire

It reminded me of
a sleek cat named
Dusty... back arched
purring.

He lived at
Aunt Mae's house.
He'd hide
under the satin comforter
when she wasn't home.

Mae actually pretended
to leave the house once
and sneaked upstairs
to confirm her suspicion
that he napped on her bed
when she wasn't home.

Horrors...
a lump under the comforter
and Mae
the housekeeper
extraordinarie...

Anyway.

Lovely stroke worthy yarn
and humorous memory
always comforts me.

Crone Wisdom

In the short story "Girl"
Jamaica Kincaid recites
a list of instructions given
by a mother to her daughter.

"Wash white clothes on Monday...
Wash colored clothes on Tuesday... hang on the line
Don't walk bareheaded...
Soak salt fish overnight...
Don't eat fruit on the street flies will follow you...
This is how you grow okra... far from the house
This is how you smile to someone you don't like."

My list:

Keep your unfinished
knitting project
in a freezer baggy
When the mood strikes
you can find all the pieces
and give it another try.

Name the child and size
of a project to be put aside.
I just finished a skirt for Grace
to the length measurement for Frances.
Lots of gathers in that waist band.
Oy!

Use cold water
to wash your finished sweater.
Block on a towel
on the dryer.
(No one will know
you were knitting
instead of doing laundry
on Monday."

Smile at everyone.

This crone has
a few tricks up
her sleeve.

Talkin' To Me Self

Reading:

_The Dowry_ by Walker Keady.
_An Irish Country Doctor_ by Patrick Taylor.

The Irish voice...
the cadences
of an Irish-Ameican childhood
re-emerge easily.

Aunt Mae was the one
for talking to herself:

"May God forgive him!"
(Reserved for an enemy.)

"Look at the cut of him!"
(Denigration for the husband
with egg drippings on his tie.)

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"
(Followed by the sign of the cross.)
Used in multiple circumstances.

Age and Irish memory is upon me.

Yesterday I finished a seam
with a three-needle bind off.
(Had only done it once before.)
And why in God's name anyone
would even consider
such an awkward process...


I fiddled and fidgetted and
cursed my own clumsiness
(silently of course).

But wouldn't you know
it made a lovely ridge
across the shoulder.
Well worth the effort...

Feeling brave
I made eyelets
in the ribbed neck trim.

I'd made eyelets before
using yo k2 together
as the sequence.

In ribbing
it had to be
p1, k1, y fwd, k2 tog.

Nothing complicated.
Right?

But the only way
I could remember it
was to repeat it aloud.

...one retarded scholar
ye might say.

Did the whole neckline
in one fell swoop.

Wouldn't do to
lose one's place.

Lovely finish,
if I do say so myself.
And I have a fine bit of ribbon
to make the gathers.

Today:
Wash it and block it
and tell it
what an all together
great sweater, it is.

And have a cuppa tea
and finish me book.

Enought talking to oneself...

What I Don't Know

Write about what you don't know!
Words of wisdom from Natalie Goldberg
author of _Writing Down the Bones_...

I don't know why:

I get all excited about sweaters
made of fuzzy mohair and
hate working with it.

I choose patterns that
require size 3 needles
and fine yarn... I haven't
been able to see the fine print
on the map or in the telephone book
for several years now.

I love starting a project
and hate finishing.

I'm attracted to Teddy Bears
and will never make one.

I fall in love
with a yarn online
and have to buy it.

I only knit
children's clothes.

I am restless...
in need of a new
knitting fix.

Hoarding!

A child of the 1940's
hoarding was unpatriotic
at least and a sin at most.

Sharing was the order
of the day.

Plugging away...
discerning the treasure
from the dross
I found the little red hat.

Infant sized...
a handknit gift
for my first daughter...

It's a rectangle folded in half
with a ribbed border...
frayed ties and bedraggled pom-poms.

Knitted by my first cousin, "Little Mary,"
I have guarded it jealously
for forty plus years.

Mary had wanted a change-of-life baby.
When a baby of her own did not materialize
she claimed Jo Ellen as the baby of her heart.

She knitted away: the hat, a sweater, a blanket.

Bought:
an heirloom quality christening dress
a stuffed elephant large enough for a toddler to sit upon
a playpen

Cancer took away her hearty laugh,
dancing ways, and generous spirit
within two years.

I heard a month ago...
she would now be
a great-grandmother.

I fingered the hat.
Thought about
passing it on.

Tugged this way
Pulled that way
I tried to give it up

But...
I couldn't help but imagine
that the sad little hat
would be suffer in comparison
to the beautiful baby outfits
feted this first grandbaby.

Could someone else love it so?
Would it be cared for?
Would the memories dematerialize,
be lost?

I replaced the hat
in the little plastic bag,
sealed-in all those memories
for a few more years.

I hoarded it!

Keeper of the Bell

August 26th
a momentous day!

Jenn, second daughter,
in a trio of daughters was
born on this August day
40+ years ago.

Now don't lament
her middle child
birth order.

Jenn always disabused
"the poor middle-child"
nay sayers with:
"The middle of the sandwich
is best."

After a childhood flirtation
with knitting I picked up
the needles again when Jenn
was seven.

Every evening after supper
Jenn and I would sit on the
couch to read and knit.

Jenn set the goal: top reading group.
I set the goal: a handknit hoodie.

We started with the _Bobbsey Twins_.
She would read a page.
I would read a page.

In short order.
She would read to me
only asking for words
difficult to decode.

My knitting picked up speed.
She read to herself.

Soon she didn't want to wait
for me to finish the dishes
but was off on her own to read.

But the experience
knit us together.
We still share a love for books
(often long distance... and oh my!
the telephone bills.)

When she was ten
I taught her to crochet.

She crocheted white Christmas bells
with red borders, added real bells, and
yarn ties to gainsay the tree.

We gave them as presents.

She sold them for fifty cents
at the beauty parlor.
(The blue haired ladies were captivated.)

Only one bell remains.

(I can't fathom how the collection
was reduced to one.}

But I have hoarded and
cherished that one little bell
for years.

This year
along with the usual check and a book
I added the bell to Jenn's birthday stash.

Jennifer Ann Richards:
"Keeper of the Bell."

Ode to Gerry Ruddy

Knitting in the sixties
was comprised of yarn
purchases in Newberry's basement
and patterns from "Workbasket."

Lacking a knitting store
or knitting circle
I would lug my project
to the beauty parlor
source of all knowledge
and camaraderie.

My friend Lorrayne, the stylist, and I
would swap patterns and
unsnarl the mysteries of patterns
with confusing directions.

When all else failed
Lorryane would say,
"I'll ask Gerry Ruddy;
she will be in on Thursday."

Gerry Ruddy was
the fount of all wisdom.
She owned needles
in every size...
knitted and crocheted
complicated patterns
with all weights of yarn.

Strangely enough...
we seldom asked Gerry.
Most of the time
the relinguishment
of the problem
to the knitting goddess
allowed one or the other
of us to find an answer.

For close to forty years
I've purchased patterns
with problematic instructions
and tagged them...
Ask Gerry Ruddy!

Sometimes I failed to make the project.
Other times I figured out the next step
as I knitted along.

About a year ago
I was thinking about
trying a new pattern
but the cost of the yarn
and the complexity of the repeat
was giving me pause.

So, I asked Lorryane,
"Do you think Gerry Ruddy
could teach me this sequence?"

Lorrayne shook her head.
"Gerry is in the nursing home.
Doesn't come in anymore.
She gave me her needle collection."

I tried to remember her.
I think I met her once.
A sturdy middle-aged woman...
She had smiled and nodded
her curled head in my direction
when Lorrayne praised her
knitting skills.

Truly I hadn't paid close attention
to the real woman.

I didn't make the construct
between the pleasant woman in the chair
and knitting guru in my fantasy.

A month or two later Lorrayne added,
"Gerry Ruddy died."

How could that be?
Knitting goddesses don't die.

Alas, it is not true.
They disappear into another realm
and take all that knitting knowledge with them.

Now I read pages and pages
of instruction on the internet.

I go to the knitting store downtown.
Diane one of the owners
is a knowledgeable knitter
and patient teacher.

But Gerry Ruddy remains
"the knitting goddess."

Knitting With Eleanor Roosevelt

Eleanor Roosevelt and her husband,
President Franklin Delano Roosevelt
shadowed my childhood.

Larger than life figures
they measured World War ll
for me.

Now I live 20 miles
from Hyde Park
home to the
Roosevelt Mansion and museum.

The museum exhibits
case after case
of memoribilia.

In one display case
you will find examples
of Eleanor's knitting.

Eleanor a shy young woman
was deemed homely.

When Franklin married his cousin
Eleanor New York society was
aghast.

In the forites when FDR was felled by polio
Eleanor (the mother of five)
took her untutored gravely voice
and I'm sure her knitting
on the road to campaign for him.

In future years
as first lady-
knitting in hand-
she traveled the world
to visit with dignataries,
as well as soldiers at the front.

Eleanor knit with
worsted weight yarn
on bulky needles.
A forest green piece
(unfinished) holds fore.

Her tension was loose
and I spied a dropped
stitch or an incredibly
loose one.

With five sons in the service
I'm sure she knit for them.

In later years
when she was the US
representative to the UN
she took her knitting
to council meetings.

ER's knitting much like her life
was not always even and smooth...
but filled with remarkable tensions.

Her plain knitting style
and loose tension
allowed her to cross
borders and knit together
disparate groups and harmonize
conflicting views and values.

Eleanor remains my hero.
She took the threads life presented
and knit patches of compassion
faith both in wartime and
in the post war search for peace.

Eleanor Roosevelt:
First Lady to the World...
A knitting idol!

How Much Do I Love Thee?

Irish Knit

Never had a brother
Never had a son

But on August 22nd 1993
Sean Ryan Burns was born
A grandson…

A blessing…
Words failed me.
How to express my joy?

Sean’s grandmother Burns
solved the problem.

Bonnie went to Scotland
and returned with a pattern
for an Irish knit sweater.

How I coveted that pattern!

Of generous spirit
Bonnie gave me the pattern.
“I’ll never make it,” she said.

I clutched that pattern to my breast
and determined to master its
complicated scheme.
(Way beyond anything I had
ever knit before.)

And I spent
a whole winter knitting
that sweater.

I knitted and counted,
knitted and counted,
working out the pattern
row by row.

Spent hours
assembling
and finishing.

Years have passed.
The sweater outgrown...

But today...
Browning’s poem comes to mind:
“How much do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.”

How much do I love Sean?

An Irish sweater’s worth…

Happy 14th Birthday, Sean!

Knitting on the Wild Side

ANANOVA a UK news service
recently published an article
in a section listed as Quickies
that caught the eye.

A student knitted a Ferrari
sportscar for an honours degree.

Oh my!
Talk about knitting
out of the box.

The body consisted of
250 garter stitch squares.
(Family members helped.)

Windows were V shaped
in stockingette stitch.

The badge was embroidered.

The knitting was supported by
a steel frame welded by the student.

God Bless her!

I'm in awe.
I can't even imagine conceiving of the project.
Who would have thought it would garner a degree?
Must reflect the fine line: craftswoman (me) vs artist.

Anyway.
Following the lead of a current ad on TV:
What are you going to do today
that you have never done before?

I'm going to brainstorm
an over-the-top knitting project.

A project ANANOVA Quickie worthy.

Tangles

Tangles
Yarn snafus
Knots

Let's just say
that skeins that tangle
are closer to the norm
for me than not.

Can't count the hours spent
unsnarling a disaster.

Shush! Don't tell Jim...
(Drives him crazy to watch)

But I don't mind all that much.
In the scheme of life's mishaps
it is heartening to find
that time and patience
do find their reward...
if not in heaven
at least
here on earth.

Untangle a length of yarn
Unsnarl a tangled memory:

In the nineteen eighties
I headed a Laubach Literacy program.

Vivian Darling
-well named a darling-
was one of my coordinators.
She tested and matched students.

Our students were illiterate...
English speaking students with learning difficulties
or foreign students lacking proficiency in English.

As I wind the skein anew
I imbibe the memory of Vivian's
unshakeable faith in success for
the most unlikely students.

And replay her most poignant story.
Vivian tested a young teen...
a nonreader
expelled from school.

When asked what she did all day
she related that she would ride
with the ambulance
housed in the fire house
next door.

Vivian asked, "Are you an EMT?

"No," the girl replied. "I am a comforter.
Yesterday there was a car accident on East Chester bypass.
The infant of the woman driving one of the cars was killed.
I held the mother in my arms. I comforted her."

Such an unforgettable story.

* The mysterious girl never entered the program.
When Vivian sought her out she had moved away
and the fire house officials did not choose
to remember her.

But I think of that girl often
she upends my rigid judgments
untangles my value system.

Am I a comforter?

Today's tangled skein...
rewound
I'm ready to knit.

Don't Take Your Love To Town

Country Western song:
"Don't Take Your Love To Town,"
played over and over
on the juke box
in the Red Diner.

'Twas all part
of being a teenager
in the fifties.

Now pushing age 70
(one more year)
with the flat of my hand
I'm taking my knitting
on the road.

I seldom leave the house
without my knitting.
Oh! A trip to the grocery store,
maybe or the bank but never
for an extended trip.

My reliance on knitting
might classify as a fetish.

How could you take the chance
you'd be stuck in construction
on 95... unable to knit?

Without food and water maybe,
but without your knitting...
never.

Dreary motels are made home-like
when blessed with my latest library book
and yarn balls that color their dimness.

Anyway. Back on task...
I'm taking my knitting to town.
We are going to the Bennington Museum in Vermont.
"Impressionism and Beyond" Renoir, Cassatt, Picasso,
Degas, and Rodin, is the current exhibition.

The second exhibition is "The Unstill Lifes."
Carolyn Shatluck is the artist.
I'm enthralled with the title.

How could one add life or would it be
liveliness to knitting?

Now I only have to decide
which project to take?

Choices:
A circular skirt knitted with Debbie Bliss
DK cotton. Lace bordered... 1/3 complete.

Striped skirt with color changes every few rows.
1/2 complete.

Short sleeved tee knitted with Sidar DK.
4 rows completed.

My knitting mind...
scattered.

Think carpet bag, I'll take them all.
Take my love to town.

The Nine Patch

Sue Bender wrote
a lovely book called
_Plain and Simple_.

In it she explores
the Nine Patch quilt
as a way to reference
the simple and authentic life
of the Amish.

Jame took the concept
to a new level by making
nine patch art works
using Ralph Lauren
paint sample cards.

The series of dark and light blocks
please the eye and entertain
the mind.

This week I bought a copy of
"Knit Today" a new magazine
from the UK.

In an article called "Domino Knitting"
the master knitter teaches one to
knit squares and triangles...

One square is knit to the next...

Hmm.

In the seventies I did
a woven wall hanging
using the earth tones found
in the Black Hills of South Dakota:
cocoa, yellow, rose, green.

Those blocks of earth tones
never fail to
whisk me back to Dakota,
our trip across country...
the Black Hills at dusk.

I feel a nine patch coming on...

Comfort Knitting

Years ago
Bernadette Murphy wrote
in her book, _Zen and the Art of Knitting_
about learning to knit in Ireland.

Her mother had just died
after years of battling depression.
Murphy hoped that her mother's sister, Peg,
could offer insights into her mother's childhood
and her subsequent illness.

Instead Peg took her to daily mass
and taught her to knit.
Sequestered in the chilly front room,
feet toasted with the gas heater,
they knitted hour after hour
joined by the task in a rhythmic bonding.

Peg maintained her Irish reticence
whether by design or ignorance...
Who was to know?

Murphy relinquished the burden
of her questions.

The Zen gift of knitting
healed and comforted Murphy
and has remained a linchpin
in her life.

Wordless comfort and communication...
How seldom found in this busy noisy world...

The Quakers pray together in silence.

The Porch Ladies (my writing group)
write together in silence.
Sharing or not sharing afterward by choice.

A grandchild snuggles and reads, I knit quietly.

Deem it comfort knitting.

My Jewish Grandmother

When Jame was in Kindergarten
she announced that she had
three grandmothers:
Nannie Lewis, Grandma Richards,
and Grandma Schaefer.

Puzzled, the teacher asked,
"Are you sure?"

Jame replied, "Grandma Schaefer
is my Jewish grandmother."

Later Jame was disheartened to learn
that indeed, Grandma Schaefer was
Susan, Carl, and Howard Weinberg's
grandmother but not her's.

"We call her grandmother
to show respect," I said.

"But she sends the chopped liver," Jame said,
shaking her head.

And in truth, Regina Schafer
always remained for Jame
her grandmother.

I can't remember a time
when Grandma Scaefer wasn't
knitting.

She would travel from Long Island
back to Brooklyn to see "the knitting lady."
And return with skeins of yarn
and new purpose.

As she approached her eighties
her daughters and grandchildren
would make trips to Brooklyn
for needed yarn.

She knitted size 42 men's sweaters
and Vogue patterned dresses...

Today I'm admiring
a light blue shrug
she made for my mother.

It is four rows of garter stitch
a long lace-like loop
and another four rows of garter stitch.

I will have to confer
with my knitting lady
to master the secret of that pattern.

Grandma held the belief
that she would never die
until her knitting
was complete.

Superstitsion, crone wisdom...
Who is to know?
But Regina Schaefer held faith
in knitting as her life line.

I lived far away
and had not seen her for many years
when she died.

I never thought to ask...
Were there stitches still left
on her needle?

With Jame I claim
Regina Schaefer as my grandmother.

Like Regina Schaefer
knitting is life force for me.

But unlike Regina
I don't believe
I can ever finish
all the projects
I'd like to do.

And I'd like to end
with stitches on the needle.

Pink Leg Warmers

Spring cleaning
not quite, given
the date
you might call it
Summer cleaning.

I've always had difficulty
with that whole
Spring and Fall cleaning
concept.

I clean when the spirit moves
and that isn't often.

Anyway yesterday
I cleaned the walk-in closet
in the red room (Jame's room)
although Jame hasn't lived here
for the better part of twenty years.

I found "the leg warmers,"
pink with delicate cables
intricate stitches.

Hours and hours
of detailed patterning,
followed by careful matching
for the second warmer
attest to a Mother's love
or a knitter's sheer insanity.

Not knitted in the round
a friend, Carol Mulford,
did the sewing...
almost invisible seams.

An unexpected find
they catapulted me back
twenty-five years.

Gloria Stevens' exercise class...
days of arobic exercise,
sweating in black tights and leotards...

Jame wearing her leg warmers...

Eating bagels
slathered with butter
as the after class treat...
(Gaining weight instead of losing,
oh my, the bagels had to go.)

Laughter... Camaraderie!
All the girls attended
at one time or another.

Leg warmers
have once again gained favor.
Maybe Jame will wear them.

I know
there will come a day
(probably ten years from now)
when Miss Frances-my ballerina-
will covet those leg warmers.

Isn't it fortuitous
that I had the foresight
to make them pink?

Dollar Store Nana

The Five and Dime...
Remember...
All those goodies

Or penny candy
Too many choices

Well, now we have
the Dollar Store...
and this Nana
with change purse
in hand browses.

Last winter
I found furry white bears
chubby and smiling
with pink satin bows.

Couldn't resist.
I bought two.
Knitted pink fuzzy vests
made with soft terry yarn...
a leftover from Frances'
first baby sweater.

Fun project.
Four rows of 2K, 2P, ribbing.
(Knit with round needle.)
An inch of stockinette.
Separate for front and back.
Decrease at both ends for four rows.
Bind off five center stitches.
Make two I-Cord straps.
Tie.

Wallah!

Not exactly Build-A-Bears
but then again not as pricey.

For fifty cents worth of yarn
and an hour and a half of time...

Well, what can I tell you?
It's Dollar Store Nana
fun.

I mailed them to the little misses
in CT. (Grandpa opined that the
mailing cost was exorbitant, far more
than the value of the project.) True.

Grace recognized that the
vests were Nana made.
(How lovely!)

I realized that sometimes
life requires whimsy.

Manifest

Wayne Dwyer, Esther and Jerry Hicks,
among others have written books
in the last few years about intention.
Set your intention; manifest your dream.

Knitting to my mind
is the simplest
form of manifesting.

See that darling baby sweater,
the elegant scarf,
daring socks.

Cast on. Knit.
The picture in your mind
materializes before your eyes.

Being an addicted knitter
the garment knit always
has the aura of a miracle.

Look! It's just what I imaginted.

The famous knitwear designer, Meg Swanson,
observed that in the thrall of knitting a new design
she will stay up late and get up early to knit the
emerging pattern.

The mystery
of an emerging pattern...
never losses
its fascination.

For me:
Knitting sets tone.
Life's fabric emerges...
stitch by stitch,
row by row.

Even, smooth, bumpy,
dropped stitches or knots.
(Knots always rise to the top.
Call for repair.)

But a firm image,
a set intention,
always manifests
the pictured dream.

Rewinding The Yarn

Looking back

In the early 70's
the "Dolly sisters"
Mae, Marge, and Helen
three Irish-American mavens
born and raised in Jersey City tenements
heeded the call,
joined the senior citizen milleu
bound for the old sod.

They tour bused
through the country
bent on of visiting County Clare,
home to both of their parents.

They returned to the states
laden down with shamrock blessed glasses
and Irish knit sweaters for the grandchildren.

My Mother (Helen) brought me
(a new knitter)
an enormous box of wool
and the appropriate buttons
to knit an Irish sweater
of great size.

The yarn has been sequestered
in my cedar closet awaiting
the perfect project:
one stamped heirloom.

I've sampled and swatched:
a grand baby blanket, a scarf, a vest
and always rewound the yarn.

Jame (my youngest)
turned thirty-nine this year
and has been innoculated
with the knitting bug

Forty, I thought.
I'll give her the Irish heritage yarn
when she is forty.

Then I listened
to a writing tape.
The presenter invoked
Annie Dillard's injunction:
give your all, don't hold back,
don't save anything for later.

Jame is now the keeper
of the yarn.

Perhaps, she will create an heirloom
or more than one or pass it on to
one daugther or both.

Matters not.
The yarn has served its function.
A mother gifting a daughter...

Pulling Apart

Mock Newbery:

10 of us
addicted readers
created a book list:

_Yellow Star_
_Desert Crossing_
_Year of the Dog_
_Weedflower_
_Sand Dollar Summer_
_Ask Me No Questions_
_Hattie Big Sky_

Voted and partied.

Our winner was
_Yellow Star_.

The account of
Syvia Perlmutter's childhood
in a ghetto in Lodz, Poland,
from 1939 to 1945.

Out of a ghetto
population of 275,000

Eight children
survived.

1940
Syvia, age five.

"They give me an old sweater
that has holes,
and I pull apart the yarn.
The women use the yarn
along with pieces of old fabric
to make dresses and sweaters.
They must find ways to be warm,
they say,..."

Unravel
Unknit

But to Syvia
it was "pulling apart"...

Warmth and survival
yarn provisioned.

"I feel the wool
thread through my fingers
soft and thick and ready
to help." (She says.)

Please God,
let us pull together,
help us make peace.

Tea with Elizabeth Z.

Elizabeth Z. would be
author Elizabeth Zimmerman
of _Knitting Without Tears_ fame.

At dawn with a cup of tea
I peruse my copy
of this knitting bible.

I'm drawn to her "no nonsense" approach,
her strong opinions.

She taps me on the shoulder and says,
"... practice knitting loosely,
and it may change your life."

And contends that lots
of knitting problems
come out in the wash.

Now talk about faith...
to knit and knit and knit
believing in the desirable outcome
when the evidence to the contrary
loops off the needle...

Whew!
Lord help me,
I'm not there yet.

My goal:
Design and Knit
a seamless sweater
using EZ's per centage
knit system

eg. a long sleeve = 20% of the body stitches,
the distance from the underarm to neck
(exclusive of neck-shaping and border)
= 25% of the body stitches.

Simple math,
right?

But to abandon
a pattern in hand...
scary.

But I'm hotting the pot
for more tea.

And with Elizabeth's blessing
I'm going to tuck away
my lovely pattern books (for now)

And pick up my circular needles
and a ball of yarn...

Do the math...

Be an Elizabeth Zimmerman knitter.

Knitting With Jane

Knitting With Jane
Jane, of course, being
Jane Marple of St. Mary's Meade.

A devotee
of Agatha Christie,
it is Miss Marple
smiling blithely, nodding sweetly,
and knitting with her wisp of pink
pink mohair or bit of lamb's wool
who garners my devotion.

She observes, intuits,
asks the astute question,
and always finds a parallel
to a similar course of action
in the village.

Thus finding the real culprit
and his/her motive.

She unravels the mystery.
How apt!

By definition:
To unravel:
To undo or ravel the knitted fabric of.
To untangle (entangled thread).
To separate and clarify the elements of
(something mysterious or baffling); solve.

Knitting stereotypes are unwinding.

Jane would
no longer be able
to claim the role
of innocent.

How sad!

And like Miss Marple
I rather like being
a quaint observer.

It will be more difficult
to untangle the mysteries
of life in peace.

Can't Dance

Can't dance,
don't make me...

An old song
from "Singing in the Rain"
with Donald OConnor and
Gene Kelly keeps
dancing in the head.

Picot stitch (multiple of 8 stitches)
*K1, yo, k2, sl 2 sts tog as if to k2tog,
k1, pass slipped sts over the k st
(SK2P), k1, yo; rep from * around.

Dance:
k, yo, k2, sl 2, k1, psso
Eight stitches, breathe, eight more
Way to go!

Stay focused girl
Psso those slipped stitches
Careful, careful...
You're getting it

Got it!
Do another eight.

Only a 144 stitch round
Then knit a round.

Myth:
Your hands remember
what the yarn is suppose
to do.

Not happening.

Would you believe
those hands knit
five long rows of pattern

and the brain didn't message,
twisted, twisted, twisted.

So, we are off
to dance...
hear that hands?

Picot border,
cha, cha, cha.

Ode to Abby

Abby Thomas in
_A Three Dog Life_
chronicles her
knitting:

"112 shawls
1/2 sweater
1/4 sweater
47 hoodies
52 hats..."

No prologue.
No postcript.

The list concludes
a chapter sketching
her husband's latest decline.

Brain damaged after
being hit by a car
he lives only
in the moment.

Thomas records:
his loss of recognition
his absence
the void
and then his return
to present.

Abby Thomas' list...
a hybrid Haiku
sketches a portrait
of the woman...
and her situation
more detailed and intimate
than a thousand word tome.

Thomas edits
life to its essence.