Intrepid Fiber Wizard

N is for...

Nostalgia.     

A longing for things, persons or situations that are not present, homesickness.

"The lake" in Upstate New York is home for me and my daughters. truly  "home". and the fact that we haven't been able to get there for almost three years is making me nostalgic.  especially since right about now is when I would be there for a week or two.
This is the place that I want to be when I relax. this is the place I want to be with my family - all of them (three brothers, two sisters-in-law and one niece plus me and my two daughters and my parents and my cousin). this is the place I want to be if I need to heal my heart. this is the place. Keuka Lake.

I pull from my memories, and from old photo albums to share a few moments with you. "The Lake" (as we all call it) is a place with a cottage that is absolutely free of pretense, has no square corners, no insulation, no heat, a teensy kitchen (with an oven that always runs too hot) it sleeps 10-12 people, one bathroom, and has an enormous front porch which we all tend to hang out on. The shelves are lined with memories from the past 100+ years,  our footsteps echo on the stairs.

My best guess is that it is about 100 yrs old (although my Mom could most likely tell you exactly when it was built). The center of the building was an old fruit cellar - the rest was added on around it. The land seems to have been in my family's ownership for forever. (thank you great great uncle Josh). We have our own 'language' for speaking of the place... there is "the hole" (a pantry at the back of the house, so dubbed by my great aunt Nanny (I think) since it was dark and dreary) - and of course there is "grandmother's room", though she has not slept there for more than 25 years - it will always be called that)

a more welcoming place on earth, you will never find.

It is a place where you can go to dinner in your bathing suit (even if its still wet) a place where the screen door slams with a characteristic thwack, the kitchen is 'help yourself to as much as you'd like', a place where hours in the hammock are encouraged, and drop-ins for dinner are the norm. Most meals feature 10-12 people (when only six were planned for) We throw a couple more burgers on the BBQ or a few more potatoes in the pot and everyone laughs.  Squish over at the table, there's room for more.... It is heaven.
The beach is shale, the water is pure still, the view is expansive. there are traditions.
(note these photos are from three years ago - thanks Dad!)

We skip stones:

We paint shale stones:

We take turns cooking some of our favorite meals - here is my oldest brother cooking his famous eggplant dish (its fabulous - trust me)

 

We all eat together - usually spilling over into both rooms;

We catch fish, and show them off to everyone (all the while being as silly as we can and holding them in the forground of the photo so they look even bigger):

 

 

We go swimming and we sail on my little butterfly,
or on my brother's bigger boat

(a lovely sloop who's name I forget):

I do a bit of drop spindling,

there is hammock adventures

(or mis-adventures in this case)

We play two handed piano and laugh out loud all the while. (never counting the goof-ups and singing as loudly as we can)

And most of all, we just enjoy being with each other. Our sense of humor so alike, the memories we share touch against each other, the love that flows is profound.

Yes, today I am nostalgic. and I miss my family and the lake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

M is for...

Mundane.

"..bound to earth; worldly. typical of or concerned with the ordinary." (American Heritage Dictionary)

A dear friend I knew over ten years ago taught me to love the mundane... the ordinary. And I send her a small thank you once again this morning.

Typically, one of my greatest spring and summer loves is weeding. Yes, truly.
In the back yard of the little cottage I rent is a small patio. The weeds pop up between the stones, seemingly overnight. During the cool morning hours, after I have given my garden a drink of water, you can usually find me sitting on these stones, gently easing the weeds out of the space between.

This small repetitive act is comforting to me, in a world where so very much is out of control, and I feel it connecting me to my Grandmother and Great Uncle who also loved their gardens.
I wonder when our colloquial speech patterns ever linked the word mundane to 'boring' (which is defined as: So lacking in interest as to cause mental weariness). This small act of beauty is so far from boring - it is peaceful, quiet, and soul soothing.

L is for...

Ludicrous.

" ...laughable or hilarious through obvious absurdity or incongruity."

At the beginning of every year, I set "intentions" for the New Year ahead - not "resolutions", but rather intention for what I choose. This year's intention was to laugh every single day.
It's the silly little things that make me laugh. The ridiculous, the absurd... and it would appear that the universe has conspired to assist me in this aim (grin)

** although I have no photo to prove it, the image it draws to mind is funny enough: a couple of weeks ago, on a sunday morning, I was driving down a nearby road in Lacey, WA, on my way to Lowe's to buy some poesies, and saw a man walking down the street wearing a full set of inflatable arms (as seen in the second Spiderman movie).. yes... he was dressed up as Dr. Octopus. Ah how I wish I'd had my camera for proof.

** leaving work last week, I walked by some homeless youth, sitting on the sidewalk in front of a coffee house.. and one of them said to me "Can you spare some change for a s*x change operation?" I mean really!

** Buzz lightyear now sits on my kitchen windowsill, reminding me of a time when my niece (then 18) and four of her football player friends were driving in my 1977 convertible VW bug. Buzzlightyear used to sit on the dash - they took a curve a bit fast (ahem) and Buzz went flying out of the car... my neice pulled over and all four of the football payers leaped out of the car screaming "Buzz... Buzz.. where did you go flying off to?" (a pretty hilarious image). And you could almost hear Buzz say "It's not flying, it's falling with style!"

** and last but not least, even Classic Elite free patterns newsletter sent off this photo of the back of a hand knit tie in their most recent email....
need I say more?

Have a good laugh this morning - it makes the day brighter.

K is for...

Kitsch.   

Kitsch (according to the web is)
"Art in pretentious bad taste."

This little doorstop always makes me giggle when I walk by it, and I want to break out in the Munchkin's song "Ding dong the witch is dead".

J is for

Jasper.

"This mineral is known as the 'supreme nurturer'. It acts a reminder that one is not here, on this physical plane, just for oneself, but is also here to bring joy and substance to others....." and then specifically regarding Picture Jasper: " It provides scenes from the Earth, and is known as the stone for 'Global Awareness'. It stimulates the 'brotherhood' to work together to save the planet." (from Love is of the Earth by Melody)

I have long been enamored of stones. All sorts of stones. If I go on a walk, they seem to have a way of hopping into my pockets. If I am walking by a stone wall, my hand strays on its own accord to gently touch the great stones. I have a habit of carrying a small stone or two with me in my pocket, and have some in my car, and maybe one or two in my purse.... (ahem...) Some are 'ordinary' stones, selected from a beach walk, or picked up from the lake shore in Upstate New York when I was last there , and others are highly polished cut samples of geological beauty.

This particular lovely chunk of Picture Jasper sits in my kitchen window.

My collection of stones is quite numerous - they are spread through my home and office. I tend to avoid rock shows (since I would invariably end up with even more). My "stash" of stones is actually larger than my stash of yarn (and that's saying something. (smile)

When I lived on Whidbey Island, I had a couple of close friends, Kellie and Bill, who own an online stone and gem website. It's called Avalon Crystals. Going over to Kellie's for tea was a potentially expensive visit (more smiles). Their home is an amazing place filled with geological wonders. I still frequent their website and drool over their latest lovelies.

A memory that always makes me chuckle is from about 8 years ago, when I first used to drive down to visit Klaus in Yelm. There was one day, when he picked up my suitcase to help me come inside, and he remarked "what do have in here, rocks?" errrr, ummmm, "yes"  I answered quietly. (then the hilarious laughter ensued).

Have a glorious week - and if perchance a small lovely stone hops into your pocket while you are out walking, smile and think of me.

I is for...

Ingenuity.

Inventive skill or imagination, cleverness. The state of being ingeniously contrived.
(American Heritage Dictionary).

Almost two years ago, our cultural folk hero, Stephanie (yes that one) wrote an amazing tutorial post that I read every single word of, and then I chuckled and read it again.. It was ingenious - brilliant - remarkable - stunning. AND, I said to myself in the back of my head - "hmmmmmm, girl, you'd best remember that particular one, you might need it one day."
Well, "someday" arrived.
Remember my most recent cabled sweater (yes, yes,  I know that I haven't gotten around to posting completed photos of it yet  (*grins*). chalk it up to many work days and few sunny days and coordination required with my photographer friends.. it's coming, I promise. it's lovely. I wear it.)
When I got to the very final stage, the blocking, I noticed a potentially "fatal" flaw....
gasp...
back about 100 rows, I had missed a cable cross-over.

big sighs all around.
Here's the evidence close up.

nasty, isn't it.

Yes, I can hear all you knitters heaving a huge sigh out there.

99% of the sweater was completed with no issues, and then when entering the final stage (blocking) what appears... sigh.. that splotch.

ick.

I seriously contemplated ripping the whole thing back to that spot - yet it was more than 100 rows back, and I so longed to WEAR this during the same calendar year that I made it.

Suddenly, the bell went off in my head, and I recalled Stephanie's Post "All is not Lost" (bless her). I then measured my sweater, and realized that this "flaw" would be situated under my arm....... aha! Who looks under the arm of a sweater, and how often does it show? I pondered this for all of about 30 minutes, and decided to execute Stephanie's technique.

Clever beyond words is all that I have to say.

I am pleased as punch, tickled as toast, happy as a pig in.. (well you get my drift) I decided that at least for the time being, I would stitch on top of the old stitches, as she suggests, and then  perhaps consider ripping it out someday in the forever future (hah!)

It was a successful event - and I have worn the sweater a few times. I hope to show you photos in the very near future.

Trust me - that Stephanie is just plain amazing. I turn toward the East, an send her a hail and hearty thank you - and a big grin for success. Mission accomplished.

  P>S> a few of you have asked me where exactly the error is - so here I have drawn a circle around it. I suspect that it's a bit like to Escher drawings, where once you can "see" it, then it becomes obvious.

H is for...

Heart.

   Aside from the physical organ in the body, the American Heritage Dictionary also says of the heart:   "....The heart, thought of as the vital center of one's being, emotions, and sensibilities; the seat or repository of emotions."

My oldest daughter looked out into my back yard on Christmas day, and smiled with glee and said :Look Mom, a heart !

Isn't it lovely?

I have collected naturally heart shaped stones all my life. What a treat to discover this marking left over from a long ago lost branch, on a tree in my own back yard.
It  never ceases to make me smile.

G is for....

Garden.

" A plot of land used for the cultivation of flowers , vegetables or fruit."

I am most at home in my garden. It is here that the rich earth calls me to plant myself. I dig and hoe, oblivious to all that surrounds me. Time passes, and suddenly I find that I am weary, and ready for bed.

It is a delightful kind of exhaustion - of a day well spent. Contentment ensues. I feel complete.

It is not unusual for me to lose hours amid my flowers.  I seek their solace often when the rest of the world does not make sense, or when I have a dilemma too large for my hands - and every time, I find solutions in my garden. The world always seems to set a bit easier with me at the end of my day in the garden.

My tending of this small portion of the earth is humbling, invigorating and joyous. I stretch the limits of my knowledge, and the flowers oblige by teaching me their rhythm.
Last week, it snowed and rained from Tuesday until Friday, then Saturday, the first Rhodedendron opened it's petals. Incredible.

So many things have survived my lack of "tending" last fall.

Roses that had not been watered nor pruned for five years prior to my moving to this land, are showing amazing resilience.

I praise their strength and am delighted.

The sweet peas which I sowed in June (very late for them) not only survived but re-seeded.

hurrah.

This unknown shrub survived my harsh pruning - I was yelling at it for smothering another flowering shrub (an azalea I suspect) and I chopped it back so harshly. I thank it for forgiving my harsh pruning, and returning to life.
It not only survived, but has been blooming all winter.

My Wisteria - I ignored it completely last fall. I wasn't familiar with what type it is, and was hesitant to prune it, plus my hand injury limited my ability to do a good job, so I just let it go fallow - wondering if it would survive my negligence.

The garden has been forgiving - and once again welcomes Spring in spite of me. and I am grateful.

I have found that I have learned some of the best  wisdom in the garden. I have learned of impermanence, of right timing, of life that outlasts my own.  I have learned from soil that is too rocky and soil that is rich. I am anxious for spring to settle in, so that I may learn more from this small plot of earth which I now caretake. And I feel completely blessed.

One last word on gardening: I have begun reading a complete gift of a book. "Gardening at the Dragon's Gate" by Wendy Johnson. If you too love gardening, this will be a welcome addition to your shelves. The author is an astute student of life - of history - of gardens. It reads like a novel, and I find that I can hardly put it down. It is an epic work of organic gardening information, as well as history and folk lore from many cultures. Wendy writes as though you were walking through her garden with her on a summer's day - speaking in soft conversational tones of a great master. Bless her.

I leave you with a quote from her marvelous book: "In the first years of Green Gulch Farm, whenever a new Zen student came to work in the garden, he or she was sent out alone to spend the day sitting in meditation somewhere in the garden. When you slow down like this, the real garden is uncovered. And so is the real gardener. You unfold together. This takes time and a willingness to sit still past the moment when you get bored,  or past the moment when you think of at least thirty worthy garden tasks that you need to accomplish immediately. Instead, give yourself all the time in the world, and don't move, even if by the clock you only have half an hour to be in the garden. This is radical cultivation, for out of this stillness,, the real nature of your garden soil is exposed...... but beyond any particular lesson, sitting still on the earth restores you to yourself and to the freshness of the whole garden."

The author, Wendy Johnson, invites you not only into her incredible wisdom about the land, the folklore and it's history, but into her heart as she works the earth. It reads like a novel - and is dense with wisdom about life and gardens.

I do not know if I own my garden, or if it owns me. I am simply grateful for this small plot of earth in which to sink my fingers and feet.

F is for...

Fortune.


"..a hypothetical, often personified force or power that favorably or unfavorably governs the events of one's life... the good or bad luck that is to befall someone; destiny, fate."

I am chuckling today at the 'fortune' cookie I got when dining out the other day at lunch. While I might have once or twice spoken the words  "when I win the lottery... (followed by various wild schemes and dreams)", the truth about me is that money has never really mattered all that much in my life. Certainly I have experienced the lack of it, and the abundance of it, yet true "fortune" in my life has been love, friendships and learning. I have been blessed by an abundance of each.

E is for...

Enchant.

..to cast under a spell; bewitch.

..to delight completely; charm; enrapture.

Last fall, amid coping with a smashed heart and crushed hand, I knelt in the misty rain, using my left hand, covered in mud,  and planted bulbs in my backyard garden. It was the promise of spring - the renewal of joy - the continuation of all things good.

Spring is creeping into our lives, and the fairies are dancing.