Sick Day.

1pm this afternoon.

 

024/365: Feb 27 2008

7pm this evening.

DSCN2577

This is HARD!

But totally worth it. I almost (ALMOST) ripped it all out because it was looking funny a few rows in, but I’m glad I didn’t. It’s a knit I have to pay attention to, but fun. And beautiful! Dropping those first few stitches were a lot of fun.

What does this yarn want to be?

I got a pile of Rich Chocolate Malabrigo Worsted through a swap.  I’m not a big brown person, so normally this isn’t a color I would buy, and I think I’m having trouble seeing past the color.  What does this want to be?   It’s eight skeins.  More than enough for a sweater!  Lovely Malabrigo sweater…

The periwinkle in the back is enough Lorna’s Laces Shepherd Sock to make Jeanie.  I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but I’m currently studying to become a Celebrant, a trained ceremony expert and an ordained non-denominational minister.  My goal is to start my own business in the late Spring of 2008.  I will write and officiate original wedding ceremonies that reflect the beliefs, needs, values, cultural background, and personality of the couples.  I’m really excited!

For my graduation in May, we have been asked to bring a symbol that speaks to who we are as a Celebrant and as a person, something that is evocative of us and the journey we are about to embark on, as well as the path that has lead us here.  I am choosing to knit this shawl as a symbol of myself and my choice to become a Celebrant.  There’s a lot more to the choice, and I’ll write about that when I’ve finished the shawl.  But first I need to wind all of that yarn!

Oh, and if you are in New Jersey, and planning on getting married or know someone who is, and needs an officiant, let me know!  I’ll have a website up sometime in April with more information.

Scarf Exchange: Received! and Evangeline

You may remember that I took part in the Ravelry Scarf Exchange. The deadline to have the scarf mailed out was December 1 – and then the New Year came and went, and I had not heard from my pal or received a scarf.

In mid-January, I was assigned a wonderful angel in KnitMongrel form. And I received my package from her last week!

Waiting to be torn open!

Ravelry Scarf Exchange Scarf Package Opened!
Hurray for swap angels!

Inside was this beautiful multi-directional scarf made from Noro Kureyon. She enclosed the extra yarn as well, as well as some very good chocolate coins and a very cute Lantern Moon ladybug tape measure!

Thank you again, Alyssa, for not only sending me a hand knit beautiful scarf, but also for making this exchange for me! You’re all kinds of awesome.

Ravelry Scarf Exchange Scarf!
Still dazed from the commute

I recently finished a pair of fingerless cabled mitts, too. They’re knit in amazingly soft worsted Malabrigo, and I followed the pattern, Evangeline pretty closely (aside from doing an afterthought thumb, like the one outlined in Fetching, instead of casting off and casting back on mid row). Love them. Wish they were for me and I could wear them forever.

Because I’ve seen Nanny McPhee one too many times, but the name Evangeline always makes me think of that movie. And that makes me think of the wonderful green velvet frock coat that Colin Firth wears. I want one!

These were a satisfying and quick knit. I knit the second one in about a day (hurray for three day weekends!). The cable is fun and interested. If I was making them again, I would add 2 to 4 extra stitches to the circumference, as they are a little tight higher up on the arm, as well as add a few extra stitches to the thumb (which I knit as an afterthought thumb, instead of binding off and casting on stitches). Some blocking will help that, though.

Third Annual Silent Poetry Reading.

In honor of Imbolc, here’s my contribution to the poetry invading the blog world.  Knitting will return soon.  There is a mention of yarn in the poem, so it’s a bit appropriate.

Persimmons by Li Young Lee.

In sixth grade Mrs. Walker
slapped the back of my head
and made me stand in the corner
for not knowing the difference
between persimmon and precision.
How to choose

persimmons. This is precision.
Ripe ones are soft and brown-spotted.
Sniff the bottoms. The sweet one
will be fragrant. How to eat:
put the knife away, lay down the newspaper.
Peel the skin tenderly, not to tear the meat.
Chew on the skin, suck it,
and swallow. Now, eat
the meat of the fruit,
so sweet
all of it, to the heart.

Donna undresses, her stomach is white.
In the yard, dewy and shivering
with crickets, we lie naked,
face-up, face-down,
I teach her Chinese. Crickets: chiu chiu. Dew: I’ve forgotten.
Naked: I’ve forgotten.
Ni, wo: you me.
I part her legs,
remember to tell her
she is beautiful as the moon.

Other words
that got me into trouble were
fight and fright, wren and yarn.
Fight was what I did when I was frightened,
fright was what I felt when I was fighting.
Wrens are small, plain birds,
yarn is what one knits with.
Wrens are soft as yarn.
My mother made birds out of yarn.
I loved to watch her tie the stuff;
a bird, a rabbit, a wee man.

Mrs. Walker brought a persimmon to class
and cut it up
so everyone could taste
a Chinese apple. Knowing
it wasn’t ripe or sweet, I didn’t eat
but watched the other faces.

My mother said every persimmon has a sun
inside, something golden, glowing,
warm as my face.

Once, in the cellar, I found two wrapped in newspaper
forgotten and not yet ripe.
I took them and set them both on my bedroom windowsill,
where each morning a cardinal
sang. The sun, the sun.

Finally understanding
he was going blind,
my father would stay up all one night
waiting for a song, a ghost.
I gave him the persimmons, swelled, heavy as sadness,
and sweet as love.

This year, in the muddy lighting
of my parents’ cellar, I rummage, looking
for something I lost.
My father sits on the tired, wooden stairs,
black cane between his knees,
hand over hand, gripping the handle.

He’s so happy that I’ve come home.
I ask how his eyes are, a stupid question.
All gone, he answers.

Under some blankets, I find three scrolls.
I sit beside him and untie
three paintings by my father:
Hibiscus leaf and a white flower.
Two cats preening.
Two persimmons, so full they want to drop from the cloth.

He raises both hands to touch the cloth,
asks, Which is this?

This is persimmons, Father.

Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk,
the strength, the tense
precision in the wrist.
I painted them hundreds of times
eyes closed. These I painted blind.
Some things never leave a person:
scent of the hair of one you love,
the texture of persimmons,
in your palm, the ripe weight.