Category: Contemplation

In the Gloaming (1877)

Surprisingly, my summer project is a heavy-duty wool cardigan by Caitlin Hunter, of Boyland Knits, aptly named “Gloam”. In the gloaming means the twilight hours just after sunset. “In the gloaming” has always been my favorite time of day, whether it be a summer, winter, spring, or fall evening.

There was a time in my life, I would say, probably the decades between 20 and 60 years when I felt unquenchable yearning at this time of day, for what I do not know. I couldn’t tell if I had to go out of the house or if I needed to stay in. There was a restlessness about it… as if I was missing out on something. I sometimes would at least need to be out on the porch as darkness overcame the gloaming.

Thank goodness I don’t feel the same about the gloaming anymore. But still, this is my favorite time of day heavy with nostalgia and longing and memories of days gone by. So when I found the sweater named the “Gloam” it just seemed right that I would knit it. The style was right, as well.

The garment has an Asian appearance to it like a kimono, with an open front and wide medium-length sleeves, and a cropped body. The yarn I’m using is of DK weight of Highland woolen spun of New England, Harrisville, in a deep charcoal colorway. Across the front and back is a large textured section of 72 rows.

Some would not consider this summer knitting, and neither do I but it is what it is. I’m having a lovely time working on it but it’s not something I take outside with me. That’s okay, because as I’ve grown older, sitting outside in the heat is not one of my pleasures. As August approaches, I might have to switch to sock or hat knitting, but I’d love to have this sweater to wrap up in come Fall.

Maybe I’ll need to take it outside to work on in the gloaming as the heat of the day subsides.

My cousin Gail, after reading my blog post, brought up that the word “gloaming” reminded her of my mom. Now I might understand why I loved it so:

Mom played the piano and sang a lot as we were growing up. We had sheet music in the piano bench and Mom would sing and play all kinds of music, from pop, ballads, jazz, blues, and more. Now I know why that word stirs up such emotion in me. I now remember that Mom sang, “In the Gloamingʻ.

Thank you Gail for stirring my memory. Follow the link below to hear this beautiful but sad song.

In the Gloaming (1877)

https://share.google/GkiEYPfcG82dN6YuW

A Spring Day. I cannot miss a moment of this.

A most glorious day.

Blue skies with magnificent white clouds floating by,

Sometimes obscuring the sun, leaving a chill in the air.

Sunlight illuminates every color of green. Overwhelmingly green.

Every flower blossom exudes fragrance on the air,

Passing by just to give a whiff, of pleasure.

The mottled ground, shadows of quivering leaves.

The Bush Tits flitting, where else? In the bushes.

I’m mesmerized. I cannot move from this chair.

What if I miss a moment?

Hope blooms eternal in the hearts of the young…

Bleeding hearts

And my heart breaks that they, the young, will have to have their hearts smashed and crushed. And because of hope, they will go down there again and again.

Learn not to hope, learn not to believe. Turn down the flickering, weak lights of love.  Turn them down. Love has no strength. Like a flower that opens in the Sun, it turns to dust in the cold, cruel darkness of night.

Reality then comes in like harsh light. Too strong for love. Love runs. It disappears, it seems, as soon as it appears and then vanishes.

You’ll find that I’m right. I will be there to take you in my arms while you cry bitter tears. But only time will teach you what I already know.

So I cry for you, as you hope for what can never be.

To Remember

Many, many years ago

I talked to Jack for a long time today. What I love about still being able to be close to him is that our memories are the same and that we share those memories.

My dad, in jest, used to call himself “dirty dog Anderson,” and my brother Steve, when he was in high school, called himself, “Beatleman”. If you saw how he dressed, you would know why.

There’s no one else on earth that would know those things. We have laughed about them now for 60 years. I don’t know if you can possibly know how precious this is to me. If Jack and I were completely estranged, which for a while, I thought we would always be, we wouldn’t be able to share these memories.

My family loved our dog Gypsy so much that when we would see home movies of her, the entire family would be in tears. I found Gypsy, a small, tan, beagle type dog lost in front of our house. Jack and I share this memory. His memory is so sharp that he remembers things in such clear detail that he can fill in areas that I no longer can remember.

He remembered today, exactly the little secondhand shop where he bought me an authentic Navajo ring of carved silver set with a deeply orange/red carnelian stone. I’ve been remembering how much of myself was formed as a young girl from 16 through our entire relationship because of things that Jack said and did. I remember the things that he bought me. He encouraged me to learn and to stay curious.

He bought me art supplies and paid for art classes. He introduced me to music and artists, and literature that I may not have run into on my own so early in life.

He bought me clothes and artwork of all kinds and taught me the value of handmade everything. We shared foreign films on days when we didn’t feel like going to school. Instead, we would spend time in the art museum, in galleries, in cinema houses and the library. We lived in houses with character and historical value. I could go on and on, but I don’t know where we went off the rails.

But off the rails, we did go… some 30 years after we started. We used terrible words with each other, though we knew so many beautiful words. We hurt one another, and yet we held it together for so many years. I’m not sure that we could have salvaged our relationship. I don’t think I could stand it if I thought we could have saved it. It’s easier and less painful for me to think that our parting was necessary for our growth. Just as a plant needs pruning to continue to grow and produce flowers and fruits and vegetables. Sometimes, those plants need to move away from one another and give each more room to grow.

Regardless, I treasure the times now when we do talk, and when we remember. It’s good to know people who have known you through the journey.

And now, as far as my immediate family, there’s just Steve who knew me back when. Maybe it’s our ages, but with these two, Jack and Steve, my life has contiguous meaning.

Unsolved Mystery of the Heart

Just recently, I found the answer to a mystery  I had given up on resolving many years before. I mostly didn’t even know that I was still looking, but the search was hidden away in my heart to emerge only occasionally.  

There were few things of value that I even cared about because Mom left so little behind. But there were a few of precious value to the heart only. Nothing she ever owned was embued with monetary value.

But there was one mystery to solve, known only to me as, “The  Missing Heart.” I would have found the answer if I had known to ask the right people. Why did the loss of this small charm occur to me again? Oh, yes, I remember! My niece, Sharon, was going through her mother’s (my sister’s) jewelry and came upon a bracelet she didn’t recognize, and neither did I.

I asked if among her things, had she come upon a small silver and marcasite heart with a mother of pearl inset? At first, I couldn’t remember the stones, so it was hard to describe. Her first answer was, “No”,  she said,  but she would keep an eye out for it.

I looked online to see if I could at least find something similar to help her identify it. Why did I even care, you might ask. Because, as a small child,  like all curious children will,  I loved to look in my mother’s jewelry boxes and in her top drawer to see her linen hankies and soft gloves of silk, cotton and leather, small veils of soft netting, hat pins, hair barretts and other small pieces and mementos.

On top of her dresser, among the crystal bowls, was her hair brush, a handheld mirror, and containers of face and body powder and fancy glass bottles of perfume and fragrant lotions.

There, also sat my favorite music box. It was a small wooden piano with just enough room to hold a few small pieces of jewelry.

The music box

Mom’s dresser was always dusty with the powders she used liberally. Her favorite perfume was Tweed. The fragrance is strong, with the tiniest bit of floral notes to keep it feminine, but mostly, it is dark, moody and earthy, woody, and resinous. Perfect for Mom, but not for a small child or even a teenager. I was never tempted to use it, but it smelled spectacular on my loving yet stoic mother.

But, back to the heart.

I sent my nephews and neices online images of similar items. Sharon said she would continue to look.  She said she would also ask the other girls. My sister had three girls and four boys that she left behind way too early. She also said that there was a story that went with that heart, if the one I was looking for was one that she remembered. I didn’t remember any such story.

Not long after, another of Kristi’s three daughters, Shauna, sent a message with a photo of the heart. “Is this the one you’ve been looking for, Auntie?” she wrote. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

There it was! She explained that her mother had given it to her, before she passed away, to wear at her wedding. Sarah, one of the three daughters, now had it to wear at her upcoming wedding.

She went on to explain the story behind the heart, a story I had never heard: It was a gift from Mom’s first love. If that’s true, why hadn’t I heard it?

I should have been happy just to know that it was still in the family… but. I wasn’t. I was hurt, confused, and frustrated. When did Mom give that to Kristi? Not known to lie nor even to be secretive, could Kristi and Mom have  kept this gift giving a secret? When did this even take place?

I couldn’t be upset with the girls, and of what use is it now for me to be angry with Mom  and Kristi, now that they passed on years ago. I decided to sit with the feeling. I couldn’t shake it anyway.

Now, after a couple of weeks, I guess I’m happy that the heart is in safe and loving hands. Somethings I’ll never know, like when or why Mom decided to give the heart to Kristi. We were and are a close and loving family. I know also that Mom and Kristi hadn’t between them, an ounce of secretive intent.

Each of the girls wore the necklace at their wedding, and if I had it, it would have been enjoyed and cherished by only me.

“I beg you to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

–Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet (1929)

What Knitting Can Do When the World is Dark.

I’m knitting a super lovely “Sheperdess Sock” designed by one half of the Grocery Girls, Tracie Millar.

I’m knitting them in Schachenmayer, merino yak, 4 ply, in colorway: 07516.

This is an easy and well written pattern. I’m loving the yarn and the color. It’s so perfect for dark November days and nights.

In the photo is a yule card by a Swedish artist, who’s name escapes me, old photos of my grandma and grandpa, Eduardo Galeano’s book, “Memory of Fire”, Alice Staremore’s book, “Glamourie” and a notebook of my writings. I love an assemblage photograph.

A Dog’s Reverie

Just one paw… can you see it?

Yum Yum doesn”t like to be cold but prefers the luxuriant scarves that cover and offer the warmth needed on a pre-autumnal day of grey clouds and damp streets.

She might stay here all day in her reverie of summer days… who’s extreme heat also is not to her liking.

She longs for spring days that neither intensely burn nor send chills through her sensitive constitution.

I will provide the lush environment that pleases her.

While Lying in the Hammock

It’s just past noon on the summer solstice.

For days it’s been cool and raining.

Everything is just a bit damp.

While the temperature is climbing,

The hammock is calling.

I answer the call and lay down,

and I gaze upwards.

The sky is so blue it’s an impossible shade of purple.

The leaves are every shade of green,

From black where little light can reach,

Under the dense branches,

To chartreuse where the leaves shine against the sky,

Almost translucent where sunlight amicably tries to penetrate.

I think I’ll just lie here for a while.

After all, the warmth and beauty are mesmerizing.

I Just Want to Stay Home.

I’ve done alot. I’ve risked a lot. I’ve escaped narrowly alot. I’ve survived alot. And through it all, I have the scars to show for it.

Now, I just want to stay home.

I just want to be peaceful. I am done with adventure. I’m done with drama. I’m done with conversation. I’m done with contention. I’m done with fear. I’m done with succoming. I’m done with overcoming. I’m done with doing anything by the skin of my teeth.

I just want to stay home.

I don’t want to argue. I don’t want to win. I don’t want to be right. I don’t want to debate. I don’t want to do the research. I don’t want to tell you my point of view and I don’t want to know yours. I don’t want to convince you of anything and I don’t want you to try to convince me of anything.

I just want to stay home.

I don’t want to hear your voice as it becomes shrill. I don’t want to yell at anyone anymore. I’m not interested in your drama. I can’t help you. I can only take care of myself. I don’t want to give you advice and I don’t want to hear your advice to me.

I just want to stay home.

I’m not interested in traveling anywhere anymore. I’m not interested in observing other cultures or learning other languages. I don’t want to become saddened and heartbroken at the poverty and needless, needless fighting and war. I don’t want to observe cruelty to animals or to children or to old folks. I don’t want to witness genocide anymore. I don’t want to witness the senseless bombing of churches and hospitals and museums and neighborhoods.

I just want to stay home.

I don’t want to see islands of garbage in the ocean and the senseless beaching of whales and seals and other ocean life because of sonic vibrations created by ships, submarines, fishermen’s boats and exploration and drilling for oil. I don’t want to watch netfishing that destroys the bottom of the ocean and that kill sea creatures that they’re not even fishing for. I don’t want to observe the destruction of coral reefs and see ships and boats sunk to the bottom of the sea because of storms.

I just want to stay home.

I don’t want to go to zoos and see caged animals. I don’t want to see dogs and cats and other animals suffering because they’re unwanted. I don’t want to see photos or videos of animals that have been mistreated and are found under trucks and locked in basements and dying on a short chain out in the rain and the snow or left on the side of the road, pregnant or with a litter of babies. I don’t want to see farmed animals suffering being raised for human consumption in unthinkable conditions.

I just want to stay home.

I don’t want to continue to try to figure out why anyone at any time would create weapons of war: guns, bombs, poisonous gases, nuclear weapons that could wipe out our entire Earth and all of its species. I don’t want to think about why drugs are being developed that kill people. I don’t want to see drug addicts lying naked on the street or sleeping out in the rain. I don’t want to hear the news announce how many overdoses took place this weekend.

I just want to stay home.

I can’t understand why we have developed chemicals that we spray on our food and create GMO food stuffs that make us sick and ultimately kill us. I’m tired of hearing about farming practices, like monoculture, that are destroying our ability to feed ourselves. I don’t want to see anymore clear cutting and burning of forests that destroy habitat for the wild creatures that live only to eat and procreate. I don’t want our only option to be to eat farmed fish.

I just want to stay home.

I don’t want to hear about children killing other children in schools. I don’t want to try to figure out why automatic rifles are being sold to children. I don’t want to watch bullying. I don’t want to cry for children who are unclothed, starving, without love, right in our own neighborhoods.

I just want to stay home.

And the last thing I want you to tell me is that I need to rely on politics and politicians when that is the most corrupt of all systems in the world. There is only one exception to what is worse and that is to rely on religion. I don’t want to talk to you about religion or about your god or anyone else’s god/s. I will be the first to tell you that I enjoy myth and legend and fairy tales. But there is nothing good that will come of believing in any thing a or faith based religion. If that’s what you want to talk about, may I encourage you to just leave me alone.

I just want to stay home.

And I especially don’t want you to tell me that if all of this bothers me, I should do something about it. It bothers me yes, but I know that it is not for me or for you to carry the burden of the world on our shoulders. That’s why…

I just want to stay home.