Finished is better than perfect.

Aunt Suzy's stashed quilts. Finis.

Knitting project bag.

Not much to report. This bag is made from ikea polkadot burlap and lined with fabric reclaimed from danish shopping bags. The lady in the store gave me some extra because I bought gifts and I saved them to reuse because I thought they were awesome! and I do love the lining. I love to use the stuff I save. I love to re purpose things although I guess it is not really repurposing a bag to make it into another bag? no matter. I like it. 

I write and post things and wonder if any one reads this blog. it has been ongoing for many years now and sometimes I think of retiring it, but I keep it going for old times sake. One day I will print it and fold it up and tuck it in a drawer.

Finis.

lost and found

I am entering the sewing room. cautiously. in ten minute intervals. there is something I want to find. 

Layers of projects line the walls and pile up on the floor. Visible table tops are a distant memory. Zippers of all sizes and colors wave their teeth at me. And zip lock bags leer from the corners, mouths agape, fibers spilling out of them-remenscent of projects past. An unsavory invitation to return to their passionate engagement and "finish" them. I am resolved to resist. but....

To make matters worse, this is where house hold items are deposited. No longer a sacred work space, it has become a repository for cartons of toilet paper and roll after roll of paper towels: empty boxes too good to be thrown away, wrapping paper that is sadly unraveled and out of season- In order to go in and claim my space I must first find a home for these bulky, awkward to store, needy residents.

And- I shudder as I write this to you- atop this pile is a slightly deflated exercise ball. A ball that has no home or claim, only an echo of the past. But I shall leave that for another story.  

Underneath the first layer I have found a plastic bag full of yarn scraps that I might someday need for future fair isle mittens, felted wool balls and wool scraps that I used to make Christmas wreathes last year, or was it the year before. I forget that last december we were still ensconced in hotel rooms in an almost swanky hotel in midtown. Temporary refugees from the damage of hurricane/super/storm/but not・ covered・ by・ flood・ insurance Sandy.

But that is a dangerous and possibly lengthy digression.

Thus far i have not found the one sewing project that I have been seeking. Soon I will leave this page and venture forth into the wilds of the sewing room once again with  hope in my breast  to emerge triumphant, with this particular project in hand. 

If you do not hear from me-------know that I have always thought of you fondly. 

Commuting

(see full image)

Quilt for a boy

I have had these blocks in a box for a few years. They were from a swap that Leoni Davis hosted at least six years ago. I guess I was just waiting for the right boy to come along.

two things...a quilt and a poem published in this book

I had a poem published in this anthology of Mostly Long Island Poets and Photographers. It is a huge and impressive collection and I am looking forward to spending time in it. 

Jane Austen Replica
made using Inklingo
pieced by me, bordered by Val
quilted by Catherine Timm

poem 6/29/2013

divining with a stick

it was hickory and forked. It was in a suitcase carried by a professional diviner and he said,

"you want to try it?"

i felt the tug of the earth

or was it water pulling me

into its deep current-

and there was water there

-later confirmed by more scientific calibrations-

but too deep to plant a well.

what does this all mean 

when you can feel the thrum of 

the bending river

hear it moving under the flat dry apparently solid ground

where you stand unsuspecting

ignorant of its power and duplicity

I am a writer 

i turn to face truths that cause others to quail -

and i know about how to escape - i spent years perfecting my distractibility.

further-it is my nature to want to parse and dig and understand the deep.

oh i get it. 

my nature: 

the pull of the invisible current 

the underground stream.

it calls me.

word of the day is tethered 

tethered to this raucous raging rioting ball of earth

screaming soundlessly through the universe

sound less in the larger sense of the word,

but sound is its own unique energy

even tho it cannot be heard 

in space

I read Adrienne Rich’s obit today in the times

she was my hands down favorite poet 

who taught me how to love words

love poems

who taught me that poems do not have to be sparse and bloodless

ancient and sacred and soundless

my father is dying and I have not written of it

I consider how when one loses a parent 

at no other time is one more of a child

except than in childhood

but in childhood we are not self aware

we do not walk around thinking this is how a child feels

this is how a child perceives the world

when a parent dies, one is keenly aware of one’s core

child 

howling in grief.

confused and vulnerable and alone. 

unheard

for there is no longer that parent with whom to dialog. 

I use the correct grammatical structure for 

my father, the professor, who would appreciate it. 

although he no longer hears me. 

how does one reconcile this loss

this new category of loss

is it a new loss 

another acceptance, another resignation ( the hebrew meaning of my name is resignation)

or

is it connected to all of the other less evitable losses.

can it  be reconciled with out ever reconciling those earlier

willful or indifferent losses

must they all be categorized and counted and itemized and pondered and spoken and witnessed and forgiven and forgiven and forgiven

or do they simply become part of the fabric that we wrap ourselves in

part smoke and desire, part addiction and more or less the scar tissue of 

unspoken woundings, the warp and weft of collusion and collision

and some accidents are beautiful 

and some are too painful to navigate alone

or can we build our own new boats and travel across soundless space

to gain a new understanding, 

where words are remembered as the rustle  of leaves

and prayers are faithful  ambassadors pulling on the oars

these things I consider as I pull into traffic to drive my child to school, as I try to remember how to operate the new coffee pot,

as I think about the sequence of events that must occur to get me out of the house and to work, dress, train ticket , wallet, book, phone, sneakers, food, money, time;

all  mundane earthly needs, that I add to the equation

as I plot the course of my escape 

from this planet of toil and cacophony 

to which I am still inexplicably tethered.

just a sliver

some wear life like a sleeve or 

a slice of fashion 

with an eye for the elegant and a nod to artifice.

some 

not all svelte 

billow and flow

like cabbage roses on a summer trellis just waiting for a passer by to 

stop

admire

caress and qvell and murmur approval and drop some petals 

just a few

right there at your feet

you pause 

stunned

where am i going with this 

to some moral 

some story 

a sermon or parable

perhaps just  a moment, a

homily or fable 

or tale of karma

or fickle swipe of fate 

some stainless random futile existential self annihilation 

just an observation

some fill out a suit

play the cards they are dealt 

try to remain humble

tell a story

unwrite

reverse engineer

retell it 

until it is a new garment

a jaunty foulard cravat or

a beaded belgian lace sleeve,

an audacious aubergine dyed ostrich plumed chapeau - not for the weak of heart, mind you,

none of this is easily digested

others wait for traffic to slow to a trickle and

leave no trace not a shrug nor a whisper,

a gray ash the faint smell of smoke and whiskey 

notwithstanding-

the need to be alone and away from the clamor and claim.

the shrieking squealing sound of air brakes announce an end to the journey

and endings are so hard to endure. 

and what is an echo but a audio scent

you leave 

your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears

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

Craftsy

Have you heard of Craftsy.com? 

    recently I started to read of bloggers who were either giving or taking some of the classes. It is a nifty platform and great if you want to take a class conveniently and most definitely less expensive than taking one in person. 

     My latest class is with Natalie Chanin of Alabama Chanin and it is swoon worthy-- Hand Embellishing Knit Fabric. I have ordered the fabric and stencil and look forward to many happy hours of hand sewing.  I already received the pattern (Donna Karan V1263) and while I wait for the fabric to arrive, I may use it with some  fabric I already have just to get started on something!

     !!!There are some free classes for you to try out if you want to give Craftsy a test run. There are classes at all levels of expertise in knitting and sewing, cooking, beading and more. A virtual plethora of classes- from nationally recognised artists and crafts people and none of the classes are more than 40 bucks. If you have ever paid for an actual in person workshop you will know this is a great price. I am not affiliated in any way but I am well pleased with my expereince there and thought I would share. I have taken the serger class and a class by Susan Anderson in how to knit a giraffe as well as some others that are in my queue:)

   I love the internet!

BoB

This is the bag (or bin or bunch or bucket) of blocks that I have chosen to work on for the Linten challenge. There are 59 of them sewn into circles. The edges have to be closed and the round parts folded inward to make a square and then yet can be stitched together. That's the plan. It took me ten days to her them off the shelf. What are the odds of finishing by Easter?

little nothings

The snow from the great blizzard of 2013 has been cleared and here in coastal New York, it is life as usual.

 In other areas the storm was much more ferocious and incapacitating. The Long Beach trains were not running but I made it to the Rockville Centre station and managed to get to work in the city. Fotunately Mike was able to come in and get me so I did not have to navigate the rail system to get home. 

Luke is officially seven months old and is very wonderful. He is of course very advanced and delightful in all ways and charms us endlessly. 

things I have been working on:

I have been writing every day as per my resolution. It is a small enough thing to do each day and it is acheivable. I am working slowly on the triangle quilt and small knitted objects. I bought a pattern for a sweater from the 2013 Brooklyn Tweed book that I plan to make for a certain someone. and that is all of the sweet nothings that I have in play on this Valentines Week. 

Do something sweet for someone you love and accept all such offerings with equal parts joy and gratitude. 

(words of wisdom are free)

Winter lines

Here we weren't affected 

By the storm 

By the rushing, blind water

Here where the steel rises gray and bleak and insentient -

Our minds are like that sometimes. Able to rise above.

Able to resist the surge

Like emotions, swelling,

changing entire landscapes. 

Altering them

And yet we think to resist. 

We think we can stem the tide. 

Divert the mighty ocean. 

It is the ocean,

I tell you. 

We do not even matter. 

Even after we return to her 

abject or ashes,

even then we do not matter.