Warm November

My sister knit this scarf and gave it to me as a birthday present.  She knows I love blue and often wear blues, roses, reds with blue undertones, pinks, and did I mention blue. The scarf is knit from Koigu merino wool yarn in the linen stitch. The scarf is beautiful, soft, warm, and just the right weight for chilly autumn days.

As bright October fades into gray November, I pull out hand knits and settle into my school routine. After the first crazy weeks of back to school meetings and learning my caseload, I find a rhythm working with parents and caregivers of preschool children with disabilities. In my job, I often sit on the floor, share books, blocks, and craft projects with enthusiastic preschoolers. While I dress professionally, I choose sturdy clothing which stands up to repeated washing. The day after my husband's knee surgery, I was dead tired but went to work. On my way out the door, I reached for my new scarf. Knowing the hours and love my sister had knit into the piece, I wondered if I should save it for special occasions.  However, I needed a boost that morning so I wore the scarf. Wrapping the colors and wool around my neck was like a hug of encouragement from my sister. Since then I've worn the scarf several times each week.

This past week a good friend of 39 years passed away. Dorothy was a founding member of the Crafters, a group of my friends who have met once a month for over twenty five years. Dorothy was a witty, intelligent woman who lived a rich full life. She loved and was loved by her family and friends. For many years, she made pie once a week and invited her family over after they attended church on Sunday.  If the Crafters were lucky, she made pie for us. In the last of her 87 years, she faced major life changes with grace and courage. I hope I can do the same.  Her death reminds me of a lesson I've learned more than once.  Savor every day, every hug, every walk, every hand knit scarf and every pie crust.

The day before Thanksgiving, family and friends will gather to remember Dorothy. Then I'm coming home and make an apple pie with Dorothy's pie crust recipe. The crust won't be quite as tender as Dorothy's but I'm going to enjoy rolling out my own pastry. Then on Thanksgiving, I'm going add a dollop of whipped cream to my coffee in honor of my mother and savor a piece of pie with my dear husband and his new knee. After dessert,  I'll lace up my tennis shoes, wrap the linen stitch scarf around my neck, and take a walk under a November sky.    

A Taste of Autumn

 

   

Several weeks ago, Lance and I drove out to a local orchard.  When we arrived, a pleasant teenage girl, handed us a map with the location of different apple varieties. The September afternoon was warm and bright as we walked through rows of apple trees. Families, including grandparents with grandchildren, were out enjoying the day. As we searched for Jonathan and Johngold trees, I wished all children had the opportunity to see how apples grow. We picked two bag of apples and drove home past farmers harvesting in the fields.

The next weekend, I made apple butter. As I worked, I thought about my great grandmother and how she preserved fruit in her kitchen. Sometime in the 1890's, she planted fruit trees on the central Nebraska prairie. If she made apple butter, she built a fire in a stove, used a paring knife to prepare the fruit, and spent most of the afternoon feeding the stove while stirring a kettle of apples, sugar, and spices to keep the mixture from scorching.  Instead I pushed fruit onto prongs and turned a crank to peel, core, and slice apples. Then I filled a crockpot with sliced apples, sugar, cinnamon, and cloves and plugged it into an electrical outlet.

Twice during the day, I used a potato masher to break down the fruit. After the apples and spices simmered to the right consistency, I ladled apple butter into jars, screwed on lids, and tucked it into the freezer for another day. My great grandmother didn't have a freezer. She had a cave dug into the ground beside her home. When she made preserves or fruit butter, she either melted paraffin to pour on top of the preserves or put the jars through a water bath.  Either process required more work over her cook stove.

My great grandmother and I do have a few things in common. Neither of us want anything to go to waste. She fed apple peels and cores to the hogs her husband raised in order to feed their large family. When I finished, I carried the peels and cores to my compost pile.  I'm sure my great grandmother also enjoyed the taste of autumn in warm apple butter spread on wheat toast.

         

Knitting is Better than TV

My son has a new friend in his life.  This seven year old boy is eager to learn new things. He approaches everything with enthusiasm and confidence as in "I am good at math or I am good at hockey.

During one of his visits to our home, I was knitting and he sat down beside me to watch. Immediately he wanted to learn to knit and asked if I had knitting books.  He picked up a book of sock patterns but decided he'd rather knit a hat and he would like it to be red.  

The next week I put a ball of red yarn and some size 9 knitting needles in a small canvas bag. When I came home Friday afternoon, I found him sitting quietly on the living room love seat.  He looked at me with big brown eyes and said, "Will you teach me to knit now?"  We sat on the couch and I used the children's knitting rhyme: "In through the front door, around the back, peek through the window, and off jumps Jack," to teach the knit stitch. He allowed me to show him exactly three stitches before he wanted the needles in his own hands.  Hand and over hand, I helped him for five or six stitches and he was off.  As with all knitters, his tension was tight, the knitting twisted on the needle, and he dropped a few stitches.  I assured him that knitting can always be fixed. When I told him this swatch could be a practice piece, he informed me he was making a hat.

All the while we were working, he was chattering about how he wanted to make hats for his Mom, my son, and his stuffed animals.  He informed me he was good at knitting and asked to take his knitting home.  Before I sent the bag with him, I made sure he understood knitting needles are not to be used as swords.  My son and I also told him he couldn't take the knitting to school. As a teacher, I don't want to be responsible for sending nuisance items to second grade.  Even after all our precautions this little guy made a very perceptive comment. He discovered "knitting is way better than TV!" Amen.

Changing Seasons

Last weekend was Labor Day.  The breeze carries a dusty autumn scent and I am wearing a light jacket on my walks. Although the trees are still green, I don't zig and zag across neighborhood streets to stay in their shade.  Instead I savor the warm sun on my back.  My son bought the "soup making trinity" of carrots, celery, and onions" and I purchased small tart apples at the Farmer's Market. Cooler days are coming.

Three day weekends are great for catching up on chores, reading, and spending time with family.  Early in the Labor Day weekend, I celebrated my sixtieth birthday. My family honored me with lunch and dessert at my daughter's home.  We went there so my grandson, almost a year old, could take his nap on schedule.  Earlier in the day, my daughter set her dining room table, a beautiful piece of furniture that belonged to my grandmother Helen, in sage green and lavender, one of my favorite color combinations.   She cut lavender from her yard.

Neither my sister or I could remember when Gram acquired the table and chairs but we both recalled many holidays and birthdays celebrated around Gram's table.  I remember carrying food to the table when I was a girl. My favorite meals were Sunday night suppers of lunch meat, white bakery bread, potato chips, and dip made of cream cheese and garlic salt.  Gram occasionally served a few carrot sticks as a nod to healthier eating. Many meals involved some version of 1950's jello. Later, my children's toddler birthdays were celebrated at the same table.

As my husband, daughter, sister, spouses, children, and I ate my birthday lunch, my grandson enjoyed cut up fruit and small pieces of meat and bread. He is the fifth generation to share meals at this table.  After lunch, the baby took a nap and we enjoyed a sinfully rich chocolate birthday cake baked by my sister. The men retired to watch the Nebraska football game while my sister and I knitted and visited with our daughters. I know my parents and grandparents would have loved the day.

I couldn't have asked for a better celebration. There was no black crepe paper or gag gifts to dump up in the landfill.  Instead my sister gave me a beautiful scarf she had knitted. My daughter and her husband gave me  a "Life is Good" t shirt which I will wear. I received a handmade card from my grandson. My husband brought me roses which I enjoyed. My son sent me a hand crafted yarn bowl for use with knitting projects.  At sixty, the season is changing but life is indeed good.

Ishbel Shawl

Recently, I finished Ishbel, a lace shawl designed by Ysolda Teague who designs, self publishes and sells knitting patterns and books.  I used Nimbus Cloud, a yarn spun from alpaca, cashmere, and silk by an independent dyer.  The yarn was very soft and loosely spun making my stockinette stitches slightly uneven. Blocking smoothed the main body of the shawl and shows off the pattern in the lace border.

The strength and beauty of lace intrigues me. Although knitted lace looks fragile and is easily snagged, finished pieces have a certain strength. Empty spaces allow air to pass through creating a fabric as resilient as the women who design and knit them. 

Knitted lace emerges as corresponding increases and decreases combine with empty space. Both are important to the design. The combination reminds me of writing and reading stories. Whether I'm editing a rough draft for the first or fiftieth time, I shape the piece both by what I include and what I choose to omit. When I read a well written story or poem, I often speculate on what the writer chose to scratch out of her first draft.  This is particularly interesting when getting to know characters in a story.

Teague's pattern was well written and the charts were easy to follow.   I enjoyed the project and am looking forward to the next shawl but first I have a Christmas stocking to knit for my grandson.

 

Early August

Summer weather in Nebraska brings heat and humidity. Today my google weather chart says the humidity is 100%. Last night, a monsoon downpour fell while I was grilling dinner. When I walked this morning, the tree leaves were dripping with moisture under an overcast sky. The combination of light and humidity meant spider webs were visible. I counted at least 19 webs on the large blue spruce next to our driveway. An eight year old from the neighborhood was outside with his mother exclaiming about the webs. Across the street, a large web connected by long lines of silk to a tree and a car seemed to be suspended in mid air.

Other years I've noticed these webs on humid August mornings so perhaps spiders spin more webs in late summer. Although webs are susceptible to wind and those of us walking through them, the tensile strength of spider silk is greater than the same weight of steel.

My aunt passed away yesterday. She had a rich life and had been ill so her death was not unexpected. Still, I thought of her when I saw the spider webs this morning. Life is fragile.

Summer Milestones

Even though I teach ten days through June and July, summer bring a slower pace and days to spend with those I love. This summer feels like it has been a season of change.

My sister taught me how to paddle a kyack. One quiet July morning, J took me out on a beautiful Minnesota lake. I learned to steer, stayed upright, and am looking forward to another visit when we can paddle around the lake on our own steam.

Throughout the summer, I have spent some days taking care of E., my 10 month old grandson. When this little guy is awake, he is curious about everything. He crawls very fast and pops up and down into standing with great ease. Although he sleeps in a crib, eats in a high chair, rides in a five point harness in his stroller and car seat, he is free to move and explore the rest of his waking moments. He is healthy and fortunate to have parents (my daughter and son-in-law) with resources which allow him this freedom. When caring for him, I scoot around the wood floor on my rear end trying to keep him safe while giving him room to play. We shake paper, toot into a toilet paper tube, and roll an oatmeal box. He uses his whole body to shake noisemakers. The other day we took turns blowing raspberries, that is we stuck our tongues out between our lips and blew breath out. In between turns, we laughed from our bellies. One day I played a game of kissing/tickling his neck. When I stopped to see what he would do next, he reversed the roles in the game. When we were finished, he planted his first sloppy open mouth kiss on my cheek, a very sweet moment. When E. got tired, we sat in the rocker while I read a very short story. We rocked while I savored the sleepy little boy on my chest.

Tomorrow when I close my father's estate, my work on his behalf will be finished. Serving as the personal representative of his estate was quite a journey.

My fall semester begins on August 9 but summer is not over yet. This afternoon I'm spending some time with friends and tomorrow I'm taking my son out to lunch. I'm looking forward to hearing about his adventures as a trainer of adults. Neither one of us ever thought he would become an educator but I am so proud of the way he meets and enjoys this challenge. Friday I'm going to take care of E. all day. If the next week is quiet, I will spend time revising a piece of writing, knitting the border of a lace shawl, and reading a novel.