good in blog

Plague and Pestilence

2006-12-16T08:57:00.000-05:00

I really don't like reading about a writer's illnesses in a blog. Forgive me in advance. A detestable and disgusting flu visited our house and has been with us since a day or two after Thanksgiving. Two of the tree children have returned to school and the the third should be back on Monday (when I also hope to be back a work.) My justification for broadcasting this?I feel as if we've all dropped off the earth and some folk may be wondering why. Now, of course, there is an upside. We are all considerably slimmer and, when we can bring ourselves to eat, will have carte blanche with the holiday goodies.

Roselawn Tribute

2006-11-13T11:24:00.000-05:00

72-212

Ice made mortar on the wing with practiced hands,
Michaelangelo's apprentice
smoothing stucco on the ceiling.
Pristine shimmers clotted in plaster
until it joined fissures
and masked blemishes of 68 souls
plunging toward rusted earth.
In decorated fresco
loam and gristle merged
and a new creation myth was sketched.
Loose fingers drew the sacrifice with human artifact
and the golden leaves of the farmer’s beans.

Bye Bye Love

2006-11-03T09:33:00.001-05:00

FINDING SOMETHING

The moment you left is lost.
It slipped somewhere between
our midnights on the dusty floors
at Bill Street and

my Moses years. Driving away,
nosing for a scent of you
on the Mohave's heat bent horizon,
Linda Rondstadt reminding
me that I'd been cheated.

I visit Bill Streeet often,
find you in our doorless room;
you leave left-handed trails
across my back and search for books
in the folds of checkered sheets.

Techno Challenge

2006-11-02T08:40:00.000-05:00

Sweet Readers:

Flying by the seat of one's pants is an under-celebrated craft. For the past two weeks I have been keyboard challenged because Max, apparently a bit tipsy from the cork he'd been gnawing, spied a glass of cabernet on the desk and decided he needed a taste. He got one. And so did the keyboard, which, forced to deal with a sticky, red hangover and a broken space bar, was unable to rally and perform. Thereafter, until the arrival of my beautiful new keyboard last evening, all of my communications looked=like=this =because=the=equal=sign=was=the=new=space. Briefly I considered a dabble in the concrete poetic form but abandoned that for the mammoth electronic pile of unanswered email. That done, check this out:

It's a mediocre photo of the magnificent contents of a package from the lovely floozyknit, my secret pal extraordinaire. Contents included four balls of Kaalund Yarns Enchante in the Rainforest colourway. It's an exquisite blend of greens and gold that remind me of a baroque tapestry. I'm not quite decided about what it should be, but I'm leaning toward a lovingly stitched entrelac scarf. Preliminary swatches tell me that the addi turbos are not up to this yarn and that birch is too grabby. But, an old pair of swallow casein single points that have been languishing in my needle jar for years manage it perfectly. Perfect glide. Perfect grab. Ahh. Accompanying this lovely yarn were some lavender sachets and hand creme. Sachets, what an inspired indulgence! And my hands never smelled so summery, leaving them a perfect backdrop for three beaded green and gold bracelets.

At this point, sweet readers, you are no doubt envious of the remarkable secret pal in my life. I understand. And, I must confess that there is more:

It's a copy of the premiere issue (Autumn 2006) of Yarn Forward, an independent (what a wonderful word) publication out of the UK. My secret pal hails from Scotland,
a beautiful green land I was lucky enough to visit for a too short weekend when I spent a year in London studying journalism. The magazine is packed with technique, fiber, knitting history and current information. Here's something really wonderful . . . It's a piece about Gerard Allt and the Knitted River campaign.
Knitters are contributing 15cm by 15cm blue squares that are being sewn together to make a fiber river. The product is being taken to all events visited by Water Aid
an organization working for clean water and toilets for people living in poverty-stricken countries. Very cool. If you're interested in contributing, go here and click on the Knit a River link.

Bless you sweet floozy.

There never was a good war or bad peace. - Benjamin Franklin

Night Wanderers

2006-10-15T15:36:00.000-04:00

THE OLD MAN AND HIS CAT

2 a.m.
An old man and his cat abide
in blue light.
Wrapped in elbows and arthritis
she is grateful,
remembering days
when dogs were kings,
shooing kittens from the stable
and running in great gait
with the man and his horse.
The man,
once all cats natural enemy,
now glad for any creature
who roams the night
and shares rewarmed salmon patties
in wee hours.
The cat speaks to him
revealing disdain at a clamorous
grandchild who would curl the hair
in her ears and squeal
at the spider
skewered on her sharpest tooth.
In the morning
he will report all he’s learned
to a family of nonbelievers,
laughing gently at their absent faith,
napping until night
when his cat glimpses blue light
and finds him.

This and That

2006-10-12T13:25:00.000-04:00

Sweet Readers:

Brrr: I'm glad I have three dogs because the three dog nights have arrived. And that's all I'm going to say about that. It's good knitting weather though and my addi turbos have gone a'clicking.

Decision 2006: Blogger Joe, via blogger Mel, offered up a link for those us who are frustrated in our attempts to make intelligent decisions about which candidate to choose in the upcoming elections. Joe blamed the media for not fulfilling their fourth estate function, and while he's correct about their negligence, methinks that's a tad too easy. So follow the link so you can vote smart.

Moth: I think I may have found the right fiber for Moth. Check it out here. It's not really coppery, which was my original thought, but it's just variegated enough to make the product interesting. No?

Baby One: Our sweet and beautiful Miriam at work has had the first of the bar babies. Mom and son are well and we're looking forward to our first viewing. Meanwhile, the good folks at Beef O'Brady's found Miriam and son a crib, a car seat, a bag full of clothes and a couple of hundred dollars for starter supplies. Stay tuned. Photos to follow.

Boobies: Pink ribbons are no longer worn, I fear, to raise awareness of breast cancer. Rather they are exploited to raise profits of every company that can bring a pink product to market in October. Enough, I think. Let the entrepreurial exploiters find another cause to mount. Maybe The Great Tank of Conservative Thinking.

I know. That wasn't nice.

Peace cannot be kept by force. It can only be achieved by understanding. - Albert Einstein (1879-1955)

Thoughts on Nickel Mines

2006-10-06T09:22:00.000-04:00

Sweet Readers:

Sometimes the meaning of something becomes clear in a split second. Watching and reading about the agony of the Amish community in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania, I've learned the meaning of the word grace.

One would think I already knew. I grew up in a community of spiritual women who manifested grace each day. I gave the name Grace to my daughter two decades ago - long before it was fashionable. We all know the song about how amazing it can be.

An abundance has manifested in Nickel Mines and it is there for all of us to take. These gentle folk have suffered unimaginable agonies with more dignity than most of us suffer being cut off in traffic. They have found solace within their community, they have found solace practicing the ways and traditions of their ancestors, and they have found solace in forgiveness. The Members of the Amish community attended the funeral of the man who shot ten of their daughters and invited his family members to the funerals of their own.

This abundant gift is there for all - people, communities, nations - who will accept it with the grace it was offered.

Peace. Really. Just choose peace.

Secret Friendliness

2006-10-03T19:41:00.000-04:00

Sweet Readers:

During many moons past I pondered blogging and the joys of being a Secret Pal. I'm thrilled to be part of both worlds. Let the random acts of kindness commence!

1. What is/are your favorite yarn/s to knit with? Wools and silks and blends thereof in lighter weights like dk, sport or fingering.

What fibers do you absolutely *not* like?
Cotton and synthetic chenille. And I'm not too big on the novelty stuff.

2. What do you use to store your needles/hooks in?
Baskets for the dpns and straights.
A big hook on the wall for the circulars.

3. How long have you been knitting & how did you learn?
I learned when I was eight or nine by watching other knitters. Hence, I knit backwards until well into my 40s when I taught my eldest daughter and her best friend to knit backwards. The daughter, being a scientist, began researching all the technicalities of the craft and eventually was able to straighten our work. Now I can stitch lovely tubular pieces without the tiniest bit of biasing.

Would you consider your skill level to be beginner, intermediate or advanced?
An advanced intermediate because, while I've never met a pattern I can't make peace with, I don't design well. Truly advanced knitters, I believe, are also great designers.

4. Do you have an Amazon or other online wish list? Yes, but that could reveal my identity to giftee in my life. Wouldn't be prudent.

5. What's your favorite scent? (for candles, bath products, etc.)
Lavender.

6. Do you have a sweet tooth? Favorite candy?
Not really. But occasionally I indulge in a sweet martini or a glass of ginger ale.

7. What other crafts or Do-It-Yourself things do you like to do?
I never met a Christmas craft I didn't like.
P.S. I don't crochet.

Do you spin?
Despite countless hours of drafting and spinning practice, I remain wretchedly inept. I think it's the fault of my arthritic fingers. At least, that's what I'm blaming.

8. What kind of music do you like?
I can't think of any music I don't like, although I consider some rap and hip hop unnecessarily vulgar.

Can your computer/stereo play MP3s?
Yes.

9. What's your favorite color(s)?
Rich reds and Autumnal tones like sages and coppers and pumpkins.

Any colors you just can't stand?
I'm not big on muddy browns or acid greens.

10. What is your family situation?
I've been a single mother for 15 years. I have two in college and one who's a senior in high school now.

Do you have any pets?
Three rescue puppies - a lab mix and two puggles.

11. Do you wear scarves, hats, mittens or ponchos?
Yes. No. Yes. No.

12. What is/are your favorite item/s to knit?
Lacey things. Shawls, tablecloths and blankets.

13. What are you knitting right now?
A tablecloth, a blanket and Christmas goodies.

14. Do you like to receive handmade gifts?
They're the best kind.

15. Do you prefer straight or circular needles? Bamboo, aluminum, plastic?
I'm an Addi turbo junkie.

16. Do you own a yarn winder and/or swift?
Yes. Yes. And, I would be lost without them.

17. How old is your oldest UFO?
Summer of '05 - a sweater in Alchemy Synchronicity that I will admit right now is heading for the frog pond.

18. What is your favorite holiday?
Christmas!

19. Is there anything that you collect?
Dogs and books.

20. Any books, yarns, needles or patterns out there you are dying to get your hands on? I'm a pretty egalitarian wanter.

What knitting magazine subscriptions do you have?
Interweave knits.

21. Are there any new techniques you'd like to learn?
I'd like to figure out how to knit a perfect oval.

22. Are you a sock knitter?
Long ago (see question number 3) I became frustrated by sock knitting. I haven't really gone back to it. Plus, my fifty something year old eyes are frightened of size 0 needles.

What are your foot measurements?
9 1/2 long.
9 at the ball.
9 at the arch.
8 1/2 at the ankle.
8 above the ankle.

23. When is your birthday?
February 17.

Wish Listing

2006-10-02T13:25:00.000-04:00

Sweet Readers:

I just found the pattern for Moth in my inbox. It's my winter gift to myself and I pledge to begin work on it the moment I'm finished my holiday knitting. I also pledge to buy the most beautiful yarn I can find to make it. Kidsilk Haze seems to be the fiber of choice among those whose FIs I found via Google, but I think I'd like something a bit more varied in tone. Perhaps a copper color? Or maybe a strand of Zephyr with a strand of lace weight mohair for a coppery blend. I think that may be it.

Meanwhile, my holiday knitting has commenced. Last night I cast on for a basketweave scarf in Jo Sharp DK Tweed - Colour Granary - on Size 6 needles:

Good for a man, yes? A nice manly brown, full of flecks of nice manly reds and blues.

Other plans include some Christmas stockings for my oldest and her boyfriend, a college color match hat for my son, something frivolous and frilly for my sister and my annual felted wine bottle cover for the annual overly costly bottle of wine for my brother-in-law. I'm still searching for the perfect handmade for my youngest daughter.

Keep it peaceful. Play nicely like Madden and Max Howard:

Inexpectations of Indian Summer in Indiana

2006-09-28T13:17:00.000-04:00

Sweet Readers:

We all know better here. When the great gale comes to deliver autumn to Indiana, the sun trembles and seeks shelter behind the great cloud of inclemency.
We know he will hide there until the vernal equinox. Perhaps (but probably not) sensing the impending change, Max Howard and Madden, puggles in residence, chose to spend the morning looking for the silly crickets trespassing in their canine domicile.

Daisy monitored their behavior closely, understanding that youngsters can't always be trusted to make good decisions about the consumption of crickets. Then began much meteorological drama. Lines of lightning reached out across the sky to the distant horizon. The air glowed yellow and the thunder snapped its fingers like an angry school marm demanding attention from a gaggle of sixth grade boys. The rains came and all the creatures possessed of survival instincts ran for cover.

Puggles are loving and loyal, but not so sensible. Madden intercepted a toad heading for distant hills while Daisy maintained her watch (notice white paw in upper left hand corner of photo).

Not being a puggle, or a Labramutt, I decided to go inside and photograph wips and ufos. I've added a few stripes to this:

And, inkeeping with the striped theme, a few stripes to this:

I know, very boring. So how about a FO for a change. Last summer my daughter Margaret took some leftovers from the stash and embarked upon the journey of stitching fingerless mitts. But, when the thumbs came along, she tired of the project leaving me with 96 percent of fingerless mitts. Needing a FO to comfort me amid
tablecloths and blankets, I picked up my number one Brittany Birch double points and whipped out some thumbs. Last year I bought way too much Mountain Colors Barefoot in the Ruby River colorway to make the Clapotis I wore and loved every single chilly day during the winter of '05-'06. Now I have a pair of matching fingerless to wear this Fall. They are delightfully soft and warm and seem to have enough memory to last a couple of seasons. And, being knit at the tight gauge of 10 stitches per inch, they are unlikely to snag on anything within arm's length (unlike my clapotis). I probably still have enough Barefoot to knock off a matching pair of socks. As I've mentioned before, I tend to over buy my fiber.

Peace is not the goal. Peace is the path.

School Days

2006-09-16T08:40:00.000-04:00

GRACIE’S QUESTS

My daughter’s fingers
floated in a lazy waltz
across the subcontinent
to the old world.

Finding Brest, she spilled
laughter through vineyards,
swelling the blue lines
of Garrone and Dordogue.

She said she would ride
south on her glistening mare
and canter pink-blue pasture
blooming dense and damp.

She would navigate
through outworn vines
and scale the Pyrenees
as they grew before her.

But her fingernail snagged
the paper fold at Gavarnie,
a rift revealing her lessons
in the grass by White River.

Batteries and Babies, Or Lack Thereof

2006-09-12T08:50:00.000-04:00

Sweet Readers,

Many of us who allow ourselves the luxuries of writing for a living, raising a family and knitting at will also learn the value and necessity of a series of (occasionally detestable) part-time jobs. My current incarnation is at a little bar down the street where I help run the place when the boss needs a few days. Two delightful women there, both young, both single, one a server and one a cook, are pregnant.

Mason-Dixon Knitting to the rescue. Blankets, Bibs, Burpers. What an embarrassment of riches between two end flaps. That, a big bag of the (discontinued) Lion Brand Cotton-Ease and we have layette makings, brilliantly colored and gender neutral in turquoise, rose, lime and lemon. Unfortunately, my battery stash is bare and the digital is weary with use, so no product photos today.

This baby bloom corresponds with the departure of my beautiful eldest daughter for her senior year in college. She is a chemist, a poylglot, an expert knitter and in love. Most nights this past summer she was conspicuously absent from our house, having found happiness in the home of her new love. I was unshaken by this until I found myself pondering where she might go upon graduation from Earlham.

Three years prior, when I dropped her at her dorm for the first time, she made me promise I would return for her at a moment's notice. She was undone by the prospect of separation. I stayed at Earlham much longer than any mother should have that day. I attended every orientation session (for parents or students), shopped relentlessly for dorm room ditties and chatted endlessly with the new roommate. The Time came and I realized leaving her there was the only option. Steeled with a smile of happy anticipation, I promised I would never really leave her, hugged her with all the love I could muster and made it to the car before my tears began.

This year, as her young man packed his car with her belongings, we stood at my front door and she told me she would return home at a moment's notice. I was undone by the prospect of our separation while she promised she would never really leave me. We hugged with all the love we could muster and she left wearing a smile of happy anticipation. I hope she didn't cry when she reached the car because, really, I wouldn't have things any other way.

Peace, Sweet Readers.

Why Cook?

2006-09-05T14:42:00.000-04:00

THE BETTER PLACE

Children,
frenzied on a hopscotch sidewalk,
are pioneers.
Their markers, pebble scouts,
reconnoiter chalk fields and forests
searching always
for the place with no asparagus.

The Labor of My Day

2006-09-04T14:13:00.000-04:00

Sweet Readers:

Another Pi Table Cloth is in the works. This one is for my sister, our family's Resident Republican Patriot. She is a lovely balance to me, the family's Resident Liberal Patriot, and a true devotee of the Red, White and Blue decorating motif.

The yarn is Jaggerspun Zephyr in Cinnabar, Admiral and White, all double stranded on #5 Addi Turbos. The unblocked product is coming in at 6 rows per inch. Which, in the vernacular of the stitching soldier, means I've only begun to knit.

Meanwhile, I'll be charting and swatching white stars on a blue background, seeking the perfect repeat pattern for a 576 stitch run.

May all your labors be peaceful.

Behold: The Beauty that is Koigu

2006-09-02T10:16:00.000-04:00

Sweet Readers:

During the past few weeks, while visiting the blog of the Wonderful Wendy, I've watched a marvelous example of Log Cabin knitting grow before my eyes. Inspired by the brilliant broads of Mason Dixon fame , Wendy is creating a Log Cabin from sock yarn.

Meanwhile, not one to be outdone by a mere Goddess of the Needle, I found all the Koigu kppm in the nooks and crannies of my world and and began knuilting (that's knitting a quilt pattern). That wasn't enough kppm and I found myself supplementing with ten brand spanking new, perfectly painted, heavenly hanks of the stuff.

Even if you've never been a Koigu fan, consider this project. The fiber is beautiful. The fabric is amazing. Be inspired.

Young Beans and her sidekick Sonic agree. "That fiber is beautiful," says Grace. "That fabric is amazing," says Sonic.

Peace on earth Sweet Readers.

A Family Secret

2006-08-24T08:47:00.000-04:00

WHEN MY SISTER MET JACQUES COUSTEAU

She wept.
Not hot, hard sobs,
spatters of gulps and hiccups,
but mute tears fluent
in the language of young faith
evaporating on steaming sand.

Cousteau, aqualung waving breaths
through manta rays and
spotted sea trout, would not
forgive her leaving. He
did not know she’d gone.

He flashed a tattered smile,
fearsome with memories of great
baleens and iridescent tides,
and offered her a tow line.

Brown as seaweed,
toes chipped from encounters
with cowries and slipper shells,
she yearned.

But she would never join him.
Anchored like a barnacle
she’d forgotten she could swim.

Pi on the Table

2006-08-10T19:57:00.000-04:00

Now, let's talk about knitting.

I do love it so. And I have since I was eight years old, which puts me at four plus decades practicing the craft. A month or so ago I picked up my well worn copy of Elizabeth Zimmermann's Knitters Almanac and was inspired by the Pi Shawl. Being on a strict stash reduction routine I found myself digging for the raw materials and found them in the Koigu bin. Do you remember when the knitting world was on a Charlotte's Web rampage? Well so was I and, having supply OCD, I always bought six or seven skeins of kppm despite the pattern's very reliable advice to buy five. Four or five times I did that. And, what do you know? I had the leftover makings of Pi.

My annoying and always lovable oldest daughter (the one I taught to knit) told me that all koigu does not match all koigu and that I was about to create a psychedelic nightmare. Silly youngster, I said, all koigu is beautiful. I stitched until the stash was bare and found myself not with a shawl but with a table cloth. The lovely dog-friend models are my rescue friends Daisy the Labramutt and Max Howard the Puggle. I promise not to subject you to their canine countenances any more than once per post. And really, they are so much more lovely than most root vegetables.

Peace on earth. And elsewhere if needbe.

2006-05-15T09:05:00.000-04:00

LOVES OF MY LIFE

When as a lass I fell in love
he left me for the unknown glove,
thinking he might find more pretty
the satin sheets of a boo boo kitty.

The second man I did adore
took work and politics for his whore.
The only time he came in sight
was under down on Friday night.

Sometime I loved another man
then drinking my liquor was his plan.
Adoring words he tossed aloft
while the proof of it remained too soft.

My next search for love so true
left me in the arms of an ambulance crew.
While offering jewels and gentle looks
he showered me with jabs and hooks.

Now at last I am alone
not hopelessly pining near the phone.
I do not sleep with lout, lush or log.
I spend my nights with a yellow dog.

Morning Romps

2006-04-25T08:19:00.000-04:00

The dogs found a rabbits' nest one yesterday. Oblivious to the agony and terror their puppiness could cause, they spent a riotous few minutes running with the bunnies, toting the tiny, furry things from one end of the yard to the other. Two of the young rabbits escaped through the fence to live another day. One was not so fortunate and I found him supine, leg broken and skinless, in his death throes.

Dogs will do what makes them dogs. What separates us makes us suffer.

2006-04-16T12:22:00.000-04:00

Good day.

Saoirse hides in oak trees.
Sunstreams lick her back,
like cougar tongues
kindling newborn kits.
A grapevine drifts
from untroubled tangles
luring lady beetles
with delicious aphids.
Its curly shadow sinks,
begging her to reveal
just her smallest secret,
well kept as a dowager’s cat.
She reaches upward,
plucking acorn
jewels for her tiara.