not so much

last May

Last year at this time we were preparing for the Jen and Jay's baby shower. Our yard was at its most spectacular in May. Ivy rose up over the fence and draped down into the flowers.  Lilacs and clematis and roses and poppies and all kinds of bulbs bloomed in profusion.  And herbs-thyme and lavender and chives came back every year. May burst into the calendar with color and fragrance and lush green growth everywhere. 

Not so much this year. 

Although we were in a hotel until December, although we had to replace all of the utilities in our house-mostly out of our own pocket- and although the community we live in still sports boarded up businesses and many, many families are still 'outsourced' due to Hurricane Sandy, I still expected spring to come and make everything look brighter. 

Not so much this year. 

today

And although this is mainly cosmetic, and I fear that you will think me trite, I am one of those people who believes that gardens make the world a better place. And it saddens me that the space we put so much work and love into is the place that bears the visible scars of Sandy. It took years and years of work and resources to make our space a sanctuary for us in the summer. May and June particularly sparkled.
And here we are at the beginning again and our little house, befreft of her springtime jewels looks like the pauper that she is.

hope

There are some blooms and some bulbs pushing their way up into the sunlight. The lilac bush has a sparse showing and the peonies look like they may come back, so there is hope. More and more people are moving back into their homes, although some will never return.

 For us, it will be a long way back.

top down knitting

I have wanted to try a top down sweater ever since I watched Elizabeth Zimmerman's dvd, Knitting Workshop. I was won over by the simplicity and elegance of the execution. The fact that I have only ever made one sweater before (and not very well) ( I was very hard on myself) (1975) made it seem like the next logical project. I have since read books and bought patterns and accumulated a stash and finally have the skills ( I hope). The only thing I lack is time and like many other knitters, I love knitting because it is portable and can be done in small increments of time and attention. 

Seasons of Love, By Lyrical Knits


I started this on a pleasant spring evening, while chatting with friends after a lovely dinner out.  My first attempt was foiled my cats who stealth lifted the needles from my bag while I slept!

 Fortunatly for the cats, I have another needle. I have since restarted and secured the lovely and not cheep yarn in a feline proof Tom Bihn knitting sac. Woe to the cat who attemptes to breach the Tom Bihn sac. Woe indeed. 

A walk with Grandpa Mike

Box number one?

For Christmas, I told Alex he could have the unfinished quilt in box number one or a pocket of money. He chose the quilt and I think he is happy. After all, the money would be gone by now.
Fabric from Pinwheels and backing from aunt Suzy's stash. Machine quilting done by Catherine Timm. Model is Ann Marie McInerny.

Poem of the day

Writers write and bristlers bristle

Throwing off scads of thorny biting infinitesimally small projectiles.

Speakers speak and stealth whisperers whisper. 

Buzzing in your ears. Swish swishing in your business. Soft suggesting eyelashes lowering. 

plant the seed. 

Inject the fertilizer. Regard the heaving bosom. 

Lower the boom. Boom. 

All the talk talk impressions of social media. Of news no news. Empty swishing. More media. Hopeful projectiles launched and whispered and swished in a cloud. 

 an enemy of the silent night. Listen for the silence between the swarm of words. 

Demand the silence.  

It is infinitely more meaningful. 

Mike's favorite

pre dawn deep

4 a.m.

it was one hundred o/clock

and the tide was low low low

the receding water laid bare and dry the 

artifacts of doubt and indecision

the cat snored and the radiators rattled

still in the night 

no meaning would be extracted

laying inconsolable in the shallow tidal pools

Gulliver like 

tied tightly by eleventy thousand bonds of reason 

all the while knowing beyond certainty that 

the tide would soon come in and re submerge the clues of 

self restriction  

where they would sway  and wave and shimmer in the phosphorescence

like lovers leaving forever on the conveyance of your choice here

forever

forever

forever