Tuesday, December 26, 2006
May Overhill of Nobottle
I bet you'd like one, too
I found this quote yesterday:
The only gift is a portion of thyself.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson, writer and philosopher (1803-1882)
It's rather apropos for this time of the year, don't you think? But I'd ammend it to say, "The best gift is a portion of thyself." When someone is really there with you, when they give of their time, when they obviously have done something for you that took a lot of thought and energy or when they have truly shared a part of who they are with you, it makes life so sweet and meaningful. And that is truly a gift.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
This little guy has been sitting around for some time now just waiting for a toe. I finished it the other night at Stitch'N Bitch, and I have to say that I'm a little proud of this sock. I really like the way my yarn turned out with my pattern. There are a couple of variations I'd like to try, meaning that my interest is still piqued. So hopefully the second won't take another year to knit.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Details: US 7, 16" circular needle, Knit Pick's WOTA and Andean Silk (left over KSH and Merino Sock! for the flower, WOTA for the felted leaf). Picot hem that was knitted together as I knit the hat up from the bottom. It looks a little shinier in the picture than in real life ( I adjusted to color so that it showed more true to life).
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
How nice is that? Everyone you are playing with wants you to hug them. In fact, although they are running away from you, in reality they are all vying for your affection. :sigh: It's so simple, real and practically artless. I mean there's really only one level of duplicity involved and it's all mutually agreed upon.
Not only was I treated to this lovely game, but there was just what I needed: much close and quiet story reading. I mean remember when you were little, what was one of the most reassuring, comforting activities? I remember lying in bed with my father and all my siblings and having him read or tell us wonderful stories. I remember feeling so secure, so warm and safe. It was lovely.
So today I was reading a book to a great little kindergartener on a mat and all these cute little K's and first graders joined us. We all kind of cuddled up together and shared a lovely tale, and communal sense of comfort. Just what I wanted for Christmas. So I am writing it here so I will remember.
I also thought today about part of a poem that Walt Whitman wrote:
There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he looked upon and received with wonder or
pity or love or dread, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of
the day....or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
What ever part of me stays with any of the children I care for or teach, I hope it's like the one of my father I describe above. You can never know how your actions, reactions or inactions effect those around you, children in particular. Or how long they will carry that word, that hug or small gift with them. What if one squeeze here and one bandaid there made the real difference between a day of misery and one that could be tolerable. And what if I am the only person available for this child to play makebelieve or who has time to read to him.
Each one is such a precious little wonder because they can be anything, do anything. They can see beyond and not be afraid of not knowing because they don't know so much as it is, but are so open to learn and experience.
But afterall, this is a knit blog or it was. Anyway I have actually finished a few items lately. I was inspired to make only one gift this year. Something so small and useful. A soapsock! Sounds so granny, don't you think? But just the other day I was wishing for something just like this. Thanks to I'm Knitting As Fast As I Can for the pattern.
Friday, December 08, 2006
The sterility of winter hadn't set in. The air was still warm, a little humid and fragrant, almost sweet. Flowers lingered on vines across chainlink fences in alley ways and sidewalk cracks. Some trees still had leaves, but many were busy turning.
A few days were quite warm (70's!), and on others, the skies were bright and blue, the sunshine being so much more intense in Atlanta.
There are lots of interesting little neighborhoods to explore In Atlanta, and in some of the artsier ones, people have taken it upon themselves to transmogrify street signs into petite billboards.
It's a different sort of place that produces "I love you" graffiti, don'tcha think?
Or better yet, contains buildings with quotes from Noam Chomsky and Arundhati Roy spray painted on their sides: "Everyone is worried about stopping terrorism. There is a simple solution. Stop participating in it."
Of course, this wasn't really my vision of the South. Nor did Atlanta live up to my companion's vision of it as a city chock-full of redheads and short, plump, mustachiod men.
It will live on in my memory as a place where bars could very well have skull facades.
Where new buildings tend to have quirky details.
Where older, industrial spaces have been given new, artier looks.
This is a light fixture from the Floataway Cafe.
I particularly enjoyed the long shear curtains that informally partitioned off the restaurant and seemed to float on a breeze that you never felt.
And as a land-locked city with a rockin' aquarium.
Whale Sharks! Can you believe it? They also had beluga whales. And the most amazing penguin exhibit I've seen yet.
And some crazy spider crabs!
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Everything that I hold dear, I hold it all for you.
The light warming my back as I knit in the sun. The smell of a passerby's perfume. (what scent was that?) The laugh I hear across the room. A hand brushed lightly across a knee.
The breeze that just lifted my scarf so gently, it flowed over her skin and his and hers. Around the corners and through the city until I know that it touched you, too.
It touched everyone. (as did the sun)
And I felt you sigh with me.
I recently discovered Walt Whitman and I am simply taken by his work. I can't imagine how I had never read anything of his before. And it's such happenstance that I even came across it.
Someone left a bunch of National Geographics in a local laundrymat and I happened to pick one up and start paging through it last week. I came upon an article about Walt Whitman and was drawn in by his lovely and evocative words. Key exerpts were paired with photos and a short story of his life. After reading and rereading portions of Song of Myself and other poems, I wanted to run out and buy a book of his work, but for reasons beyond my control I had to wait a few days.
So I ended up purchasing Leaves of Grass about five days later and had much time to read it. And when I say much time, I mean real, spacious, I-could-be-doing-anything-I-wanted-to time. You see I got to have a wonderful little vacation in Atlanta last week. Just Me, my lovely friend and Whitman.
So as I explored and strolled and hustled around Atlanta I always had Walt close at hand. I could sit down at any moment and open him up and be thrilled by his connection to the world. And know that I knew it all already, but needed him to point it out again. And I did pull him out frequently and let him take me to a higher level of mindfulness, sending shivers up my spine as I ascended.
But enough of Walt. I want to tell you about Atlanta.