And now take the time to write, knit, weave and crochet... I eat good food, I walk the dog and I care about what people think about everything. While I have shelter and sustenance, I am calm and peaceful, but I'm not assured that the serenity I live in now will abide if I were to lose my income and lived under a bridge. I do not live under any illusions that life is fair. I have had too much heartbreak to believe in justice and so have you.
This morning’s weather reminds me of when I was younger. It shows just how Portland I am.
It’s grey everywhere except for the explosion of some small Spring flowers. It’s cold. It’s raining but not pouring but it’s constant.
The wind is blowing. It’s blowing hard enough that I can hear the bells hanging on the porch.
The trees are still barren with just small buds of green showing. The exceptions are the Magnolia and Tulip trees that have full blooms, now drooping and dripping. The Japanese quince, stiff and thorny, is showing pink.
I walked the dog and I was reluctant to come back into the house. But Yum Yum was wet (her least favourite state) and ready for her treats.
Now, I’m sitting in my room and the rain is tapping on the windows. The big and old trees are swaying slightly against the wind.
I can hear the heater motor and see the fake fire inside my electric stove. Somehow warming.
The cat is sleeping on my bed so there’s no reason to make it up. She has made beautiful swirls in the blankets.
It’s very dim in my room and I don’t want to turn on any lights. I like this gloom and deep shadowed corners that are inviting and welcoming.
I think I will have a cup of tea and a little bit of dark chocolate and slices of the orange sitting in a ramen bowl.
I don’t miss the invasion of the bright rays of the sun that is hiding behind the charcoal clouds as they scud by, pushed along by the wind. There is a brightness in the far distant horizon where the clouds have thinned.
I might even doze a bit today. The gentle pitter and the patter of the rain are the perfect lyric and rhythm that can enduce slumber for any troubled mind.
I’m held in the arms of Portland weather and memories. Let the world go by. I’m not interested.
This photo makes the sweater look long but it’s actually cropped and comes just to the top of my hips.
This baby’s done! It’s the FELIX cardigan, knit in Woolen Twines rustic worsted merino in the colorway, Fossil (undyed). The yarn is the color of the sheep it came from.
As I’ve said before, Jule (owner and creator of the company and the dye pots) only harvests the best wool from local sustainable and organic farms and caring shepherds in her homeland of Germany. She has it spun in a small local mill and though she is a hand dyer, I chose this natural undyed color for this sweater. However, her natural dyes are some of the prettiest colors I’ve ever seen.
This was a joy to knit. The yarn, the pattern and the finished sweater just made/makes me happy.
I bought the buttons from Vintage Buttons on Etsy. They were made in the 80s of French river shells and hand painted. These also make me happy… like a bag full of gummy candies.
It’s too big for me but it’s large and cozy and will fit over anything. It’ll be a daily wearer.
I’ll definitely make another one of these but in my true size… determining my size is like trying to catch a wild horse in the Painted Hills of… where are the Painted Hills?
Before I start my next sweater, the “Magnolia Chunky Cardigan”, designed by Camilla Vad, I’m knitting the “Handful of Berries Mittens designed by Jocelyn J. Tunney.
For those who don’t knit and particularly don’t knit mittens, the photo shows what it looks like when you’re just starting. I’m just 7 rows into the ribbing for the wrist.
The yarn is the softest and fluffiest yarn I’ve worked with yet. It’s Beiroa Retrosaria, Rosa Pomar, 100% Portuguese wool.
The skein band says that, “Beiroa is made exclusively from the wool of Serra da Estrela sheep, a Portuguese native breed found in the Serra da Estrela region. It is entirely sourced and manufactured in Portugal. The Serra da Estrela Breeders Association (Ancose) verifies the origin and quality of the fleece used to produce this yarn.”
I’m thrilled to be using this beautiful Beiroa. Of course, I’ll be showing you the finished product when it’s done.
As my knitting journey continues, I find myself buying more and more yarn that can be traced to the source, including some yarn that can be traced to the exact sheep from which the fleece was shorn.This part of my craft gives me more pleasure and makes me more grateful than you can imagine.
And, I love that I am participating in an age old tradition.
I’m sitting and knitting as it gets dark on this 74th New Year’s Eve of my life on earth. As I have every year of my life, I have nothing to do nor have I planned to celebrate, especially not to party as the Gregorian calendar turns from 2022 to 2023.
As I’ve grown older, I have more memories to return to than adventures to look forward to. The next year will probably hold the same as the last year with a little gardening, a little knitting and a little writing. I will look forward to another trip to the deserts of Arizona. I’m sure that will be the extent of my travels.
I am a cynic and a skeptic and therefore I don’t have any wishes or hopes for the New Year that things will be better for us all. But regardless, my meditation is that we will be loved, we will be safe, we will have joy, we will find peace.
There is no belief utilized in this meditation but just in case our words are creative, I speak them to each and everyone of you.
Mom did laundry in an old wringer washing machine all the time I was growing up. She used a crooked stick to take the clean laundry out of the tub to push the clothes into the wringer.
Once clean, she hung our clothes out to dry. In the winter, she hung them to dry in the basement next to the giant oil furnace that had arms like a giant spider that led to every vent in the house.
Mom never asked for help with the laundry. Do you think that the memories of when she was a kid, Uncle John got his arm stuck in the wringer and tore his forearm skin clean off, kept her from wanting us to help?
Once I was in high school, a Fred Meyers was built with an attached laundro-mat a few blocks from home. Then, and only then, did she ask for help with the laundry.
She never had a washer and dryer until her and Dad sold the house and moved to an apartment complex in Beaverton in the 70s. Even then, it wan’t her washer and dryer.
After Dad died and she retired, she moved in with us when she turned 62. The first thing she bought was a brand new Sears & Roebuck washer and dryer.
Mom lived with me until she passed away at 89 years old and I never did another load of clothes until she passed away.
I wake to another cold and rainy day. What a relief after our brutal Summer and Fall where the earth cried for rain. From what’s predicted, we should have nothing but welcome cold and clouds and rain through the middle of the month, at least. May it be so until Spring arrives in our neck of the woods
As long as I have my coffee in the morning and my lovely warm bed and my beautiful room and knitting to do and the cats and dog lying about, I can’t imagine being more content on this November 1st.
I’m trying to put aside the earth’s sorrow and just enjoy that the holidays are here. Though I love every season I might say that this is my favorite time of year, though I can find something in every season to bring me joy.
But I love the dark days and I love when people start to put up the twinkling lights. I love to walk by houses with lights in the windows at 5:00 in the evening. I can imagine a warm welcome for everyone. I love the gatherings with drink and food and at least an appearance of love and goodwill. I love the giving of gifts no matter how great or small.
Contrary to what many, or maybe even most think that these are Christian holidays, for me they are not and never have been. Rituals of celebration and gatherings and the giving of gifts existed way before what people think of as commercialization. Make your days of celebration be what you will.
I am too much of a realist to wish a cozy home and enough food to sustain through the dark months for every person and being on the Earth… and peace… at least peace. And yet I wish it so.
Remember that I told you that Dhillon suddenly stopped calling altogether, I mean really sudden? It’s just not like him because never has a month gone by since 2002 that I haven’t heard from him.
That’s 20 years, over 20 years. Mostly, even if I wouldn’t pick up the phone, he tried to call me every week. If he was anything, he was persistent.
Anyway, last night I dreamt that I went to my grandmother’s house and Dhillon’s whole family was there. What I didn’t know was that we were all gathered there for Dhillon to tell me that he had a baby with a woman named Lois. I asked him if he had gotten her pregnant while we were still together and he said yes. I sensed that there was someone in the bedroom and felt it was Lois and maybe his baby.
He had aways raised my suspicion. I had no reason ever to trust him. And here was the proof. My thought was that he had cheated on me and so sadly and somewhat distraught, I tried to leave. But before I could leave, everyone, but his Indian ex-wife, hugged me and had tears in their eyes which, never would have happened. Not one person in his family ever liked me in the least, not as his girlfriend and not even as his friend nor even as a person who helped him as a secretary.
I dated Dhillon for 8 years and still, he did not ever say to them what I was to him. Dhillon tried to talk to me but I turned and walked away and closed the door behind me as he was moving towards me. I had no reason to want to talk to him.
Strangely, Tony, an old friend, was sitting in a chair by the dining room table against the wall. It appeared that she was a friend of the family. She did not get up. I looked at her and asked if she knew about all this and she nodded her head. I told her she was no longer my friend and I didn’t want to ever hear from her again. That did not seem to phase her.
I then drove to a small apartment downtown where more of Dhillon’s family (maybe cousins) were living. They were in the tiny kitchen and the stove was pulled out from the wall at an odd angle stretching the gas line. It worried me. They told me it was because their dad had told them it had to be that way even though I was trying to shove it back into place. So, I pulled it back out to where they had it initially.
I asked them about Dhillon and they weren’t really interested in talking to me about him. There was another close friend of mine with dark hair, I can’t remember exactly who it was, standing in the kitchen. I asked her if she knew about Dhillon having had a baby with this woman named Lois, and she said yes. I also told her that I never wanted to speak to her again and that she was not my friend. Just like Tony, it didn’t phase her that I was hurt and wanted to never see her again. She also seemed to be very close to Dhillon’s family.
I went down onto the street and some children, who were also Dhillon’s family, were standing across the street waiting for Dhillon. I looked to see that he was walking up the street towards us. I could see him at least two blocks away coming from the direction of his first restaurant. I wanted to see him and yet I didn’t want to see him. When he got close, I turned to walk away and he wanted to walk with me and talk to me but I rejected him, telling him to go away.
I awoke remembering the tiniest, what seemed to be, insignificant details.
I thought the answer to why he had disappeared from my life, so suddenly and curiously, could be in this dream. I had conjectured that he couldn’t contact me because of family but I couldn’t know for sure. Since I rarely remember a dream, I believe the answer is somewhere in there, perhaps only in the symbols.
eyeamdust 