Category: Presents

The Ranger is Ready… almost

Just waiting on the buttons to finish the button hole band.

The long awaited Ranger sweater, by Jared Flood, is done except for the button hole band… we’re waiting on the buttons.

Jesse (son and fortunate recipient) has ordered some Native American handmade silver buttons that will really enhance this cardigan.

The yarn is local to me and made of Brooklyn Tweed, Shelter, in the colorway, Artifact. The yarn is spun of Targhee-Columbia wool. It’s worsted weight and is woolen spun into a very light 2 ply that if not careful can be pulled apart almost as easily as unspun yarn like the beautiful Swedish Nutiden yarn.

Soon, I’ll be giving it a good soak in warm water and then I’ll pin it to block it to hopefully give it a perfect fit. I can’t hardly wait to see the stitches bloom and come together in the most pleasing way.

Jesse will be wearing this sweater when the weather warrants a big cozy jumper. When the warm monsoon like rains of fall turn into bone chilling shards of icy and soaking rains, he’ll be warm. Because wool, even when wet. or covered in snow, remains warming. Just ask any sheep.

This was not an easy project. I warn you that if you’re not familiar with garment making and reading a complex pattern, start with something easier. Bette Hunter, of Scotland’s Oban Seil Farm, says that some patterns read like a foreign language. These challenge even the most experienced knitters.

I did a number of techniques that I have not attempted before. First and foremost was knitting a sweater from the bottom up. I will, I swear from this day forward, reject any pattern that starts you at the bottom. How are you suppose to know if it’s going to fit if you can’t try it on along the way? I learned so much from knitting this beauty, but it put me through my paces.

I love the yarn, I love the sweater but please universe, don’t let me do this again.

Small Gifts

Too many times I’ve brought you dust,

Empty shells and things that rust.

You’ve turned these small gifts into gold,

Something warm from something cold.

Paper, metal, cloth and clay,

Bits of earth, broken shards,

A hundred stones turned into stars.

No one’s heart holds half as much,

As little bits of this and such.

A Cup for Promises.

A bit of love remembered:

I finally retired in October 2014. My sister, Kristi, had retired about a year before me. One day we met for coffee at an intimate cafe in Woodstock to celebrate.

Kristi’s
Mine

We bought these cups as a symbol of our promise to be companions as we aged, to take trips together and maybe even one day to live together. Little did we know that within just two weeks, she would die in a terrible car accident.

Two days ago I was drinking coffee out of my cup and I thought about these promises we made to one another. I wondered if Kristi’s kids had found her cup amongst her things.

I sent them a message and in a short time, I got a message back from Sharon, her oldest daughter, with a photo of the cup saying that she drinks out of it often.

I cried for loss but also for gladness. A girl could not have had a better sister. My memories of her span 64 years, so they are many.

When she was only 3 years old, and I was only 5, I contracted polio, and for the rest of our time together, she did for me what I could not do for myself. She was my confidant. She was my buddy. She was my heart.

I miss her so. When I drink from her promise cup, my heart fills to overflowing. I’m so happy to know that my promise cup to her still exists.

The Scarf

Kristi gave me this scarf for my birthday on September 13, 2014. It was a warm evening and we were sitting in the glow of the candles on my front porch with Steve and Dee and Dhillon. We were sipping on gin and tonics and laughing about everything. Kristi knew that I loved handmade things, so she had this made for me. I hugged her and kissed her and cried. Her birthday was coming up in five days and I hadn’t planned anything for her yet, but we were planning a trip to the beach and I would get her something then. Something that she would choose.

How lucky we were. She was retired and my retirement had started just two weeks before. We had plans galore and she didn’t know it but I was hoping that one day we would be two old women sharing a house together.

That night we didn’t know that we had only the next 30 days with her. She was suddenly swept out of our lives, forever. You can only imagine what this scarf means to me.

This morning as I bundled up to take Yum Yum out for a walk, my scarf was not on the shelf with my hats and gloves, so I grabbed one of Hannah’s, figuring that I had worn mine upstairs where I might have left it.

Yum Yum and I had traveled about nine blocks, and there was my scarf, lying in the grass, strewn with twigs and leaves. “What?? That’s my scarf.” I quickly picked it up, expecting it to be wet and dirty and at least smelling like a dog or two had left their territorial mark on it. But no, it smells sweet like a cold and fresh autumnal morning.

Ancel said there was a force field protecting it. Yum and I never walk the same way twice but this morning, we passed where my scarf lay waiting for me.